The Minister's Secret
by Canimal
Summary: The love of the Minister's life disappeared just before the end of the First Wizarding War. When he finds her again, he can hardly trust his sanity. His first action as the new Minister for Magic is to break at least a dozen international laws to bring her home. Hermione soon finds herself in the early 70s surrounded by future followers of the Dark Lord. **Causal Loop Time Travel**
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer** ** _:_** Unfortunately, I own nothing and can claim nothing from the Harry Potter Universe. All characters still belong to JK Rowling.

 **IMPORTANT – PLEASE READ**

 **It is my personal choice to not include content warnings at the beginning of chapters for a few reasons. Published books do not have them and I believe that they take away from the spontaneity and surprise of the story. (You read major character death and you spend the entire chapter or story wondering who it is and I feel it's distracting.) That being said, please understand that this story will have some dark elements. This is a story written for Mature audiences only. If you are not an adult, please do not continue.**

 **This story may include the following triggers so please be aware: Death (including major character death), murder, violence (possibly graphic), attempted non-con, non-con (I will never write a graphic non-con scene nor will I glamourize it or fetishize it), domestic violence, miscarriage, sexual situations and drug and alcohol abuse.**

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Chapter One

June 18, 1998

 **6:55 am**

The midsummer morning sun shone bright and warm across Hogwarts extensive grounds. Only a few of the volunteers tirelessly working towards bringing the thousand year old castle back into its former glory before the next term began were awake. Hours on the reconstruction project were long and exhausting. It wasn't unusual for the rebuilders to wake up just as the sun was rising and work until long after the sun had gone down. For many it was cathartic to help the almost-sentient castle rebuild itself following the harrowing events six weeks earlier when Lord Voldemort and his Death Eaters were once and for all defeated by the young Harry Potter and his supporters. Tents of various sizes had been erected anywhere space could be spared on the grounds. Former students, teachers, Ministry officials, Hogsmeade residents and even a contingent of foreign witches and wizards who felt a loyalty to the fighters of the winning side had been arriving by the Knight Bus load since the end of the final battle. So many felt that they owed the castle and its defenders their time and energy to return it to its former glory. It was one way in which those who had been too cowardly to actually fight had been trying to assuage their guilty consciences.

Hermione Granger woke yet another morning with a crick in her neck and the uncomfortable knowledge that the hardness she was feeling jammed into the small of her back was her overeager boyfriend's perpetual morning erection. It never failed. Even if they worked twenty hours the day before and fell into bed with zero energy, she was going to be woken up by the incessant prodding in her back. She rolled her eyes and tried to slip out of the uncomfortable camp bed that had been transfigured from a single to a double without waking the snoring redhead.

"Where you going?" Ron asked, reaching out a hand to stop her from leaving.

"I can't sleep any longer," she answered. Her annoyance was growing steadily every second she was awake. It had been a long time since she could remember actually getting a good night's sleep.

"Come back to bed."

His hand caught her arm and with a single tug, she was back in the bed next to him. Ron had been insatiable since the night after the Battle for Hogwarts when their mutual grief and sheer relief brought them together for the first time in the most intimate of ways. Hermione regretted the act the instant it was over. Everything had happened so quickly that she hadn't really had an opportunity to process it. Ron had been attempting everything he could think of to keep his mind off of the death of his elder brother. He learned that the all-too-brief few minutes he could spend with Hermione in the privacy of their own tent allowed him the chance to forget for just a short time. Knowing that he was not handling Fred's death well, Hermione had been sympathetic even when she wished he would just leave her alone.

"Ron, stop!" she ordered, pushing the redhead's lips away from her neck. She was not in the mood for his overeager pawing that morning.

"What's your problem, 'Mione?" he demanded.

Hermione could sense another argument brewing. That was all they ever seemed to do anymore. Wake up, fight, build, fight, eat, fight, shag, fight, sleep. Repeat the next day. Every single day was exactly the same as the day before. While she understood that they were both under an inordinate amount of stress, she couldn't imagine spending the rest of her life living such a destructive pattern. It would be bloody miserable. She fought to get out of his clutches.

"I don't have a problem, Ronald," she spat. "I just don't want you to grab me like that."

Only a few minutes later after she was completely dressed, Hermione stormed out of their tent. She could not stand another moment in another argument with that infuriating boy. How strange that life had seemed almost easier when they were fighting for their lives as opposed to the weeks following the end. Once the dust settled, problems she had never imagined began to crop up.

She didn't see a single person milling outside their tents during her trek across the grounds. Even with the sun out it was still too early for many of the volunteers to be out of bed. Hermione crossed the grounds towards the Black Lake. She needed to clear her head and stretching her legs would be an added bonus. Along the banks of the shore near the island holding the recently repaired White Tomb, she saw a solitary figure staring off across the lake. At the distance she could've sworn she was seeing Headmaster Dumbledore himself. Shaking her head, certain that she was going round the bend, she realized she was actually seeing Aberforth Dumbledore.

"Good morning, Miss Granger," the wizard greeted when she was within earshot.

"Good morning, Mr. Dumbledore."

She felt guilty interrupting the man in what was obviously a private moment. Aberforth Dumbledore closed the distance of the twenty or thirty feet separating them in only a few short moments. Hermione smiled at the man, hoping that she would be able to slip away quickly. She had never really had a private conversation with him before and part of her wondered why he seemed so eager to change that fact.

"How is the rebuilding?" he asked.

If Hermione had known the man better she might have assumed that he was feeling nervous to speak. His eyes seemed reluctant to meet hers and he was fidgeting with his hands.

"Slowly," she responded. "I'm concerned that we won't be finished before the fall term begins."

"Are you planning on finishing up your last year? Since your education was _interrupted_?"

"Yes. If I want to get a good job, I have to make top scores on my N.E.W.T.s."

Aberforth's loud laughter caught Hermione off guard. A few moments of listening to his ringing chortles made her cheeks flush and her stomach tighten. Why was he laughing at her? There was nothing funny about her education. If she wanted to have a chance at any kind of a successful future, she had to have the right grades. Future life wasn't likely to be easy on the Muggle-born without proper qualifications. How could he not understand that?

"I'm sorry, my girl. I don't mean to laugh, but I find your response amusing."

"How so?"

She was still offended.

"Now that the war is over, the world is going to be very different. We've been living under the threat of Voldemort for decades. With him gone, the world can be whatever we want it to be. You should only go back to school if it would make you happy."

"How can I expect to be happy if I'm stuck in some nothing job for the rest of my life because I didn't take the time to get the proper qualifications, Mr. Dumbledore?"

He lifted his hand to hang in the air for a moment. It seemed that he was at odds within himself of how to approach her next. Finally, he placed the palm of his hand lightly on her shoulder. Hermione jumped at the contact, but calmed almost immediately. The twinkling in his blue eyes was similar in many ways to his elder brother, yet so very different. With Professor Dumbledore she always felt as if he were keeping something back. With Aberforth Dumbledore, she _knew_ there was more going on behind his warm eyes. What was he hiding?

"You should do what makes _you_ happy, lass. Forget everyone else. It's your life after all."

The next few minutes passed in a series of unimportant small talk questions and comments. She found that her earlier discomfort around the unusual wizard melted away fairly quickly. He was surprisingly easy to talk to when they got started. More than once she found herself laughing out loud at something he'd said.

"You remind me of my daughter," Aberforth announced.

Hermione's eyes widened at the confession. She had no idea that the man even had a daughter. Certainly she had never heard mention of one. Wouldn't there have been some side or footnote in Rita Skeeter's awful book about Professor Dumbledore if he'd had a niece? One wasn't even mentioned in his obituary from what she could remember.

"I'm sorry, sir, but I was unaware you even had a daughter."

A sad smile crossed his bearded face. The twinkle was still present in his eyes, if a bit dimmer. His hand had long ago been removed from her shoulder. He clasped them together and just stared at his fingers before responding.

"I was a sixty-eight year old bachelor without a care in the world when she was born. Bit of a surprise at my age."

"I imagine it would've been."

"Never saw myself as the family man, but I don't regret a moment spent in that beautiful girl's presence."

His sadness was palpable. Hermione wished she hadn't said anything until she realized that _he_ was the one who brought her up first. It must have been a tragedy. She grew sadder thinking about all that this man had suffered in his long life. His sister being attacked by Muggles and his father seeking out revenge before landing himself in Azkaban for the rest of his life. His childhood could not have been easy with keeping his younger sister's condition a secret. His mother dying after an accidental burst of magic from Ariana. His sister dying after the horrible three-way duel between the Dumbledore brothers and Gellert Grindelwald. Nothing about his life seemed to be happy.

"May I ask what happened?"

She was hesitant in her request. He rewarded her with a warm smile.

"She disappeared towards the end of the First War," he explained. "No one is certain what happened. There have been many theories, but I'm not certain what is correct. Her mother was a Lestrange and she was a first cousin to Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange."

That information was surprising. Aberforth Dumbledore had a relationship with a member of that hated family? She would've never guessed.

"She made some unlikely alliances with some unsavory characters," he continued. "Always assumed she put her trust in the wrong Death Eater."

"Your daughter was _friends_ with actual Death Eaters?"

"My dear, she had Death Eaters for _family_. She got caught up in the excitement. She likely even dated a Death Eater or two. I never got all of the details from her. I didn't want them."

Hermione continued to grapple with the information she had just been given. How could Albus Dumbledore's niece get involved, possibly romantically, with the followers of Lord Voldemort? It didn't make sense. Weren't the Dumbledores always a family against the Dark? Her expression didn't fail to elicit a soft laugh from her companion.

"Don't think too harshly of her, lass. It was an exciting time. Dangerous, yes, but exciting. I imagine she got a bit seduced by the dangers. It's happened to the best of us."

For several minutes they continued their walk around the lake in silence. Hermione felt perfectly at ease with the wizard she had only spoken to very briefly on previous occasions. She struggled with what he had just revealed. How could anyone be seduced by the Dark? Her decisions and actions in the past had not always been innocent and pure, of course, but she couldn't imagine willingly seeking out those who were interested in Dark magic. She shook her head physically to banish reminders of the darkness she had within herself. Wasn't she responsible for leading Dolores Umbridge into the Forbidden Forest her fifth year knowing full well what centaurs did with captured human women?

"The first time I saw you and your little mates walk into my pub for your little defense group meeting, I thought I was seeing a ghost."

Aberforth smiled. The twinkle was back in his eyes, all traces of sadness absent.

"I'm very pleased that you made it out all right," he added.

They said their goodbyes soon after. Aberforth urged her to come by his pub later after she was done for the day for a stiff drink. He said that she looked like she needed one. Unsure how to respond to that statement, she simply smiled and promised she would try. One more smile sent in her direction from the wizard and they parted.

Ron was awake when she stopped by the tent after her surprisingly enjoyable conversation with Aberforth. Her good mood vanished almost immediately after her boyfriend began demanding to know where she had been. Was she expected to tell him every single thing that she did and saw each day? If so, it was going to be a long life. She was unused to being held accountable for how she spent every second of the day. After a few terse words, she stormed back out of the tent.

She had been able to make good progress the day before in repairing the damage to the third floor corridor with help from Oliver Wood. He was able to take some time off from his Quidditch training to help and had been an eager participant. The Keeper was already in place repairing more of the shattered windows when she arrived. They exchanged a quick greeting before returning to the therapeutic work. Very few words passed between them for hours at a time. Whatever Oliver was dealing with personally was his business just as Hermione's was hers. They were both using the work to distract themselves.

"Think I'm done for now," Oliver announced just as the sun was setting.

Hermione stretched the tired muscles in her back. Though she still wasn't ready to face Ron after their morning row, she was done as well. She checked in her pocket for her beaded bag. Satisfied that she had everything she needed, she climbed the stairs to the fifth floor. She had been pleased to learn in the early days following the battle that no damage had been done to the prefects' bathroom. While the enormous bathtub would certainly be almost decadent on her sore limbs and back, she opted for the faster option of a hot shower.

Once she was dressed and her hair charmed to be somewhat less messy, she made the decision to sneak down to the village. Aberforth's invitation was very attractive when the alternative was likely another row with Ron. No one tried to impede her progress across the grounds. Travelling alone down the path to Hogsmeade was a little nerve-wracking at night, but she was determined to no longer live in fear. With her wand clasped firmly in her hand, she braved the darkness. Most of the escaped Death Eaters had been caught by then. Surely none would be foolish enough to travel so close to the castle with its grounds full.

The Hog's Head was almost empty when she pushed the heavy door open. It had never been a very popular pub, but the usual shady patrons had been avoiding the area since the battle. Aberforth spotted her immediately. A bright smile lit up his face and he waved her over to the bar. She was only inches from the open seat he was pointing to when she realized the wizard seated at the bar was none other than the newest Minister for Magic himself.

Kingsley spun around at her approach. His hand was full of a glass that was undoubtedly a fire whiskey. When he realized who he was seeing, his entire face lit up with his familiar smile. Hermione felt her cheeks flush at the attention. Both wizards seemed pleased to see her. Kingsley reached across the space between them to kiss her cheek in greeting.

"Good evening, Minister."

She hadn't heard his loud, booming laughter in a very long time. Maybe since the last time they were all gathered at Grimmauld Place during the war. It was a sound she had not even realized she missed.

" _Kingsley_ , Hermione," he corrected. "Anyone who fought Voldemort and the Death Eaters with me on the back of a thestral can bugger off with the fancy titles."

"Aren't you too important now to drink with the masses?" she teased.

"I'm enjoying the company just fine, thank you. My darling, you are now more famous than I am and Aberforth is practically family."

Aberforth laughed and poured Hermione a generous glass of fire whiskey. She was nervous about the drink. Her only experience with it was a horrible night during the horcrux hunt when Ron stumbled upon Sirius' hidden stash. She sipped at the glass, enjoying the laughter between the two wizards.

"You _wish_ you could be a member of the illustrious Dumbledore family," Aberforth replied.

"Yes, Ab, I do. Every single damned day."

Kingsley turned to smile at Hermione. She felt her stomach swoop at the gesture. Had he always been that attractive? _Not that it matters, Granger._ She was fairly certain that his affections were situated elsewhere. His statement sounded strange to her ears. Was he trying to admit to being in love with a Dumbledore? _Maybe he and the Professor were closer than any of us realized._

"I was madly in love with Ab's daughter," Kingsley clarified. "Desperate to marry her. I think I was pretty close to getting her to agree before she, well…"

His smile was still across his devastatingly handsome face, but it didn't reach his tear-filled eyes. Hermione was surprised by his admission. She had always assumed…

"Oh," she replied without thinking about her tone.

"What?" Kingsley asks.

She could feel her cheeks burning in embarrassment again. Should she just come right out and admit what she had been thinking?

"I'm sorry. It's nothing."

"Out with it, Hermione."

She was mortified. Kingsley's impish grin meant that he wasn't going to simply drop the subject. Finally, she just decided to come right out and say what she was thinking.

"I always assumed you were gay."

It was spoken in an extremely soft whisper, but both men heard. Aberforth and Kingsley made eye contact before bursting out in boisterous laughter. Both men were wiping the tears away from their eyes when they finally had enough control to stop.

"I'm sorry," Hermione added. "I just couldn't ever figure out why I'd never seen you with a witch before. It wasn't too far of a stretch to assume the gorgeous, unattached wizard wasn't interested in women."

"You have always been a natty dresser, Kings," laughed Aberforth.

Hermione didn't miss the heat suddenly present in Kingsley's eyes. She was certain he had never looked at her so intensely before. It made her uncomfortable in a manner that wasn't wholly unpleasant.

"You think I'm gorgeous?"

Kingsley winked. Hermione rolled her eyes. He began chuckling again at her response.

"You know you are, Kingsley. Stop fishing for compliments when I've already given you one."

Aberforth's laughter brought another smile to Hermione's face. She loved the sound. Kingsley simply stared at her with another wistful expression that made her uncomfortable yet again. What had changed between them since the war's end? They used to be able to sit across from each other at the table in the Black kitchen with a cup of tea and talk for hours about any number of topics. Not once did he ever look at her the way he was looking at her in that moment. She cleared her throat.

"So was it love at first sight?" she asked.

Both men burst out in another round of laughter.

"Absolutely not!" answered Aberforth. "What did she call you, son?"

"An arrogant berk who showed promise of one day being handsome if some exasperated witch didn't hex my face out of sheer frustration," Kingsley answered, the wistful expression back on his countenance.

"That's a lot to remember," Hermione said.

"She was unforgettable."

Kingsley downed the rest of his whiskey in a single swallow. Hermione felt a sharp pang of guilt at bringing up what was obviously a painful past. She excused herself to visit the loo to give him the chance to not have a practical stranger watch him in his moment of pain. Though they had known each other for years and even fought side by side in battle, she realized she knew very little about the man. The realization of her ignorance made her a bit sad.

Several minutes later she prepared herself for reentering the main room of the pub. In her absence all of the other patrons left. It was growing late after all. She was about to step out of the corridor into the main room when she heard the two men arguing in hushed tones. Despite knowing that eavesdropping was wrong, she couldn't help herself. Something instinctually kept from her stepping out of the darkness.

"It has to be tonight, Ab," Kingsley insisted. "If it's not, we risk ruining the whole timeline."

"I'm not sure about this. What if it doesn't work?"

"It will work! I've had the Unspeakables working on nothing else for weeks. Don't you want your daughter back?"

"Of course I do!"

"Then we have to act tonight."

Hermione couldn't make any sense of what they were saying. How could the Unspeakables bring back Aberforth's daughter? No one was certain what had even happened to her. It made her stomach twist and clench with the concern that both men were likely grasping at straws. Aberforth's daughter was most likely dead and most likely had been for many, many years. She cleared her throat loudly before stepping out of the corridor. Both men instantly stopped talking. Aberforth looked worried. Kingsley looked determined.

When she approached the bar, Kingsley rose to his feet. At a couple of inches taller than six feet, he easily towered over her much smaller frame. He held a thick envelope in his hand.

"Hermione, would you be kind enough to take this envelope up to the castle when you return?"

She accepted the envelope. Once it was safely stowed in her front pocket she smiled and agreed. Kingsley leaned down to kiss her cheek once more.

"I very much look forward to seeing you again soon, Little Witch."

Kingsley nodded silently in Aberforth's direction before stepping out into the cool night air. Hermione felt it was getting too late to stay much longer. The epic row she was anticipating with Ron couldn't be put off indefinitely. When she suggested to Aberforth that she follow Kingsley's lead and head back, he stopped her.

"May I show you something in the back?" he asked.

She willingly followed the man back into the room she had only been in once. Memories of the night of the final battle were thick in the space. She glanced up to the frame hanging above the fireplace that had once been a hidden entrance to the castle. Ariana's portrait smiled at the visitor and waved. Hermione easily returned the gesture. She stood uneasily in the private sanctum of Aberforth's private quarters. He was quietly cursing to himself as he dug through a messy drawer.

Finally, he pulled a leather bound album from its hiding place. Gesturing towards the single sofa in the room, he sat next to Hermione. She understood within moments that he was holding a valued photo album. His quick flips through the pages passed by revealed only glimpses of photos from his past. Once or twice she thought she recognized Albus or Ariana, but those were not the photos he was interested in. A bright grin spread across his face when the album was opened in the center.

"You might be interested in seeing this."

Aberforth held open the album to a large photograph containing a familiar face. A younger Kingsley, aged only about twenty or twenty-one at most, was staring at the girl in the photograph with a besotted expression of content on his striking features. Apparently he had always been gorgeous. Hermione hardly thought that was fair. The woman in the photo had her back to the camera for the first few moments of the loop. Her thick, brown, curly hair seemed awfully familiar to Hermione, but she certainly didn't think too much on that fact. Lots of people had curly hair.

When she rotated in place to face the camera, Hermione gasped. Aberforth hadn't been joking when he said that she reminded him of his daughter. It was too easy to see the resemblance. The smiling witch in the photograph could have been Hermione's twin. They looked exactly alike. Hermione felt as if this was a glimpse of what she would look like when she was a few years older.

"Please forgive me, lass."

Aberforth's whispered apology startled Hermione enough that the leather album fell from her hands to crash on the floor. What could he possibly have done to need her clemency? Not a single word escaped her lips before he threw a heavy chain around her head. She felt the weight of a pendant land on her chest before the room began to spin with a frightening speed. Blurry images and muffled sounds exploded around the room. She tried to stand from the sofa, afraid she was going to be ill. Her feet seemed to be unable to hold her body weight up any longer.

Moments after she stood, she crashed to the ground hitting her head on the way down. The images continued to spin around her with a frightening rapidity until she lost complete consciousness.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

June 18, 1971

 ** _11:54 pm_**

An army of tiny elves beating pots and pans together in her head woke Hermione up from the peace of unconsciousness. Or at least that seemed to be the only excuse she could figure out to explain her pounding headache. The average human head weighs about eleven pounds, but she was absolutely certain her head must be thrice that heavy at least. She carefully opened her heavy eyelids to reacquaint herself with her surroundings.

Except she was positive she had never been inside that room before. The walls were covered in dark paneling, smoke stains littered the ceiling. While the mattress she was lying on wasn't terribly comfortable, the warm, handmade quilt covering her brought back happy memories of weekends spent with her Grannie Granger. A lingering mixture of odd smells that seemed almost to be a combination of fire whiskey and feta assaulted her nose. She couldn't remember how she ended up in the strange, but cozy bedroom. Fears of the unknown encouraged her to attempt to sit up. Warm hands gently pushed her back down before she made any hint of progress.

"Careful there, lass. You really struck your head. Best not to move too much just yet."

She was able to turn her cumbersome head slightly just enough to take in the form of Aberforth Dumbledore seated on the edge of her bed. Something about him seemed odd, however. Seemed _off_. Hermione blinked her eyes multiple times to cut back on the wooziness she was experiencing and to attempt to bring him into focus. He seemed different from their earlier walk by the lake and from her visit to his pub. It required several more determined blinks before she realized his beard was less full than it had been and more black than gray. How was it possible that the lines around his twinkling eyes seemed less deep? Had he taken some kind of youth regenerating potion she was unaware of? He looked almost thirty years younger than he had earlier in the evening.

A more realistic explanation for why he appeared different was simply that Hermione was finally losing her mind. Long considered her finest asset, she had always been afraid that one day her sanity and logic would simply begin to slip through her fingers like sand. Perhaps all of the strain and stress she'd been under the past few years made her worse nightmare a frightening reality.

"What happened, Mr. Dumbledore?"

She was afraid of his answer.

"I was hoping you might be able to enlighten me. What do you remember last?"

Hermione struggled to remember all of the details. The pain coursing through her head was making all coherent thought damn near impossible. Bits and pieces of the time spent in the main room of the Hog's Head slowly began to piece themselves together. She remembered moving to the private area of the building after the Minister left.

"We were sitting in the room with Ariana's portrait and you were showing me a photo album. You asked me to forgive you before you put a chain over my head."

She was astonished that the more she revealed, the clearer the details became. Maybe she wasn't losing her mind after all.

"What happened when the chain was placed around your neck?"

"The room began to spin and I fell."

Hermione noticed the wizard seated on the edge of the unfamiliar bed appeared conflicted. Once she gave her limited details of the truly bizarre evening she had just experienced, Aberforth dropped his eyes to his hands. There was something in those calloused hands that captured his attention. A few tense minutes passed before he held up one of his hands to allow a gold chain to slip between his long fingers. She gasped when the object dangling at the end of the ornate and most likely costly chain came into focus.

"Is that a time turner?" she asked in a whisper.

Aberforth sighed, his eyes trained on the old bits and bobs swinging back and forth.

"Appears to be. Never seen one up close before. Read about them in a book once. You ever used one before, lass?"

He held the time turner out to hold. She was more than just a little bit nervous about holding another one in her hand. The moment she made the decision to turn hers back over to Professor McGonagall at the end of her third year, she swore to herself she would never touch one again. Too much messing about with time was dangerous. While she was still grateful for the opportunity to save an innocent man from the Dementor's Kiss, she didn't care for the power that handling such a powerful relic could provide. Time should be treated with more respect than that.

She carefully examined the intricate time turner in her hand. While it was similar to her old one in many ways, the sand within its glass was a completely different color. Minuscule purple grains twinkled in the shadowy light of the fire. Whatever their properties were, it was obvious that the difference in the color must be at least part of the reason why she was able to move back in time years, instead of hours. Her mind was still grappling with the fact that she had moved through time at all. Aberforth's drastic change in appearance was startling. Around the edge of the turner was an inscription. In the dim light it was impossible to read it clearly. Hermione removed her wand from her pocket to cast a weak 'lumos'.

"'Till a' the seas gang dry'."

"Robert Burns," Aberforth explained. "The Scottish poet."

Hermione tried to remember everything she knew about Muggle poetry. She had very little knowledge to her great disappointment. There had always been much more fascinating subjects and topics to explore once she learned she was a witch. With her limited knowledge about Aberforth Dumbledore as well, she was quite surprised to learn that he _was_ familiar with Muggle poets. Her countenance must have given away her incredulity. Aberforth chuckled.

"I may not seem the type, lass, but I _do_ read," he said, his low chuckle making her smile. "And you don't live in Scotland for almost eighty years without learning who the Bard of Ayrshire was. Peculiar line to engrave."

"Why? What does it mean?"

Hermione was not one to turn down an opportunity to learn when it was freely offered. Not even when she was in a strange room with a practical stranger unaware of even what _year_ she was in.

"One of his most famous love poems. 'And I will luve thee still, my dear / Till a' the seas gang dry'."

Hermione couldn't understand why anyone would take the time to inscribe a time turner with lines from an old poem. She ran her fingers over the inscription as if touch would make it all clear. Aberforth's earlier question about whether or not she had ever used a time turner still hung in the air. Hermione wasn't sure if she should answer or not about her use during school. Before she was allowed its use, she was required to make a promise she would never tell anyone, but Professor Dumbledore was dead and Harry and Professor McGonagall already knew. She couldn't really see the harm if one more person knew about her past.

"Yes, sir. I used one in my third year at Hogwarts to help me take extra classes."

Aberforth was angry at her confession, but he took strides to remain as calm as possible. Only the clenching of his jaw proved he was upset.

"You mean my brother allowed a child to use a dangerous magical artifact like this so you could attend _extra classes_?"

Hermione could only nod her head in the affirmative. She did not have anything else to add. It _had_ been a poor decision on the Headmaster's part. A great deal could have gone wrong if it had fallen into anyone else's hands.

"You don't look like a third year. How old are you? Still in school?"

"I will be nineteen in September, but I never had my seventh year because of the war."

As soon as the words tumbled out of her mouth, she wished she could pull them back. She realized too late that perhaps she shouldn't have mentioned the war. It was not safe for her to reveal too much about the future. Aberforth rolled his eyes.

"You think I'm daft, lass? I can sense a war coming. You're not telling me anything I don't already know. Is it a bloody, long one?"

"Yes, sir. Both."

"Of course it is. That's what happened when a couple of muckety muck wizards think they knew better than the rest of us common folk. I don't even have to ask. This has the stink of my brother all over it."

Hermione was unsure of what to say. In her third year she read every single book about time travel that she could get her hands on. There, unfortunately, weren't that many. Some theorized that time was linear, others that time was a loop. A few offered the theory of alternate realities that only served to make Hermione's head hurt. But one thing they all agreed on was that it was unwise and possibly detrimental to reveal too much about the future. Irrevocable changes could be made if a time traveler was not cautious.

She was also surprised that Aberforth seemed to be taking her word that she had travelled back in time with his older counterpart's assistance. She would have imagined he would have been harder to convince. After all, it's likely not every day that an unconscious teenage girl shows up in your parlor claiming to be from the future.

"Did you have an accident with that _thing_? Fall or something hit it?'

Hermione shook her head.

"No, sir. It's not even mine. _You_ were the one who put it around my neck. I mean, not _you_ , but older you."

Aberforth removed an envelope from his pocket. It had already been opened. He put a pair of glasses on that made him look even more like a raven haired facsimile of his older brother to read a thick letter.

" _Why_ would you have done that, sir?" Hermione asked, still bewildered by the events.

Aberforth groaned at her question before peering over the top of his glasses.

"First, quit calling me 'sir' like I'm some bleeding professor. You want one of those, you go up the path to the castle and find my brother. Second, I wouldn't know why I did, err, _will do_ something in the future, now will I?"

A sudden influx of emotion made Hermione's tired eyes fill up with burning tears. She was so lost as to what she should do. Never before had she been as frightened as she was of the unknown. Not wishing her host to think her some weak, swoon-prone female, she attempted to hide her tears. Aberforth was not fooled. He conjured a clean handkerchief for her and gently pat her hand.

"There, there, child. We'll get this all sorted out. 1971 hasn't been the worst of years. I imagine it's similar to…" He peered closer at the parchment. "…1998."

Hermione's stomach lurched and breathing became much more difficult. She could not believe that the time turner took her back in time twenty-seven years! She did not even understand how that was even possible. Her old time turner could not go back any further than five hours. Maybe the difference in the sand color was what determined how far back she could travel. Memories of the day that had come to be known as the Battle of the Department of Mysteries popped into her mind. The never-ending loop of the time turners falling effectively made the entire stock of time turners in the Ministry completely useless. Maybe one of those time turners had been capable of moving back in time more than just a few hours. Could someone within the Department of Mysteries have figured out a way to end the endless loop? There were so many questions that seemed to have no answers.

"What are you reading?" she asked, curious what had the wizard's attention.

"There was a letter addressed to me in your pocket. Thought you were a messenger at first, but couldn't understand how you ended up passed out in my parlor. I would've remembered serving a young woman like you too much alcohol in the main room. Found the letter when I was looking for some identification."

"This is all so bizarre. How do you even trust it? I'm not sure I trust my own sanity at this point."

"It was sealed to be opened only by me. It's a spell I created in school. No one else could have known it. Also, old codger me put in some bits of trivia that no one else would believe. Even put in here a description of how I spent my evening earlier and I know _no one_ else could know could know that."

Hermione's curiosity was piqued.

"What were you doing earlier?"

His cheeks flushed.

"Never you mind! The envelope also had a weightless and undetectable extension charm on it. Found a fancy pensieve inside and a few memories that were or _will be_ mine."

All of that was inside the single envelope she had in her pocket? Kingsley had given it to her to take up to the castle. He must have known that she would never make it out of the pub that night. Both of the wizards were in on the conspiracy. She began to feel a bubble of anger towards the Minister simmer inside her. How dare he take it upon himself to force such a drastic change to her life? And forcing Aberforth to take part? She knew that Kingsley had access to what would be needed to undertake such a complicated endeavor. There was no telling what kinds of magical artifacts and knowledge the Minister for Magic could access.

Hermione just could not understand _why_ he would plan with Aberforth to send her back in time twenty-seven years. Was she supposed to change something? The war was over where they lived. The threat of Voldemort was once and forever gone. What could they possibly gain by having her thrown out of her own lifetime? She had more questions than answers. In that moment all she wanted to do was return to the future and give the Minister a piece of her mind. She was not a pawn to be moved about the chess board at his leisure. Kingsley would have a great deal of explaining to do when she got home. _If_ she ever got home.

"Do you know how I can get back?"

Aberforth seemed reluctant to answer her seemingly simple question. Hermione was nervous that that must mean she was doomed to remain stuck in the past forever. By the time she returned to her normal time, she would already be forty-eight years old! She would be almost forty when her other self began Hogwarts. Assuming of course that she could exist in the same timeline as her baby self. Would she disappear on September 19, 1979 when her mother gave birth? There were so many unknowns her head was hurting even more just contemplating them. Despite her efforts to hide her tears, they continued to slide down her cheeks.

"Letter says that you disappear at Christmastime in 1980, but no one knows what happened to you," Aberforth explained, looking for some information he could give that might calm her down.

Of course that was the worst possible news she could have received. No one knew what happened to her? How could she just disappear? Hermione couldn't breathe. Not only was she going to be stuck in the past for _nine_ years, but she wasn't even sure what was going to happen to her. The very real possibility that she was going to die in the past made her stomach churn. History was full of disappearances in 1980. Apparently she was doomed to be just another one. No one knew what happened to so many during the height of the first war. Even Aberforth's own daughter disappeared without a trace.

She wondered why Kingsley even bothered to send her in the past. The Minister for Magic was obviously the leader behind this horrible plan. Maybe he thought Hermione could find his lost love. She hoped there was more of an explanation in the letter Aberforth wrote himself. There had to be some kind of plan. Kingsley would not have forced the younger Dumbledore brother to do something so dangerous without a valid reason.

"What else does the letter say?"

Aberforth was reluctant once again to answer. Albus wasn't the only Dumbledore with a penchant for keeping secrets.

"I've told myself to keep all of the contents of this letter private. I shouldn't have told you that part about your disappearance."

"Do you explain how I can get back to my own time?"

"No, I'm afraid I don't know. All I know is you are to keep the time turner with you at all times. You must keep it out of the hands of anyone who would use it for the wrong purpose. Keep it with you, lass, at all times. Show it to no one."

He was fairly empathetic in his instructions to keep the time turner secret. Hermione thought it unnecessary. She had already had a similar conversation with Professor McGonagall years earlier.

"Is there an explanation in the letter as to _why_ the Minister made you send me back in time?" Hermione asked. Before Aberforth had a chance to answer, she continued. "Kingsley told me that he was in love with your daughter, Mr. Dumbledore. Maybe this has something to do with her."

Aberforth's brow furrowed at her theory.

"Afraid that doesn't make any sense. I _do_ have a daughter. She's about your age. Her mum just died a year ago. Sought my girl out. Hoped she might want to come home with me. I'd already missed so much of her life. She doesn't want anything to do with me and has no plans to ever come to Britain. She's off running around some magical rainforest."

If Aberforth's daughter had no intention of ever returning, how was it possible that Kingsley fell in love with her? Hermione didn't understand. There had to be a reason she was sent back. Every single thought that passed through her mind only served to intensify her pounding headache. She was growing weary. Her head wound was making staying awake harder.

"What should I do while I'm stuck here?"

"Maybe we should go up to the castle and get my brother's opinion on this situation."

Hermione no longer trusted Albus Dumbledore. Years earlier she would have claimed that she trusted the Headmaster implicitly. Certain events and long kept secrets that had recently came to light following the end of the war called her former blind trust in the wizard into question. After finding out how manipulative and devious the man could be, she knew that he was the last person she would ever want to trust with her secret. She could not forgive him for knowingly protecting Harry just so he could die at the right time. He was responsible for giving her best friend a terrible childhood at the hands of abusive and neglectful relatives. She knew that if Dumbledore was aware that she was from the future and knew about key events in the upcoming war, he would use whatever calculating skills he possessed to make her knowledge _his_ knowledge. She refused to allow him to use her for the Greater Good.

"Absolutely not!" she exclaimed, startling Aberforth by her vehemence. "We will _not_ get Albus Dumbledore involved in this. He cannot know anything about the future. He can't be relied upon."

* * *

June 18, 1998

 ** _11:00 pm_**

Kingsley paced outside the front of the Hog's Head for several minutes. Walking away from Hermione in that moment had been one of the hardest decisions he had ever had to make. He knew that he was responsible for making sure that she somehow made her way into the past. He'd known that he was going to have to do that for years, since one of the first times he ever saw her fifteen year old self in Grimmauld Place. _That_ had been an experience he would never forget.

He could feel his blood pressure rising to an unhealthy level. At forty-four years old he was still considered a young wizard, but he was determined that his new position behind a desk wouldn't make him go soft. Years as an auror meant that he was in peak physical condition. Only periods of great stress caused the Shacklebolt family history of high blood pressure to make itself known in the youngest member. He was questioning his decision to send the love of his life back in time. Maybe it hadn't been necessary. He saw the way she was looking at him when they were seated at the bar. _Maybe_ the eighteen year old Hermione would have been interested in him.

"Except you're an old man compared to her," he muttered to the cool night air. "She has her whole life ahead of her. Why would she want you?"

Kingsley stared down at his watch. If Aberforth kept to the plan, she would be disappearing before his very eyes at any moment. Assuming, of course, that the old man didn't lose his nerve. They had been arguing about this night for weeks. The night after the end of the Battle for Hogwarts Kingsley got absolutely pissed at the Hog's Head. He should have set a better example as the Interim Minister for Magic, but in that moment, he did not care about his image. Voldemort had been a threat for most of his life. He was the reason that Hermione disappeared only days before he had planned to propose. His grandmother's ring had been burning a hole in his pocket for months while he waited for the right moment. If he had known that she would never show up for their Christmas Eve date, he would've asked sooner.

Aberforth dragged him into Hermione's old bedroom to sleep off his bender. When he finally woke up over twelve hours later, he made the decision to send her back in time. He'd already stolen the time turner. Just simply hadn't had the courage to use it. If he didn't send her back, they wouldn't have met before the reforming of the Order of the Phoenix. He had been unwilling to give her up.

They sat over a hot omelet made with entirely too much goat cheese to discuss the plan he'd come up with. Aberforth had never divulged the details of _how_ she was sent back to 1971, but Kingsley could not imagine any other way it could have been possible without the assistance of the Unspeakables.

Every Unspeakable in the Department of Mysteries had been required to take an Unbreakable Oath that they would not divulge the time travel research they were undertaking. They were all breaking countless laws to even contemplate sending an unsuspecting witch back in time almost three decades. Aberforth had been a difficult sell. They'd argued for hours before he finally agreed to take part. But only after he'd punched the newest Minister in the face _twice_.

At ten minutes after eleven he pushed open the front door to the pub. Directing his steps straight towards the back parlor, he spent the few moments taking repeated deep breaths. Aberforth was seated on the sofa flipping through a leather album. Kingsley could tell he was upset by his red eyes and trembling hands.

"Is she gone?"

"Yes, she's gone."

Aberforth threw the album across the room. It smashed into the fireplace mantle, startling Ariana. He rose to his full, intimidating height to glare at the younger wizard.

"I cannot believe I let you talk me into doing something so foolish, son! This is madness. How do we even know the damned thing works?"

Kingsley retrieved the discarded album off the floor. He opened it to the page with a photograph of Hermione taken at her cousin's wedding. She was dressed in a deep blue dress and was laughing at something she was looking at off-camera. Kingsley remembered that night like it had just happened the day before. They had their first dance. He had almost kissed her for the first time too. They were alone behind one of the ornate topiary sculptures in the Lestrange Estate's formal gardens. His lifelong hatred for Dolohov only intensified that night when he appeared out of nowhere to ruin the moment. He ran his fingers over the photo before closing the album shut.

"I know it works because this morning I snuck into the Ministry of Magic's London office in the early hours of June 18, 1971."

Aberforth's eyes widened at Kingsley's confession. The Minister simply shrugged his shoulders.

"Looks like we've been using the same security badges for at least the last thirty years. We should really look into updating our security protocol."

"Why were you there?"

"You didn't actually think I would allow my Little Witch to use the blasted time turner without making sure it works first, did you? I got into the Ministry, did what I needed to do and made certain the modifications our Unspeakables made would allow for forward time travel. Obviously I was successful."

He didn't want to admit that the entire experience had been utterly terrifying. Every second that passed he had been certain the experiment had been a failure. Once he landed in the past he promptly threw up all over the alley behind the Ministry employee entrance. The return trip had been even worse.

"What were you doing in the Ministry?" inquired Aberforth, still not satisfied with Kingsley's previous answer.

"Broke into the Hall of Records. Performed a few spells. The Lestrange family tapestry should have updated the moment Hermione arrived."

"You did what?"

"I charmed a few records to make her the legal daughter of Aberforth Dumbledore and Roesia Lestrange."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

June 19, 1971

 **12:17 am**

Aberforth's unblinking stare after hearing his own brother couldn't be trusted caused Hermione to squirm uncomfortably in the lumpy bed she was convalescing in. While she knew that the relationship between the two Dumbledores had always been rocky, especially after their younger sister's untimely death, she was certain that for an outsider to say something so blunt could be construed as nothing less than an insult. Family pride ran deep in most people.

"Why do you not trust him, lass?"

The calm steady tone he employed gradually put Hermione at ease. At least he did not appear eager to attack her physically or with a nasty hex for the sake of family honor. She forced a deep breath to calm her nerves even further. Aberforth seemed in no rush to force the answer. His familiar blue eyes twinkled at her in an almost soothing manner. The Headmaster had never made her feel as comfortable in his presence before. After a minute or so deciding how she was going to finally answer his deceptively simple question, Hermione sighed.

"Everyone who passes Albus Dumbledore's path is in danger of becoming another pawn on his massive living chessboard. In my personal experience with the wizard, there seems to be nothing he is unwilling to do for the 'Greater Good'," she explained, keeping her eyes focused on the quilt covering her legs. "I have seen him use guilt and a sense of misplaced loyalty to bind a man to him for half his life, denying him all joy and love in the process, only to abandon him at the worst possible moment when he appeared to no longer be necessary. The man _died_ because of him. Died alone because all of his friends abandoned him and Albus manipulated his childhood love into an unhealthy, sad obsession."

Harry had been honest with Hermione about the memories he had seen in the pensieve in the midst of the final battle. While he guarded Severus Snape's private memories with an impenetrable shield, he described them in great detail to a captive audience of two when it was confirmed that Voldemort was finally dead. Hermione and Kingsley followed him to the privacy of the surprisingly untouched Headmaster's Office to hear the details of Professor Snape's sad tale. When he finished, Hermione burst into tears. A combination of her exhaustion following the heated battle, her grief at so many lost and her anger at what her potions professor had been forced to endure was overwhelming.

She would never forget how Kingsley's strong arms wrapped around her shaking frame to pull her against his chest. There had been no hesitation on his part. He acted as if it had been his right, his duty to comfort the sobbing witch. Hermione allowed him to comfort her with soothing words and soft touches because something about the wizard always made her feel safe and protected. She needed that in those depressing moments. Just like the night they moved Harry to the Burrow. Kingsley made her feel protected in the chaos of curses flying by their heads. When their thestral landed in the back garden of his Secret-Kept home just outside of London, he'd embraced her then too to calm her. She'd developed the tiniest hint of a crush on him that night despite believing him to be uninterested in the wiles of women.

Hermione shook her head to dislodge all thoughts of the youngest Minister for Magic in three centuries. It was no use even thinking about him in that moment. She was certain that once she gave him more than a moment's thought, she would become very angry with the man and his blatant manipulations. He was no better than Dumbledore using her as a means to find his lost girlfriend in the past. Despicable really.

"And worst of all," she continued to get her mind off of Kingsley. "He kept my best friend alive simply so he could die at the right time."

Aberforth's eyes widened at that remark. Hermione knew she shouldn't reveal more of the future but she was still very angry with the Headmaster for all that he had done to Harry over the course of his short, stressful life. Part of her wanted to spit right in the man's eye. She wasn't sure how she would react to seeing him in the past knowing everything she did. It was a problem to consider for another day.

"I will not tell you everything I know, but it's enough for you to know that my friend played a pivotal role in the war. He was kept in ignorance about the existence of magic until he was eleven years old. Professor Dumbledore kept him in the dark to be raised by his horrible Muggle relatives. He was abused, neglected, made to feel unloved and unworthy. When he arrived at Hogwarts not even understanding how famous he was, he clung to the first positive attention he'd ever received from an adult. The Headmaster became his hero, his idol. Your brother exploited my friend's desire to love and be loved in return for his own means. I may never forgive him for that."

She wiped angrily at the salty tears sliding down her cheeks. In many ways she felt like Harry's overprotective older sister. If there was ever a way she could change the course of history to protect him from the pain and suffering he seemed destined to experience, she would do it. Perhaps Kingsley's interference could prove beneficial.

"If I ever had a doubt whether you actually knew my brother or not, you just confirmed you are telling the truth," replied Aberforth as he conjured another clean handkerchief for her use. "He's always been eager to order others about when he believes it will benefit the 'Greater Good'."

Aberforth practically spat out the hated slogan. A period of awkward silence fell between the two for yet another time that evening. Neither seemed sure of what to say next. While they were both in agreement that Albus Dumbledore left a lot to be desired in terms of a trusting confidant, they each felt a twinge of guilt at actually expressing their opinions aloud. They were both from a time in history when the Headmaster was all but revered by the vast majority of the wizarding society. To be against the man who seemed to embody the desires of everyone else around them made them both feel a bit odd. Hermione wondered if there had ever been a single person in Aberforth's life that had taken his side over his more charismatic brother. That thought alone was encouraging to the girl.

"It's late and you hit your head pretty hard. Try to get some sleep. We can talk more in a few hours."

Hermione made to argue with the wizard, but he held a hand up as if anticipating exactly what she was going to say next.

"One thing I have learned in my eighty-seven years on this planet is that your problems will always be waiting for you the next morning," he said, smirking and twinkling his eyes at the witch. "We can discuss this after we've both had some sleep."

Aberforth rose from the edge of her bed to prevent any further discussion. Hermione watched the wizard cross the expanse of the tiny bedroom to the door leading out into the rest of the pub. As soon as the door closed shut behind him, she allowed herself the opportunity to completely fall apart in privacy. The high intensity emotions that had been raging through her exhausted body since waking up in 1971 had taken their toll. Given complete privacy for the first time, she broke down in as quiet of sobs as she could manage. When several minutes had passed and she no longer felt like she could squeeze out a single tear if necessary, Hermione fell deep asleep in the cozy, little room.

 **9:05 am**

The mouthwatering aroma of hot breakfast being cooked woke Hermione up long after the sun had risen. She couldn't remember the last time she had allowed her body to remain in bed so long. She also couldn't remember the last time she woke up to the smell of frying bacon and fresh coffee. Certainly before the war began in earnest. A memory of her mum cooking eggs while her father read the newspaper at the kitchen table on the day that she obliviated them both popped into her mind. Ordinarily she had difficulty even thinking about the two virtual strangers living on the other side of the world, but somehow being so far removed from them in time and space made it easier to imagine they were not real. Compartmentalizing her emotions, Hermione took a deep breath and kicked the quilt off.

She was grateful that the year on the run from Lord Voldemort and his Death Eater minions put her into the habit of always carrying around her beaded bag with the undetectable extension charm. Everything that she could possibly imagine needing (with the exception of adequate food and enough money) was always ready for her in her front pocket. Aberforth had only removed her shoes before he placed her unconscious form in the bed. She changed into some less rumpled clothing and used an aguamenti to aid in brushing her teeth. Just because her dentist parents were still studying at university unaware that in a few years they would have a daughter didn't mean that she should slack on her dental hygiene.

The bedroom she passed the night in was in the back of the pub just off of the parlor. She knew there were a few guest rooms upstairs, but for whatever reason, Aberforth placed her in the family section of the pub. Perhaps it was easiest because it was closest. She allowed her nose to lead her steps to the small kitchen. Aberforth was just finishing the last touches to a full English breakfast. Her stomach growled, anxious for sustenance.

"Good morning, Mr. Dumbledore," she greeted.

Aberforth snorted over the skillet.

"No need to be so formal, lass. I certainly don't expect it."

"Do you need any help?"

He smiled and waved her off towards the table. They sat down at a small plank table to begin their meal. Several minutes passed in silence as neither was quite sure how to begin the conversation they never finished the night before. Finally Hermione could not stand the silence any longer.

"What should I do now that I'm here?" she blurted out.

Aberforth wiped at the corner of his mouth with a napkin as he considered how he could respond.

"Can you turn the time turner forward?" he asked. "I didn't want to try last night just in case it worked."

Hermione reached into her jumper to pull the time turner out. She had taken Aberforth's advice to heart. She had every intention of keeping the object with her at all times. A quick examination provided no additional answers than she had the night before. It looked deceptively like her last time turner. Assuming that it worked the same way, she spun it twenty-seven times, holding her breath the entire time. Nothing happened.

"Do you think it was broken during the journey?" she asked, willing the tears that were forming in the corners of her eyes away.

"Perhaps it must simply rest for a time to recharge," Aberforth suggested.

Hermione had to concede that he might be right. While that was not a feature of the one she used in her third year, she did not go back nearly so far in time. Years must have taken a lot out of the magical core of the turner. She tried to hide her disappointment. It seemed that she would be stuck in 1971 for a bit longer.

"You will stay here," Aberforth declared. "Obviously as the person responsible for sending you back in time I have a responsibility to you."

"Won't it be strange to everyone that you suddenly have a young woman living alone with you?"

Aberforth's ringing laughter filled the corners of the cozy kitchen. Much like the night before when she was listening to him laugh with Kingsley, Hermione found that she loved the sound. It brought a bright smile to her own face to hear his mirth.

"It seems you have more faith in my ability to cause a scandal than I do. Everyone will simply assume you are a relative of mine," he answered, wiping his blue eyes with his napkin.

"A cousin?" Hermione suggested.

The wizard cleared his throat at her proposition. Without responding, he rose from the table to begin clearing off the dirty dishes. Hermione made to rise, but with another gesture of his hand, she remained seated. When his back was facing her as she stood at the large sink, he spoke again.

"I have a suggestion, but I'm not sure you will like it, lass."

Hermione was intrigued. She had a sneaking suspicion of what he was going to propose, though she couldn't imagine it would actually work.

"I have an almost nineteen year daughter that has never been to Britain. You are almost nineteen and no one has ever seen you before."

It was becoming clearer what he was going to say. Hermione was unsure how to respond. She dropped her eyes to the table and began to squirm in her chair.

"You actually favor my daughter's mother a bit. She was small too. Same color hair, though not as curly. Simply wavy. And your eyes are very similar to my mother's. You have her complexion as well. I don't believe anyone would question it if you wanted to pretend to be my daughter."

"I don't know. What about your brother? Wouldn't he be suspicious of me?"

The last thing she wanted to do was bring any undue attention to herself. Especially where Albus was concerned. While his idea definitely had merit, she was uncertain about the logistics of such an act. Aberforth snorted at her last question. The corners of Hermione's mouth curled up at the sound. At least they had that unattractive act in common.

"Al would be suspicious of you even if he'd watched you be born _and_ conceived. Anything that has to do with me makes him wary."

"He can't ever know the truth. If he knew I come from the future and know things he doesn't yet, he won't rest until he can exploit me somehow."

Aberforth returned to his seat at the table. He reached into the pocket of his shirt to pull out a folded piece of parchment from his pocket. After staring at it for a few seconds, he handed it over to the young witch. Hermione carefully unfolded the parchment. It was apparent that it was old. Only moments after unfolding it she realized she was staring at a magical birth certificate.

"I don't know how it's possible or where I got this, but it looks like you've already been made mine, Hermione."

 _Hermione Roesia Ariana Kendra Dumbledore – Born September 19, 1952 to Aberforth Burdock Giffard Stewart Dumbledore and Roesia Hesper Isobel Lestrange_

She gasped as she read her new identity on the old parchment. Her surprise was over in seconds. She rolled her eyes and groaned quietly. Kingsley was obviously responsible for the forged birth certificate. There was only one way to procure a document of that caliber. One had to register their child's birth at the Ministry of Magic London offices in the Hall of Records. He would have been the only person she could be certain of that would have both the power and the motivation to commit what she knew to be a serious crime of forgery.

"Probably sent some Unspeakable back in time to test the time turner and forge some documents," she muttered to herself. "Couldn't dirty his own hands."

"What's that?"

"Your accomplice, the Minister for Magic. Turning into quite the copy of your elder brother. I'm just another piece on _his_ chessboard now."

An odd expression shadowed Aberforth's features at her words. It was obvious he had his own definite opinions on what was happening, but chose not to elaborate on them in that moment. Hermione was curious.

"All right, _Dad_ …" She said causing Aberforth to laugh again at the ludicrousness. "Guess we can go forward with this charade for now. I'm still expecting your actual daughter to show up and expose the truth."

"Won't happen. She and I did not part on good terms the one and only time we met. Dumbledores are rubbish at family, my girl."

A large clock hanging on the wall chimed. Aberforth cut his eyes to the time and groaned.

"Hogsmeade weekend. Last one of the year. Those little buggers should be leaving the castle soon."

Hermione found his opinion of the students strange. She never remembered any students coming to the Hog's Head on Hogsmeade visits except for the first Dumbledore's Army meeting. There were usually a dozen other places the students would rather visit than the dingy old pub with questionable clientele. Professor Flitwick's warning to always bring her own glass certainly turned Hermione away from the idea of a repeat visit until she was specifically invited by the proprietor the day before. She asked if he usually got a lot of students in. Maybe a lot had changed in almost thirty years.

"A fair share at the end. Usually have a big group of seventh years come in to mark the end of their exams. A lot of sixths come too. Younger students stick to the Three Broomsticks.'

"Do you need any help?"

Aberforth's eyes widened at the suggestion. Hermione felt nervous that he was going to reject the offer. She couldn't help but be curious about the world she had been sent to. Interacting with students from the school might even be fun. Surely there would be some she recognized from meeting as adults.

"I do not wish to impose," he responded. "But an extra pair of hands would be nice. Maybe you will even get to meet some of your future classmates."

Hermione laughed at the silly notion. As if she would remain in 1971 long enough to attend Hogwarts! She had every intention of returning to her own time as soon as possible. It wouldn't take _that_ long to recharge the time turner she was certain. A niggling thought in the back of her mind about the one snippet of information that Aberforth allowed to slip out the night before kept tugging at her consciousness. The letter said that she would be in the past until almost 1981. She would disappear around Christmastime in 1980. She couldn't bear to imagine what the effects of remaining over nine years in the past would be.

"You could go for your last year if you wanted. Take your exams," Aberforth suggested. "You don't have to decide immediately, of course."

"I promise to think about it."

 **1:20 pm**

The first of the Hogwarts students to cross the threshold of the Hog's Head that afternoon were a boisterous group of Slytherin boys. Or at least she assumed they were all Slytherin based on the patches on several of their robes. Hermione resisted the urge to roll her eyes at the haughty young wizards strolling in as if they owned the place. Apparently some aspects of the world would never change no matter how much time passed.

"First round is on Malfoy!" laughed a tall, almost unnaturally thin boy with brown hair.

Hermione's eyes snapped up at the sound of the familiar surname. Sure enough her eyes landed immediately on a seventeen year old Lucius Malfoy smirking at his companions. She almost laughed out loud when she realized how strikingly like his son he was at that age. Draco used to strut. Or he _would_ strut. She shook her head. Time travel was bloody confusing at times.

"This lot's not going to be satisfied with anything but fire whiskey," Aberforth whispered. "Most of them are of age, but I don't fancy what my brother would do to me if I sent a group of his students back to the castle pissed."

In her years as a Hogwarts prefect Hermione had stumbled upon many intoxicated students stumbling through the castle. It was a serious offence to be caught drinking alcohol on school premises, but Aberforth was absolutely right. Even if they were legally allowed to drink the vile substance, they would still be in serious trouble if they went back to the castle stinking drunk.

"Go into the kitchen for me, lass. There's a trap door right in front of the back door. Can't miss it. At the bottom of the ladder there's a case clearly labeled 'Smoke Whiskey'. Bring back four bottles. Tastes just like fire whiskey. It's charmed to make them think they are drunk but will wear off very quickly once they leave."

She laughed at the subterfuge. No doubt the idiot boys would believe they were inhaling some premium whiskey. Before any of the new arrivals could place their order with the barkeep, Hermione slipped back into the private section of the pub. A ring on the floor clearly marked where the trapdoor was located. It was heavy to lift on her own. A simple levitating spell lifted it up. She carefully descended the ladder to the storeroom.

The Hog's Head was nothing if not well-stocked. She found cases upon cases of Fire Whiskey, Butterbeer and a number of other liquors she was unfamiliar with. The thought of how different the parties in the Gryffindor Common Room could have been if the secret entrance to the castle ended in Aberforth's cellar instead of Honeyduke's made her laugh. Fred and George would not have been able to resist nicking half of his inventory given the chance. Finding the box of fake fire whiskey was as simple as Aberforth claimed it was. She tucked two bottles under her arms and carefully climbed the ladder with the other two held in her hand.

When she arrived back at the bar with the smoke whiskey, the newest patrons actually cheered. Aberforth rolled his eyes before taking a bottle from her hands. Hermione placed the remaining bottles on a low shelf behind the bar trying hard to ignore the interested glances that were suddenly shot her way. Young men, Muggle and Wizards alike, are always fascinated by a new female crossing their path. The nine or ten Hogwarts students gathered around three large tables hastily pushed together were no exception.

The tall, thin boy eager to force Lucius Malfoy to pay for the drinks stalked up to the bar. With amused snickers following his every step, the wizard leaned against the bar right in front of Hermione. She tried to keep her eyes lowered on the glasses she was cleaning. Aberforth really could benefit from a thorough scrubbing of every surface in the pub, she'd decided. Maybe she could help him make his business less filthy.

"I've never seen you in here before," the boy said, attempting to use what he must have assumed was a seductive tone. Hermione fought the urge to laugh at his expense. "Did you just start working here?"

Hermione lifted her eyes to look at him closer. He wasn't a bad looking fellow. Perhaps a bit too thin for her tastes. She tended to be attracted to the more muscular body types. It was not a coincidence that the last three people she had any kind of romantic relationship with (even if it was just snogging and unwelcome groping under the mistletoe) were all Quidditch players. He seemed familiar, as if she had seen him somewhere. It was, of course, very likely that she had. His brown hair was not very different from the shade of her own hair and he had lovely waves that she coveted. There was a spark of mischief behind his cool, blue eyes.

"Yes, I've just started helping out," she answered.

An impish smirk crossed the wizard's face. He reached a hand across the bar to lightly touch her forearm. Hermione almost dropped the glass she was cleaning. Aberforth cleared his throat loudly a few feet away causing the boy to suddenly become quite nervous and remove his hand. He chuckled a moment later in an attempt to make it seem like he wasn't bothered by the proprietor's attention. His mates all laughed at the scene unfolding in front of them.

"What's your name, love?"

"Hermione."

He smiled broadly at her response.

"Unusual name for an _unusual_ girl."

Hermione snorted at his remark. Oh, he was just dreadful! She wondered if he had any experience at all in chatting up girls. Probably not. She assumed that one of the other boys at the table put him up to it.

"What's your name?" she asked, curious to know if she knew this man as an adult.

"Rabastan Lestrange, sweetheart."

Aberforth and Hermione both laughed out loud at the realization that the boy was attempting to flirt with a girl who was essentially his own cousin. Rabastan didn't seem deterred by the laughter. Hermione's only personal experience with the cretin was the day of the Department of Mysteries battle. His attempt to cast the Killing Curse on her was thwarted by her best friend physically attacking him. She hoped after that day that she would never have to face the man again. He had been a fixture of some of her worst nightmares. Somehow seeing him as an awkward teenager made him much less frightening.

"An unusual name for an _unusual_ boy," she replied, laughing again at his wink. "Can I get you something to drink?"

"Round of fire whiskies."

"Go back to your table. We'll bring them to you," ordered Aberforth.

Hermione laughed again as the dejected Rabastan returned to his table. Her eyes met a pair of dark brown eyes at the end of the table. An intense looking wizard with dark brown hair was staring at her without blinking. She felt her stomach churn. Even at seventeen years old she knew who he was. His was a face she would never forget.

"Hey, Dolohov, you've got the next round. You owe us from last time," Lucius announced.

She resisted the urge to run out of the room in terror. Her breathing slowed and her heart rate increased. Aberforth moved closer.

"You all right, lass?"

His quiet, concerned tone reminded her of her surroundings. Hermione felt her long, disgusting scar on her torso itch as the wizard who was responsible for giving it to her kept his focus trained exclusively on her. She broke the uncomfortable eye contact to smile up at her fake father.

"I'm all right. Just thought I saw a ghost."

Aberforth didn't ask for details. They both had their secrets. It would not benefit either of them to reveal too much.

* * *

June 18, 1998

 **11:15 pm**

"I always wondered who it was that was responsible for the birth certificate," Aberforth declared. "Seemed too perfect."

Kingsley moved a few steps to lower his tired muscles into the empty armchair. It had been the longest day of his life, even if he didn't consider the fact that he travelled back in time twenty-seven years before breakfast. The stress and strain of the day finally coming when he had to send Hermione back to the past was taking its toll. He would not be surprised if he slept over twelve hours that night. Before he could hope to rest, there was a conversation he still needed to have with Aberforth.

"Hermione never told you about my part in all of this?" Kingsley asked, surprised that at some point she hadn't spilled the secret.

"No, she never did," he replied. "At least not intentionally. I asked her not to. I didn't want to know. She mentioned your name a time or two in the beginning, but it took me years to place you, son. By that point it no longer mattered. She was my girl, plain and simple."

Aberforth used his wand to summon a bottle of fire whiskey and a couple of glasses. If ever there were two men alive who needed a stiff drink, they were those men. Kingsley gratefully accepted the glass. They sipped their drinks in silence for several minutes.

"What do we do now?" inquired Aberforth.

"We wait for her to return."

"And pray that she does."


	4. Chapter 4

_Author's Note: All right, because I love all of you and cannot leave this story alone, here's a bonus chapter. See what your amazing reviews encourage me to do?_

 _Now I_ _must_ _go and work on Parolee and His Princess. I left it on such a cruel cliffhanger that I need to leave this story alone for now._

 _Thanks again for all of your wonderful reviews! They are a real encouragement to get my creative juices flowing._

Chapter Four

June 19, 1971

 **1:35 pm**

Aberforth finished filling up all ten of the glasses ordered by the Hogwarts students. Hermione reached for her wand to levitate the tray out in front of her. She didn't trust herself to carry all of those drinks without spilling. She would need a great deal of practice first. With the tray floating in air, Hermione only made it one step before a gentle arm on her arm stopped her forward progression.

"I can take those out to them if you would prefer," Aberforth suggested, concern apparent on his face. He did not like the strong reaction she had earlier when she made eye contact with the Dolohov boy.

"I'm all right," she attempted to reassure him with a smile. "How do you expect me to live in a pub if I don't get used to dealing with annoying customers?"

He had to concede the point to her. Hermione took a deep breath that did not go unnoticed by her new father before stepping out from behind the bar. All eyes were on her as she crossed the expanse of the bare main room. She purposefully started as far away from Antonin Dolohov as possible.

"Thanks, _Hermione_ ," Rabastan said with another inept wink as she set his drink in front of him.

"You're welcome."

With the exception of Lucius Malfoy and Antonin Dolohov, she only recognized Rabastan because he introduced himself. Every other young wizard seated at the tables was a complete stranger to her. Malfoy sneered at her in much the same manner that his son would in years to come. She had to bite back a caustic remark and a laugh. Draco obviously had no hope for becoming anything other than what he did with a father like that. When her tray only had two glasses remaining and her steps were bringing her within inches of another Death Eater that had haunted her worst nightmares since she was sixteen, Hermione could feel the wand in her hand begin to tremble. The glasses on the tray were shaking, threatening to spill.

"Oh, watch it. Careful there, love."

The wizard seated to the left of Dolohov reached out to grab the last two drinks off of the floating tray. After thrusting the other to his friend at the end of the table, he turned his attention to Hermione.

"We none of us bite," he promised with a much more effective wink than Lestrange's. "Not unless you ask us to of course."

He was a devastatingly handsome wizard with rich caramel colored skin and the most beautiful chestnut eyes she had ever seen. Hermione thought it unfair that even at seventeen or eighteen years old there were those who likely had never gone through a single awkward stage in their lives. Whoever this young man was most certainly had always been beautiful. She both loathed him and wanted to run her hand through his tight, black curls. He seemed familiar to her, like someone she had known before.

"Thomas Shacklebolt," the young Adonis said, stretching his hand out towards hers. "But you, love, can call me whatever you want."

She hated that she could not control the unattractive snort that came stumbling out of her mouth. It was really a bad habit that she should learn to prevent. Thomas simply winked at her again. In the corner of her eye she could see Dolohov rolling his eyes dramatically as he sipped his drink.

"Shacklebolt?"

Hermione was surprised by his surname. He didn't look anything at all like Kingsley. Was he a cousin? In her albeit limited experience within the wizarding world she had only ever met one Shacklebolt before. She knew they were a well-respected family as a member of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, but she knew next to nothing else about them. Would Kingsley have mentioned a relative? She mentally chastised herself. Up until less than twenty-four hours earlier she had assumed the man was a homosexual and in love with Albus Dumbledore. Obviously she didn't know the first thing about the Minister.

"Has my reputation preceded me?" Thomas teased before a dark shadow fell over his face. "Or has my little brother already crossed your path and given you a bad impression of all Shacklebolts? Because I can assure you Kingsley and I are very different."

"No, it's just an unusual name," she stated quickly.

Several derisive snorts sounded up and down the table. Thomas simply smiled.

"Miss _Whoever-You-Are_ ," Lucius began, the haughty tone so much like his son's. "The Shacklebolts are a proud, Pureblood family that can trace their blood purity back hundreds of years. If you have never heard their name before, I think it is safe to assume your lineage _less desirable_."

She half-expected him to call her a filthy, little Mudblood. Tears unwittingly began to form in the corners of her eyes. Despite having faced the same kind of prejudice for many years in her own time, it still hurt to be so blatantly discriminated against. Before she had a chance to even respond to the hateful words, Aberforth grabbed Malfoy by his collar and ripped him out of his chair. Everyone stood up abruptly around the table, prepared to fight or flee.

"You will speak with a civil tongue in your head when you are addressing my daughter, Malfoy!"

Lucius attempted to sputter a half-hearted apology. Aberforth gripped his collar tighter and lowered his face closer to the red-faced teenager.

"If you so much as look in her direction with a sneer on your pretty face, I will gladly throw you out of this pub with my bare hands. Do I make myself understood?"

The terrified wizard nodded his head. Aberforth released him roughly to fall back into the table. Lucius clutched at his collar, his cheeks still red with embarrassment.

"My father will hear about this," he muttered.

"Yes, please feel free to inform Abraxas of your unforgivable behavior," Aberforth retorted as he made his way back behind the bar. "He and I have an old score to settle. I would love the opportunity."

Hermione was even more embarrassed after that display. She started to move away from the table but a gentle hand on her arm stopped her. Thomas gave her a half-smile.

"I'm so sorry, Miss Dumbledore," he whispered. "Please don't run away just yet. You haven't even told us your first name."

"Hermione," she whispered.

"Beautiful," Thomas replied with another heartbreaking smile. "And this is my mate Antonin Dolohov."

The wizard who would one day scar her body horribly and almost kill her reached across the table to shake her hand. As soon as they touched Hermione felt her gut squirm. She released his hand as soon as possible, trying unsuccessfully to avoid his eyes.

"We're the only two Ravenclaws here," Thomas continued. He pointed to the rest of the table with his thumb. "The Slytherins let us hang out with them because our good looks attract all of the pretty witches."

Hermione laughed at his cheeky remark causing the tension to break. Thomas took a moment to introduce her to everyone else seated at the table. In addition to the ones she already knew, there was Augustus Rookwood, Walden Macnair, Felix Travers, Ludo Bagman and Maxwell Bole. Several of the names were uncomfortably familiar. She was surprised that they were all sixth years instead of the seventh years she expected them to be. If she chose to go back to Hogwarts in September like Aberforth encouraged her to do, she would be in the same year as all of them.

"Where did you go to school, Miss Dumbledore?" Dolohov asked.

She was shocked to hear his voice. In the two times she had been around him she had only heard him speak a few words before she silenced him with a spell. It was deep and he had the tiniest hint of an accent. She was heard that English was his second language. Russian was spoken in the Dolohov home. Hermione was so focused on the sound of his voice that she took a few moments to realize what he had asked her.

"My mum taught me at home," she lied. "We travelled a lot. All over the world."

"What is your mum's name?" Rabastan asked, his eyes narrowed.

His question was asked so quietly that Thomas spoke right over him with another one. Hermione wasn't quite ready to admit that she was Rabastan's supposedly long lost cousin. It would be humiliating for both of them to admit following his inept attempt to chat her up at the bar. She chose to ignore Rabastan's question to focus on Thomas.

"Did you take your NEWTs?" queried Thomas like a good Ravenclaw.

"No, my mum died last year," she answered. "I haven't had the chance. I _might_ be able to take them next year. My father is trying to convince me to transfer to Hogwarts."

Thomas' face lit up at the news. Even Dolohov seemed interested by her statement.

"You should listen to your father, Hermione," Thomas said. "Your education is very important. I've known Ab my whole life. He knows what's best."

Hermione took a moment to just stare at the young Ravenclaw with the perfect teeth and the winning smile. Something about him seemed very familiar, but she couldn't quite put her finger on what it was. She was quite certain she had never met Kingsley's older brother in the future. So why did she feel like she had seen him before?

"I don't mind you staring at me, darling," pestered Thomas. "But I think you are making the others jealous."

His wink set her laughing again. Dolohov narrowed his eyes at his friend following the statement. Rookwood chuckled and Macnair sneered.

"I'm sorry," she answered. "You just remind me of someone and I was trying to figure out who it was."

"An old boyfriend?"

"No," she laughed.

"Your _current_ boyfriend?"

Thomas raised a single eyebrow during his questioning. Hermione bit back another laugh. More than one of the listeners at the table seemed interested in her response. In the corner of her eye she could see Dolohov listening with rapt attention.

"No, no boyfriend." She could feel her cheeks burn with embarrassment.

"Pity," Thomas replied. "We will all have to see what we can do to remedy that tragic situation. Won't we, Antonin?"

She made her excuses to head back behind the bar. Several more rounds were consumed by the sixth years, but each time they were delivered by Aberforth. Hermione waited on some of the other patrons who trickled in throughout the rest of the afternoon instead. Every single time she moved past the table with the sixth year boys she felt at least one pair of eyes follow her every move. She didn't even have to look up to tell which one it was either. When Dolohov finally stood with the other boys to head up to the castle for the yearly Leaving Feast, she was relieved. Even more so when he nodded in her direction silently before exiting out the front door.

"It was a pleasure to meet you, Hermione," Thomas said before he left. "I'm sure I will see you around the village. My family spends the summer in Hogsmeade when the Wizengamot is out of session. Unfortunately that means you will probably be forced to meet my younger brother at some point."

Hermione couldn't help but be curious about the young Kingsley. Why was his older brother so embarrassed by him? She would have assumed that the boy who would later become a respected auror and the Minister for Magic would be a parent's dream. When she was still in Hogwarts she remembered reading his name on a plaque as the Head Boy during his seventh year.

"Thanks for your help this afternoon," Aberforth said as the main room cleared out.

High Street was filled with students headed back to the castle in high spirits. Hermione envied them their innocence and their good mood. She couldn't remember the last time she walked through the village of Hogsmeade without a care in the world but who she would sit next to at dinner that night. The threat of Voldemort had hung over every single year she spent in school. Maybe a seventh year in the past would be a delightful change of pace. The first wizarding war would not begin in earnest for another few years. She might actually be able to be a normal teenager for once.

"You look a bit peaky, child," he commented after taking a long look at her. "Perhaps you should lie down for a couple of hours. This afternoon was stressful for you."

She agreed. Spending four hours in the same room with boys she knew would grow up to be vicious killers intent on ending her life and the lives of her loved ones took a great deal out of her. Especially when one of them could not seem to stop staring. It had been unnerving. Hermione kicked off her shoes in the privacy of her new bedroom. She lay under the quilt for a few minutes imagining how much better the room would look with a fresh coat of paint and a thorough scrubbing. Sleep claimed her a short time later.

 **8:47 pm**

A three and a half hour nap was a decadence that Hermione rarely allowed herself. While she was at Hogwarts there had always been about a dozen or so tasks she needed to complete instead of lazing away an afternoon. During the summer break at her parents' home she would have been chastised severely by her parents for wasting so much time in idleness. Or she would have been immediately declared sick and medicine crammed down her throat.

She stretched lazily across her bed in a similar manner to a sated feline in the sun. Her body was still physically exhausted from her unexpected travels the day before. Trying to calculate how long it would take her body to adjust to a change in twenty-seven years as if she was jet-lagged made her injured head hurt even more than it already did. It might take days of rest before she felt like herself again.

Raised voices just outside the door to her bedroom startled Hermione enough to rise from the bed. She couldn't understand what was being said, but she wasn't about to leave Aberforth alone to deal with an angry, intoxicated patron. Grabbing her wand and leaving her shoes, Hermione pulled open the door to a sight she would never forget.

Aberforth had his wand pointed in the neck of a noticeably angry Albus Dumbledore. The wand Hermione knew to be the fabled Elder Wand was pointed in Aberforth's neck. Both brothers had murder shining in their eyes. Whatever they were arguing about was intense and likely to end with someone in pain. With their attentions solely focused on their brother, Hermione was able to easily disarm both wizards. She wondered what Harry would say to finding out how easy it had been to take the unbeatable wand from his mentor when he was distracted by his younger brother. The thought would have made her laugh if she wasn't moments later faced with two intensely livid and powerful wizards glaring in her direction.

It was an experience she hoped to never experience again. Aberforth calmed slightly when they made eye contact, but Professor Dumbledore's twinkling blue eyes had never looked so cold. She knew disarming them had been a rash move, but she was determined to stand by her impulsive act. Neither one of the men would appreciate a sudden weakening of her position. They were both men who valued courage and bravery. Typical Gryffindors. Knowing she was faced with one of the best Legilimens in existence, Hermione cleared her mind as best she could using the exercises she learned in one of the several Occlumency books she read in the library's Restricted Section. Professor Snape had been willing to write her a pass to the section in hopes that she might be able to teach something valuable to her friend and he wouldn't have to.

"Good evening, Uncle Albus," she greeted, struggling to keep her voice calm and steady. "I'm sorry that we weren't expecting you this evening. I would have made an effort to greet you sooner."

She had a part that she had to play. Just like in one of those dreadful plays her mother loved to drag her to on Sunday afternoons. Remaining tranquil and showing no fear was imperative if she wanted to keep Albus Dumbledore off her scent.

"Good evening, child," the Headmaster replied. He too was struggling to remain peaceful. Only his clenched jaw gave away his irritation. "I dropped by unannounced."

"Lass, will you give us back our wands?" Aberforth asked, not even bothering to hide his vexation.

"May I have both of your assurances that they will remain in your pockets and _not_ pointed at each other again this evening?"

In some ways she felt like she was scolding Ron and Harry all over again. Despite having a great deal of respect for Professor Dumbledore and rapidly experiencing the same for his younger brother, they were behaving like children. Her years as prefect and her experience wrangling the adolescent boys in the Gryffindor Common Room came in handy. With her hands on her hips, she stared down each of the men until they both agreed with a tense nod of their heads. Both wands were returned to their rightful owners moments later.

"Uncle Albus, may I offer you some tea?" she asked, leading him by the arm to the sofa. Aberforth followed behind to sit in his armchair with an exasperated huff. "Or perhaps something stronger?"

"Bring us some fire whiskey, please," Aberforth answered for his older brother. "I get the feeling _tea_ won't suffice this evening."

She narrowed her eyes at both men before she headed into the other room.

"Can I trust you two to remain civil while I'm gone?"

Two reluctantly nodding heads encouraged her to leave them alone for a few moments. Once out in the main room of the now closed pub she let out a nervous giggle. It had been more fun than she imagined disarming and then lecturing both of the older wizards. Grabbing a fresh bottle (because Godric knew how long _this_ discussion was going to last) and three clean glasses, she crossed to the parlor. Just before she pushed the partially open door all the way, she paused to listen to the conversation that had begun in her absence. Yes, yes, she was well aware that eavesdropping was bad manners. Her mum had hammered that into her brain at a young age. She did not care in that moment. Her curiosity was greater than her desire to proper.

"She certainly reminds me of Mum," Albus declared, a hint of amusement clear in his tone.

Aberforth snorted.

"Yes, she does me too," he admitted. "I feel right and properly chastised. Feel six years old again when we got caught using Dad's wand."

The brothers shared a quiet chuckle at his admission. Hermione felt the corners of her mouth curl up in a small smile. Maybe they weren't hopeless after all.

"She looks a little like Mum too. In the eyes. But I also see a bit of Roesia in her as well. She was always a beautiful woman."

Hermione was surprised that the professor was able to see features in her that she did not believe she possessed. Either Aberforth had been correct that she just coincidentally resembled her fake mother and her fake grandmother or people would see what they wanted to see in her. She thought strongly that it was the latter. Knowing that anything else she would hear while she was outside the door would be unfair to the speakers, Hermione pushed open the door. Albus immediately rose from his seat to assist her with their drinks.

"Thank you," she said, sitting on the edge of the sofa the furthest away from her uncle. The fire whiskey in her hand still made her nervous, but if ever there was an opportunity to learn to drink the revolting substance, that was it. "I hope I didn't interrupt anything serious earlier."

Both men cleared their throats. Hermione struggled to suppress a smile. Did she really make them feel like they were children again? She'd returned their wands.

"My younger brother and I were having a discussion that perhaps should have been had with calmer heads," Albus admitted.

"I see."

"I was simply surprised this evening at the Leaving Feast when one of our prefects from Ravenclaw House admitted to me that he had just spent a pleasant afternoon in the Hog's Head where he met my _niece_ ," he continued, his eyes cutting over to his brother. "As you can imagine, I was flabbergasted by Mr. Shacklebolt's announcement. While I have certainly heard _rumors_ about a niece, I had no idea that one was staying in the village."

An uneasy tension fell over the room at his remark. Aberforth appeared in no hurry to explain himself. Hermione was unsure what all she _could_ say.

"There's not much to say, Al," Aberforth replied. "After Roesia died last year, I went to Sri Lanka to find Hermione. We had a lovely visit and I was able to persuade her to come to Britain when she had tied up all the loose ends there. She arrived last night rather unexpectedly…"

Hermione quietly giggled at his statement. 'Rather unexpectedly' was not a strong enough phrase to describe what had happened to her the evening before. Remembering that she needed to make certain that Albus did not grow even more suspicious of her than he already was, she focused her attention on sipping her glass of fire whiskey.

"… and there simply has not been time to inform her family members that she arrived. I would have sent a note to you, but I assumed with the end of the year approaching, you would be busy."

"I take it Regnault has also not been informed of Hermione's 'rather unexpected' arrival."

"No, not yet, but I wouldn't be surprised if his youngest wasn't sending him an owl this evening. He seemed to put the pieces together when she was revealed to be my daughter. He tried to unsuccessfully chat up his cousin this afternoon before he knew."

Aberforth caught Hermione's eye across the parlor and they both chortled. The poor boy was likely to be mortified when it all came to light that he had been hitting on his cousin. Even in Pureblood society where the intermarriage amongst families was beginning to strike a dangerous level, flirting with one's first cousin was not acceptable behavior. Except maybe for the Blacks.

"I imagine Regnault will storm in here in quite the same manner you did, brother. I will expect to see him sometime tomorrow."

"Well, Hermione," Albus said, turning his full attention to her. "What are your plans now that you are here?"

Hermione spluttered on her fire whiskey. Taking a moment to allow the burn in her throat to subside, she cleared her throat before answering.

"I haven't yet decided," she answered. "Dad would like me to apply to finish my last year at Hogwarts, but I'm not sure. I wasn't able to take my final exams last year after… well, I'm not sure yet what I'm going to do."

"I agree with Ab," Albus replied. "You should finish your education as soon as possible. And you are in luck. As it happens, I happen to be very close to the Headmaster. I'm certain your application for transfer would be accepted."

His smiled brightly in her direction. Hermione returned the gesture. It seemed more and more likely that she would end up back in Hogwarts. While she would not give up on the hope that she could get her time turner working soon, she honestly could not think of a better way to spend her time waiting. Returning to the safety of the castle sounded heavenly. Books and exams and rolls of parchment covered in tiny, cramped handwriting might be just what she needed.

"Thank you, Uncle Albus. I will certainly consider the offer."

"Please come by the castle any time for a proper tour. I will be in and out of London for a time, but our gamekeeper Hagrid would be delighted to show you around."

Hermione's heart clenched thinking about the half-giant she loved. It would be wonderful to see him again. They had not been able to spend a lot of time catching up since the end of the battle. He had been working just as hard as she had been to restore the castle he loved. She would be willing to even risk a chipped tooth on one of his inedible rock cakes just to spend an afternoon with him again like old times.

"I would like that very much. I will come by sometime next week to visit with Mr. Hagrid."

"Excellent. I hope that you will consider coming to Hogwarts for your seventh year."

Albus emptied the rest of his drink in a series of large sips. He banished the dirty glass to the kitchen before standing. Hermione and Aberforth both rose when they realized he was preparing to leave.

"It was wonderful to meet you, Hermione. I look forward to getting to know you much better."

He kissed her on her cheek. She worked hard to avoid making direct eye contact with him. Part of her wondered if he would find that behavior odd. Perhaps he would just assume she was a little shy. Hermione made a mental note to herself to try her hardest to perpetuate that belief. No one she had met so far in 1971 would be surprised to find she out she was shy.

"I apologize for bursting in here like I did, Aberforth," Albus began. "And for accusing you of deliberately keeping my niece from me."

"It's all right," Aberforth grumbled. "Have a good evening, Albus."

He led his elder brother to the front door before locking up for the night. Saturday nights were usually a busy night for the pub, but considering they had no guests that night and he really was not in the mood to pour any more drinks for drunks that night, he simply closed up. It was one of the benefits of owning his own business.

"Your other uncle will probably be in here tomorrow," Aberforth declared again when they were once again alone in the parlor. "He _probably_ won't shove his wand in my throat like Albus, but I've been surprised before."

"What is he like?"

Aberforth sighed.

"Absolutely nothing like his younger sister, that's for certain."

They spent the remainder of the evening discussing the intricacies of the Lestrange family in preparation for the expected visit from her fake mother's older brother. Hermione was thankful that she had been such a good student. There was a lot of information to retain if they wanted to keep their secret from being discovered.

"The best thing about that family, lass, is that they are not big on confronting family problems or discussing uncomfortable subjects. If someone asks you a question you don't know the answer to, just redirect them. If you thought communication was poor in the Dumbledore family, just wait until you spend any amount of time with the Lestrange family."

* * *

June 20, 1971

 **9:45 am**

Hermione was furiously scrubbing decades of grime off of one of the tables in the main room when the bell tinkled over the front door indicated the first customer of the day. She dropped her rag to turn her attention to the new arrival. A tall man with dark, wavy brown hair dressed in expensive robes that would not have looked out of place on adult Lucius Malfoy entered with a younger version of himself only steps behind.

"Regnault, I wondered when I would be seeing you," Aberforth called from behind the bar.

"Aberforth, I understand that you are harboring my niece."

* * *

June 18, 1998

 **11:25 pm**

"There's one question I've always had, but never thought to ask, son."

Kingsley turned his full attention back to the man he had always dreamed would one day be his father-in-law. The Dumbledores were an odd family at times, but since he was a child running through the streets of Hogsmeade with his older brother, he'd liked the proprietor of the Hog's Head. When he would come to Scotland to stay with his mother's parents, his Granny always sent him over to the pub to pick up some of Ab's homemade goat cheese. He had been intimidating when he was a little mite. The older he got, however, the more he enjoyed the company of the eccentric wizard.

"Why did the time turner not work the next morning?"

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat before answering.

"I placed an unbreakable stasis charm on the time turner," he explained. "It could go backwards in time, but it could not go forwards in time until the charm wore off."

"And you charmed it not to wear off for nine years?" Aberforth raised a single eyebrow.

Kingsley cleared his throat.

"Yes, it wasn't charmed to wear off until December 1980. I didn't want her to get back in the past and immediately use the turner to come back to 1998. I wanted her stuck back there long enough for…

"Long enough for her to fall in love with you."

It was selfish. Incredibly so. Kingsley tried to justify his actions by saying he was also trying to bring Aberforth's daughter back to him, but the truth was he would have done it a hundred times over even if Aberforth was not involved. They laughed when Hermione asked earlier in the evening if it had been love at first sight. It most certainly hadn't been for her, but he would never forget the moment he stepped into the Hog's Head that summer to see the witch his older brother had described. _She_ might not have fallen in love immediately, but _he_ certainly had.

"Yes."

"I should be angry at you for your self-interest, but I find I'm just as selfish. I want my girl back too. When should we expect her to return?"

"The time turner can only move forward years at a time. If she uses it properly when she disappeared back in 1980, meaning she turns it eighteen times, she should arrive just around Christmastime."

"And if she messes up with her spins?"

Kingsley pulled the box out of his pocket that he used to carry around with him at all times waiting for the perfect moment. Opening up the tiny velvet box, he stared at his Grandmother Shacklebolt's engagement ring. The goblin-made piece was charmed to never tarnish. It looked just as new as it did the day his grandfather slipped it on his fiancée's finger.

"Then our Christmas Eve date will be postponed again."


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

June 20, 1971

 **9:45 am**

Hermione's first impression of Regnault Lestrange was that he cut an imposing figure. At an inch or two over six feet tall he was taller than most of the wizards she had come across in her time and in the past. His robust frame was still firm and strong for a man of an age when most of his contemporaries were already beginning to give in to flabby bellies. In his early sixties, her uncle was still quite handsome with his wavy dark brown hair and light blue eyes. She was convinced that if he plastered a bright smile across the lips just above his strong jaw, he would be irresistible to women half his age.

He appeared to be the kind of man who took great pride in his appearance. His robes were lavishly expensive, perfectly pressed and exquisitely tailored to fit his body flawlessly. The skin on his face was kept clean shaven. His boots likely cost more than the entirety of the pub they were standing in. The young man in his early to mid-twenties only steps behind him was an almost exact copy. If Rodolphus had not smiled warmly at his newfound cousin within moments of arriving, Hermione would have assumed he was just as stern as his father.

Regnault's long strides brought him to stand in front of his niece in seconds. Hermione felt nervous and a bit shy under his intense gaze. Remembering that she had not been Sorted into Gryffindor for nothing, she lifted her eyes to meet his. Almost immediately his features softened. A hint of a smile reached the corner of his mouth. The head of the Lestrange family lifted a hand to reach out and touch her curls. He has hesitant at first. When she didn't move away like a startled animal, he carefully cupped her cheek with his palm. His hand was much warmer than she expected.

"I can see your mother in you, child," he all but whispered.

Hermione had to force herself not to cry at the display. It was all quite sad. The severe wizard's eyes were filled with unshed tears that she was certain mirrored her own. She wished she did not have to lie to so many people about her identity. Regnault assumed he was seeing a part of his estranged late sister because he _wanted_ to see it in Hermione.

"I am your mother's older brother Regnault Lestrange," he declared, reluctantly dropping his hand from her face. "This is my eldest son Rodolphus. I understand you are acquainted with my younger son Rabastan."

"Yes, sir," she replied.

She accepted Rodolphus' outstretched hand to shake. In his prime, he was much more attractive than any of the photographs released of him in her time. Obviously marriage to Bellatrix Black and a long-term stay in Azkaban greatly diminished his looks. She was nervous around both of the men. While she was not familiar in the slightest with the older wizard's history, she most certainly knew the younger. He would one day soon become the husband of one of the worst of Lord Voldemort's Death Eaters. It was safe to assume that he would be almost as bad as his wife.

"How long have you been in the country?" asked Regnault.

"I arrived late Friday night," she answered.

"I wish to speak with your father alone for a short time," he declared. "Rodolphus, please escort your cousin on a walk through the village. We will need at least fifteen minutes."

Aberforth rushed towards the Lestranges from behind the bar. For the first time since they entered the pub, he seemed genuinely upset by their presence.

"I don't care who you think you are, Reg, you cannot come into my home and start ordering _my_ daughter about."

The last thing Hermione wanted was another display of violence and anger between her new father and her new uncle. It was apparent that the two wizards had a history of unpleasantness between them. While she was reluctant to step outside of the pub alone with Rodolphus and leave her father alone in his anger, she understood that they needed some time.

"It's all right, Dad," she interjected. "I don't mind at all and I am looking forward to getting to know my cousin."

A broad grin crossed Rodolphus' handsome features at the announcement. Hermione got the impression that the young man was a bit shy. Not at all what she expected. Aberforth unenthusiastically allowed her to step out onto High Street with her older cousin as an escort. Sunday mornings were always slow business days for Hogsmeade. They passed a few stores with neither saying a word. After a few minutes, Hermione finally was the one to break the silence.

"Will our fathers be all right alone? I'd hate to come back to find the pub on fire."

Rodolphus' loud laugh brought a smile to Hermione's face. She was having a hard time imagining him as Bellatrix's husband. There was so much about him that she did not understand and was curious to learn.

"No, they should be fine," Rodolphus assured her. "Father is all bark and bluster. Incapable of actually hurting anyone. Grandfather, on the other hand, would have burned the pub down _before_ he walked in."

"He sounds lovely."

Rodolphus chuckled at her feeble sarcastic remark.

"You lucked out never meeting him, cousin. He was an _awful_ man. I never blamed Auntie Sia for leaving."

Another awkward silence fell between the cousins at his statement. Hermione was intensely curious about her faux mother, but did not feel that it was appropriate asking for more details about her. She wasn't really her mother after all. Her story was private. She decided to ask Rodolphus about himself instead.

"How do you spend your days, Rodolphus?"

"You can call me Rod or even Roddy, if you prefer. Rodolphus is so formal."

"All right."

"Mostly I follow my father around."

She smiled. That sounded like the worst way to spend his time imaginable. Though it was obvious Uncle Regnault had a soft side, she could only envision how terrible it would be to do nothing but follow him around all day.

"Is that an interesting way to fill your days?"

Rodolphus laughed for a few moments before answering. Hermione was surprised to find that she was actually enjoying spending time with the man.

"Not usually," he admitted. "I'm being groomed to take over the family interests. Mostly it means I spend a lot of time sitting in the gallery of the Wizengamot attempting to keep my arse from going numb."

It was her turn to laugh. She liked him immensely. He was nothing like she first expected him to be. A tiny part of her felt guilty for finding something positive in a man that she knew would go on to make horrible life choices that ruined the lives of people she loved.

"Are the chairs uncomfortable?" she asked.

"Like you bloody well wouldn't believe! I've tried every cushioning charm imaginable. Nothing helps. I'm probably going to suffer permanent damage!"

They continued to laugh as they made their way through the quiet main thoroughfare of the village. From an alley a small, white puppy came bouncing towards her companion. Rodolphus' entire face lit up at the sight of the tiny animal. When it was close enough to grab, he plucked it up off the ground.

"Hello there, sweet. Give us a cuddle."

The puppy immediately began licking the wizard's face with reckless abandon. Both parties seemed overjoyed by the attention. Hermione couldn't help but laugh at the display. While she had never really liked dogs, she thought the little puppy he was snuggling was adorable. He held the puppy out to her to allow her to pet it, but she stepped back quickly.

"No, thank you. I'm not much one for dogs."

Rodolphus pulled a face at the announcement. He returned to scratching the puppy and even dropped a kiss on its small head.

"She didn't mean it," he said directly to the animal. "She just doesn't know yet how wonderful dogs are."

"I'm more of a cat person."

He gasped dramatically and covered the puppy's ears.

"Don't say that in front of the puppy. You'll hurt his feelings."

His wink made her break out into another round of laughter. They were both still laughing when a little boy came running up to them. Immediately the puppy began squirming in Rodolphus' arms. He handed the puppy back to his young owner with a smile.

"You'll have to watch that one. He's got a sense of adventure."

Rodolphus pet the dog one final time before they resumed their walk. Hermione could not get over how sweet he had been with the baby animal. Somehow it didn't mesh with the idea she had already built up in her mind about him.

"You really love dogs, don't you?"

He shrugged his shoulder at her question.

"Most animals really," he explained. "Dogs really like me. I think they sense a kindred spirit."

Hermione laughed again.

"Do you long to spend all day napping in front of a fire getting belly rubs and scratches behind your ears?"

Rodolphus smiled.

"Yes, and I love sniffing around and fetching sticks with my mouth."

She laughed loudly enough to disturb one of the village's post owls attempting to nap on its perch in front of the post office. Her cousin went on to explain that he had not been the best of students while at school, but had scored an Outstanding in his favorite class, Care of Magical Creatures. The only other class he did that well in had been Charms.

"Why don't you have a job working with animals then?" she asked, curious why he would choose to follow his father around when his passion obviously resided elsewhere. "Did you want to be a dragon keeper?"

He chuckled at the thought. Hermione thought it a fair question. The only person she had ever known to show any interest at all in Hagrid's subject was Charlie Weasley. She was sure there were other occupations available in the wizarding world to those who showed an aptitude. She just simply weren't aware of any others.

"Dragons are fascinating creatures certainly, but they won't bring you your slippers or cuddle up to you when you are sad."

Hermione understood. She used to love when Crookshanks would snuggle up to her when she was having a rough time. No one was certain what had happened to the bandy legged creature after the Death Eater attack on the Burrow. She hoped that he had simply slipped away to bide his time in the countryside until he was found again. Perhaps he was able to find a nice Muggle family in the village of Ottery St. Catchpole to care for him in her absence. While her thoughts traveled to her half-Kneazle, Rodolphus examined her with an odd expression on his face. It seemed as if he was trying to decide if he should say something. She smiled up at him in encouragement.

"Can I tell you a secret?"

She nodded her head instantly. His openness with her was heartening, if still a bit surprising.

"Last year I bought the Magical Menagerie store in Diagon Alley with some of the money my mother left me," Rodolphus admitted. "Father doesn't know. He says it is beneath a Lestrange to work in trade."

"I would love to see your store sometime."

It was the exact right phrase to say, especially since she was sincere. His entire countenance lit up at the thought.

"You are always welcome. I have a wonderful manager who runs the place for me. I sneak in there as often as I can to help and to play with the animals."

"Sounds like you get to enjoy the fun parts."

They walked a bit further down the street. Neither of them seemed to be in any hurry to return to their bickering fathers. Hermione certainly was enjoying her mid-morning stroll. Rodolphus seemed to be just as curious in what she was like as she was with him. In front of Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop he asked her what her plans were now that she was back in her parents' native country.

"Well, the first order of business is getting my father's inn cleaned," she announced. It had already been a decision she made whether Aberforth liked it or not. They were sitting on a potentially thriving business if someone was willing to just put a little effort in making it a place where the patrons weren't afraid to enter. "It will probably take all summer. Then maybe school."

"Why only maybe?"

She sighed. There was so much she couldn't really say in her answer without admitting she was a traveler from the future. Somehow she got the feeling that despite their obvious camaraderie, Rodolphus would be unable to look past the crazed rantings of a practical stranger.

"Last year I couldn't go to school because… well, because…"

"Your mother's illness?"

"Yes, it was a very, very stressful year. I know I should go back to finish, but I'm not sure I'm ready to just be a normal teenager again. So much happened last year that I worry it would be difficult to slip back into that role of being a student."

It was the complete truth. She had more than once considered how hard it would be for her to move from running for her life across the countryside to going back to her familiar four poster bed in Gryffindor Tower. Would she be able to settle back into her studies knowing that grades and exams were not the most important parts of life? Even if she went back to Hogwarts she could not imagine being the same student she had been before the night Albus Dumbledore was killed on the Astronomy Tower. Wearing herself ragged just to get a few extra inches to an essay that would be discarded as soon as it was marked seemed ridiculous. Would she be able to follow the asinine rules of curfew and boundaries after living rough for a year? Yes, she had been running for her life, but it had been lovely answering to no one. Rodolphus seemed sympathetic.

"I'm only twenty-five, Hermione. Hardly a worldly or experienced man yet, but one thing I've already figured out is you've got your entire life to be an adult. You only have a few years to be a teenager."

His sage words of advice struck a definite chord within Hermione. He was absolutely correct. She would have decades, hopefully, to live a life full of responsibilities and adult-sized problems. If she gave up the opportunity to return to Hogwarts for her final year, would she ever be able to experience the same level of carefree innocence that came with not worrying about her next meal or where she would be during the day? She didn't have to make many decisions as a student. There was a freedom that came with having someone else tell her what to do. Maybe after a year of being expected to care for two other human beings, a year of relatively few responsibilities would be a dream.

"Oh, bloody buggering fucking hell!" Rodolphus muttered.

Hermione snorted at his unexpected outburst. She followed his line of sight to a stern man headed in their direction. Whoever he was Rodolphus was not anxious to see. He was a man in his late thirties, possibly early forties. As he stalked across High Street from the quill shop, Hermione thought he might be an attractive man if he would drop the scowl from his face. She had no clue who he was. His loose black curls and gray eyes seemed relatively familiar, but she was certain she had never seen the angry man before.

"Who is that?" she asked in a whisper.

"My future father-in-law," he groaned.

Cygnus Black did not seem to care that he was interrupting what had been up until moments before a lovely stroll through the village. Hermione thought she could see hints of his eldest daughter and even hints of his grandson Draco in his unfriendly features. When he was close enough to them that he could speak without shouting, he sneered at them both.

"Do you think it wise to flaunt your _assignations_ in the middle of the street?"

Rodolphus was obviously intimidated by the demanding wizard. His blue eyes refused to meet the flashing gray ones belonging to his fiancée's father. Hermione was insulted by the behavior. How dare he approach them in the street, sneer at them both and then imply that they were somehow doing something immoral and inappropriate? They weren't even walking that closely! There was at least three solid feet of space between the cousins.

"Who is the trollop you are betraying my daughter with?" Cygnus demanded.

"Trollop?!"

"I was not speaking to _you_ , witch!"

She was not going to allow the horrible wizard to continue menacing her cousin and abusing her character. With her hands placed firmly on both hips in a stance that usually made those around her fearful, she glared up at the wizard.

"I am his _cousin_ ," she stated, ignoring the tiny sparks of static electricity moving through her hair as her ire increased. "I know in your family cousins are fair game, but not in ours!"

Rodolphus' eyes were wide. He was speechless at his cousin's remark. _No one_ spoke that way to Cygnus Black! The man in question sneered again at the witch as if she was just a pestering fly to swat.

"Does the harridan speak the truth?"

"Yes, sir. This is my cousin Hermione Dumbledore. Hermione, this is Cygnus Black."

Neither was in a rush to greet the other. Certainly there was no handshaking or kisses on the cheeks. Cygnus simply sneered again. Hermione met his sneer with a hate-filled glare.

"Roesia's daughter?"

"Yes, sir."

"Far too much Dumbledore in her to tell. Roesia was always a beauty. Pity for _you_."

The last sentence was spoken directly to Hermione. _Oh, what a horrible man!_ She glared back at him, slightly afraid that her face would permanently stick that way.

"I would recommend you not walk so close together. You may be giving the wrong impression. Good day, Rodolphus. _Miss Dumbledore_."

Cygnus stalked away from them to their immense relief. She made a comment about him being awful without even realizing she had spoken aloud.

"His daughter is even worse," Rodolphus sighed.

"Do you love her?"

He made an odd face at the seemingly innocuous question.

"Merlin, no, but I've been assured that fondness and true affection will follow."

"That's sounds terrible. Why would you marry someone you don't even love?"

Rodolphus laughed.

"You are more like your mother than I realized. She refused to marry Alphard Black. Massive scandal. Probably why Cygnus doesn't like you much. You are a visible reminder that his elder brother was snubbed."

"Arranged marriages sound dreadful."

He sighed again. This was a subject that she was certain he had spent a lot of time dwelling on in the past. Hermione had always assumed that he married Bellatrix because of some all-consuming love that they shared when they were younger. His wife was insane after her years in Azkaban, but perhaps she had been a lovely girl he was able to fall in love with at some point. Knowing that he had no choice in the matter and was likely only contracted to marry the eldest daughter of Cygnus and Druella Black because her pretend mother refused to create an alliance between their families years earlier was a depressing realization. Especially knowing what a horrid, crazy woman Bellatrix Black became, she felt a pang of sadness for the man.

"They can be, but my parents were fond of each other… _eventually_. Be careful my father doesn't try to arrange yours."

Hermione snorted at the thought. No, there would be no arranged marriage for her in the future. Or the _past_. When she married, she would only marry for love. Anything else was antiquated and repulsive.

"I cannot imagine my dad would allow that."

"No, neither can I," Rodolphus laughed. "Father will try to push you towards a suitable husband. Met anyone you like yet?"

"I've only been here two days! Is there a deadline? Has the church been booked for next Wednesday already?"

His easy laughter warmed Hermione's heart. She liked him immensely. Rarely she met someone with whom she felt such an instant connection. It was surprising that he was so open. She knew from her research on Voldemort's Inner Circle that Rodolphus had attended seven years of Hogwarts in Slytherin House. They were not known for their candor and directness. Perhaps he had only been placed in the serpents' house because he was a Lestrange and it was expected of him. Maybe he even asked. If she had known him without knowing what would happen to him, she might have even assumed he would make a good Hufflepuff.

"I only met your brother and some of his mates yesterday," she continued. "They all seemed nice enough except for Malfoy. Dad almost choked him for questioning the purity of my lineage."

"I hate that wizard. He's betrothed to Bella's younger sister. I have the rest of my life to spend dreading him at holidays and family dinners."

Suddenly it occurred to Hermione once again in their conversation that Rodolphus was one of the ones responsible for torturing Neville's parents into madness. Up until that moment she had been able to push that unpleasant piece of knowledge to the back of her mind. She could not ignore it any longer the more he talked about the future he expected to have. Ten years from the moment they were standing in, he and his younger brother, his wife and Barty Crouch, Jr. would torture aurors Frank and Alice Longbottom until their minds snapped. There would be no reason to dread holidays with Lucius Malfoy when he had a future in Azkaban to look forward to. The thought of what happened to Neville's parents coupled with the realization that the sweet, gentle man next to her was part of the horrific attack made her very sad. Rodolphus quickly picked up on her sudden moroseness.

"They weren't _that_ bad, were they? Because you could always wait until you're out of school. I know some older wizards you might like."

She smiled. The mood needed to be lightened. They were getting too serious.

"No, they weren't horrible. Your little brother even tried to chat me up."

"Oh, so we _are_ more like the Blacks than I recognized."

They both laughed at the thought. Realizing that they had been out on the street for longer than twenty minutes and climbing closer to half an hour, Rodolphus directed their steps back towards the pub. The walk was short, but she enjoyed the remainder of it talking to her new cousin about a number of inconsequential topics. She promised him that at some point in the coming weeks she would let him sneak her into his menagerie but only if he bought her a sundae afterword. He was easy to persuade.

Both of their fathers were seated at the same table calmly sipping tea when they entered the front door of the Hog's Head. Hermione made a quick scan of the room with her eyes. Nothing seemed to be broken or out of place. Rodolphus appeared as confused by the scene as she was. They had only just joked about needing to get their wands ready to cast an aguamenti spell to extinguish the flames.

Regnault stood up from his chair the moment they entered. After a friendly handshake between the two men that flabbergasted their children, Lestrange crossed the pub to kiss Hermione on her cheek again.

"I am looking forward to getting to know you better, my dear. Please come over for dinner this week. I will send an owl with more details."

After promising that she would come by for a meal, she hugged Rodolphus goodbye. She was overjoyed to have found a new friend she could talk to in the past. Little by little she was finding the predicament she was in less frightening.

"Did you enjoy your walk?" Aberforth asked when the Lestranges were gone. "You were both gone a long time. We almost worried."

"It was lovely," she answered. "I like Rod a lot. He is _nothing_ like I expected him to be."

"Do you know him in the future?"

"Only by reputation and it's not a good one, I'm afraid."

She did not want to dwell on those distressing details any longer. The future was the future. It would come eventually. Aberforth did not need to be burdened with any additional information about what was to come.

"Rodolphus has always been different than his family. Much more like his aunt."

"I also had the pleasure of meeting Cygnus Black."

Aberforth actually growled at the sound of the man's name. Hermione bit back a laugh at his behavior. They had their distaste for the man in common. When she relayed to him the exact words she told Cygnus about cousins and the Black family, he burst out in boisterous guffaws until tears ran down his cheeks.

"That's my girl!"

* * *

June 18, 1998

 **11:35 pm**

Kingsley continued to stare at the velvet box holding what he hoped would one day be Hermione's ring. The light from the fire made the ostentatious diamond sparkle. He once worried that she would find the piece gauche, but he had grown up since then to learn what a fine ring it actually was. If she decided to be his wife, he would weigh down all of her fingers with massive diamonds to proclaim to the world she belonged to him if she let him.

"You planning on giving that to her when she comes back?" Aberforth asked.

The Minister sighed.

"Maybe not at first, but yes, I still want to marry her."

"Good."

Aberforth rose from his spot on the couch.

"There's likely to be a great deal of excitement in the morning since our girl didn't return to Ginger's tent. Best you stay here in Cupcake's old room. I know you know where it is after the number of times she snuck you in there when she thought I didn't know."

Kingsley chuckled. He tried to tell her over and over again that her father was not as clueless about her nocturnal activities as she chose to believe. Hermione refused to listen and he was not foolish enough to reject her invitations out of fear that her father would catch them. He had been a young amorous man after all.

"I'm just thankful that one or both of you paid attention in school when they taught silencing charms."


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

June 24, 1971

 **12:45 pm**

Hermione had been stuck in the past for five full days by the time a cloudy Thursday afternoon arrived. In that time she had already proven herself to be a nuisance to the wizard who was both keeping her secret and lending his name to her false identity. Part of her wondered how long it would take before Aberforth snapped and threw her out of his pub once and for all. She did not mean to annoy him so much. She was only trying to help.

"My regular customers aren't going to want to come back if it's too clean," Aberforth grumbled.

His 'daughter' rolled her eyes for the tenth or eleventh time so far that day. She did have to admit to herself and only herself, that she had been a bit militant in the clean-up process. Aberforth had been content to allow her to make certain they had suitably hygienic drinking glasses. He was aware that cleaning out the large fireplace would make his pub a more user friendly Floo station to the village. That would only bring in more money as the travelers inevitably stopped for at least a butterbeer following their trip. A fire whiskey if they were particularly green about travelling via Floo. But he was firmly of the opinion that scrubbing the tables and floor was completely unnecessary. No one came in to get a drink because they wanted to stare at the shiny floor after all!

"You are missing out on more business when all you have to do is dust a little," Hermione laughed, amused by the sour expression on the man's bearded face.

Aberforth had been willing to allow her to order new linens for their four upstairs guest rooms from an elderly witch who lived three streets over. He was the first to admit that the rooms did need a bit of sprucing up and it had been several decades since they last had new accoutrements. The loo for the patrons had certainly always seemed adequate to him, but Hermione had some foolish notion that witches were unwilling to linger too long in an establishment where the toilet facilities were less than ideal. More witches in the pub would inevitably lead to more wizards in the pub. It was simple biology and mathematics. What he absolutely could not abide was what she had planned for his girls. That was not to be borne!

"I like Agnes and Gladys, I really do. They are perhaps the sweetest, most docile creatures of their kind I've never known," Hermione admitted in the heat of their argument. "But goats belong _outside_."

"This is why I've been a bachelor all of my life," grumbled Aberforth. "Never had to listen to some _witch_ tell me how to live my life."

In the end, he had relented. Hermione made certain that their pen out behind the pub was the most comfortable goat pen in existence. Putting the girls outside had certainly improved the smell of the pub a bit, but when the young termagant suggested that he actually begin serving _food_ in his establishment to make the inn smell nicer and encourage his customers to remain longer, he put his foot down.

"Absolutely not!"

Hermione could recognize a man at the end of his tether. She was not completely done with her proposed improvements to his business, but she thought this would be a good stopping place for the present. She had no intention of giving up on the idea of The Hog's Head being a clean, welcoming establishment where one could order a cool butterbeer and a steaming bowl of nourishing soup. It was just going to take a bit longer than expected to wear Aberforth down. She had high hopes in her abilities.

"Owl just arrived for you," Aberforth announced as Hermione began the cringe-inducing task of cleaning fifty years of grime off of the front windows.

She happily hopped down from the chair she was using to reach the top corners. An odd expression crossed her countenance at the prospect of post. No one had sent her anything since she arrived except for an invitation from her uncle to spend Friday evening at the Lestrange Manor for dinner. All of the details of that excursion had already been worked out with a short Floo call to her new favorite cousin Roddy. He would be picking her up from the pub to Side-Along Apparate her to their ancestral home. She accepted the folded sheet of parchment from Aberforth with a suspicious hand.

"Oh! It's from Hagrid," she exclaimed when the first few words of his easily recognized handwriting came into view. "He's invited me for tea this afternoon and for a tour of the school."

Aberforth gave her an inked quill to allow her to happily accept the welcome invitation. She wasted no time reattaching the parchment to the school's owl and sending it off towards the castle. Because she was in the middle of cleaning the windows, she begged Hagrid to excuse her for another hour while she finished. She knew the half-giant to be agreeable. That would not be a problem.

While she was finishing up the last of the disgusting windows, a figure passed by the front of the pub that caught her eye. It was bizarre to see a teenaged Kingsley. In her time he was a large, imposing man who spoke with a comforting, deep voice. He had a way about him that inspired confidence. This was a gangly boy who seemed unsure how to use his long limbs. Used to seeing the man with a bald head, she likely would not have recognized him with his full head of hair if she had not seen a photograph of him when he was younger already. His eyes widened when they made contact with hers. He turned towards the front door of the pub.

Hermione rolled her eyes when the young, awkward Kingsley entered the pub. She was still annoyed with the man he would become in twenty-seven years. Perhaps it was irrational on her part to be infuriated by the boy he once was, but she had not been thinking rationally since she was thrown back in the past against her consent. She focused her attention on the last bit of grimy window still needing to be cleaned.

"Hello there, young Shacklebolt," greeted Aberforth.

"Hi, Mr. Dumbledore," Kingsley replied. His voice was not yet to the deep timber that once sent shivers down Hermione's spine in the height of her embarrassing crush on the man. It did, however, reveal the promise of what it would become. "Granny sent me over to get some of your special potion."

Aberforth laughed at the young wizard. Hermione was curious. She did not know that he was a gifted potioneer. Certainly she had not seen him brew anything other than a pot of coffee for a drunken patron the night before.

"Is she still feeling poorly, son?" Aberforth asked, concern etched across his face.

"Yes, sir, but she's getting better."

"Good. Never known your grandmother to let anything get her too down. I will brew up a new batch this afternoon and take it over to her tonight."

"Thank you."

Hermione wished that he would leave. Kingsley did not seem in any hurry to exit. His eyes continually moved across the room right to where she was standing to finish the window. Teenage boys were never very stealthy in their actions. She could practically feel his eyes burning a hole in the seat of her jeans. Too late she wished she had the foresight to wear bulky, heavy robes instead. When she finished the last swipe of her rag across the window, she found a hand waiting to help her down off of the chair. Resisting the urge to roll her eyes at the chivalrous gesture, Hermione grasped Kingsley's hand.

"This is my daughter Hermione," Aberforth announced when he saw the two of them near the window. "She just arrived about a week ago. Hermione, this is Kingsley Shacklebolt."

They exchanged the pleasantries required between two people meeting for the first time. Getting her first good look at the younger version of the Minister, Hermione could not help but admit to herself that he was a still nice looking kid. It felt strange to see him younger than her and a bit gawky. He seemed sweet enough. If her aggravation with him was not still so fresh and strong, she might have even been friendlier. Instead, she took her transfigured apron off and smoothed down her hair.

"I'm going to head up to the castle now," she stated.

"Let me walk with you," Kingsley replied, suddenly eager with a bright smile. "I am headed that direction."

"That's not necessary. I'm certain I can find my own way."

"I would hate for you to get lost in the woods. They are close enough to the Forbidden Forest that there might be some dangerous creatures."

"I can take care of myself."

He started to present another argument as to why she could not go traipsing through the village on her own. As much as she would have liked to continue to argue until he left her alone, she could sense a determination in the wizard. Reluctantly she agreed to let him walk her as far as the gates.

They were not even to the edge of the village before Hermione had to resist the first urge to hex the child. He was curious about her if his seven thousand questions were any indication.

"Are you going to go to Hogwarts next year?" he asked just as the last of the village passed by.

"I am still considering it, but yes, I probably will," she answered.

It must have been the right thing to say. Kingsley smiled broadly at her and practically bounced into his next question. He had entirely too much energy in her opinion.

"What House do you think you will be in?"

"I'm not sure."

It was the truth. If she was to be Sorted again when the new school year started, she really did not know where she might be placed. She was no longer eleven years old with a thirst to prove herself worthy of the mantle of 'witch'. Slytherin was not a likely choice. Her blood status aside, she did not relish the idea of spending an entire year living in the coolness of the dungeons with a group of people she knew would one day allow their left arms to be marked by Voldemort. There did not seem to be much about Hufflepuff that she could identify with. Loyalty and hard work were traits she could admire, but patience and kindness were not her strong suits. That really only left Gryffindor and Ravenclaw. Both Houses were options her first Sorting. Maybe she would allow the Hat to put her in Ravenclaw this time just to finally be around others her age who could appreciate her thirst for knowledge and her love of color coded revision tables.

"I'm in Gryffindor. All of the rest of my family have been Ravenclaws except for my granny. She was a Gryffindor at the same time as your father."

Hermione wondered if his House placement was part of the reason why Kingsley's older brother was embarrassed by him. Maybe they were a family that valued merely intellectual pursuits. Kingsley had already mentioned Quidditch at least a dozen times since they stepped out of the pub. While she had never known the older version of the man to be Quidditch mad, he was a teenager in 1971. There were few boys his age who weren't obsessed with the sport. While Ravenclaw House always had a formidable Quidditch team, most of its occupants were not that interested. They were more the type to get worked up over the annual Wizard's Chess Tournament that awarded seventy-five House points to the House of the winner.

"Tommy said you seemed nice," Kingsley continued, undeterred by her seeming lack of interest in the discussion. "We didn't know Aberforth even had a daughter. Even granny was surprised and she's known him since they were both eleven."

"Yes, well, he does."

"Why are you going to the castle?"

She groaned. Did he really not have anything else better to do than to follow her around?

"I'm meeting Hagrid for tea."

Kingsley laughed loudly at the announcement. Hermione thought it was a nice sound, but immediately chastised herself for thinking so charitably about the pest.

"Don't try any of his cakes if you value your teeth," he warned.

She wondered why he was even following her. Was Hogsmeade _that_ dull in the summer? She imagined that there would be plenty of places to explore to her heart's content while the threat of school or Death Eater attacks did not loom over her. As soon as she finished cleaning up the pub, she had every intention of getting to know the village better. There was a great deal about the magical community that she did not know. She was annoyed by his perpetual presence by her side. Even if she did not already know the way to the castle from her years as a student there, the path was clearly marked. Anyone who could read could find the way to the massive castle outside of the village. Kingsley was not helping.

"I hope we get to see a lot more of each other this summer," he said, clearly not understanding that she was not interested.

Hermione stopped to level a fierce glare at the boy. Ordinarily she would have been able to make Harry or Ron cringe with the simple expression. Big headed Kingsley did not find anything unnerving about the way her eyes were narrowed and her hands were on her hips. Even the tiny spark of electricity running through her rapidly frizzing hair did nothing but make him smirk.

"How old are you?" she demanded.

Kingsley puffed out his broad chest. While he still had at least one more growth spurt to go through before he reached his full height, he was already quite large for his age.

"I come of age on October twenty-fourth."

"I will be nineteen on September nineteenth. I'm more than two years older than you."

He winked. She rolled her eyes.

"I like older women. More experience. I'm willing to learn whatever you want to teach me."

Hermione actually groaned out loud at his inappropriate remark. What was wrong with this obnoxious kid? Was he really so clueless that he did not recognize when a witch was not interested? She wondered if all sixteen year old boys were like that when there was no threat of a Dark Lord killing them.

"Probably," she muttered to herself.

Kingsley spent the remainder of their walk to the Hogwarts gates telling Hermione everything she never wanted to know about him. He was the younger of two boys. His brother Tommy thought he was wasting his potential by spending his time with the mates he had chosen. It was something of an embarrassment that he was a Gryffindor to certain members of his family, but he was proud of his House. He had been a Beater on his House Quidditch team since his second year when he suddenly shot up several inches the previous summer. They had won the Quidditch Cup three years in a row and had every intention of winning again. The only time his brother had shown that he was proud of him since he became one of the hated, arrogant Gryffindors was when he was made prefect for his Fifth year. Hermione did not ask him a single question. He continued to talk until she feared he would forget to breathe.

"I want to be an auror. Can you imagine a more exciting career? I just took my OWLs so I'll find out next month whether or not I can take all of the required classes. Shouldn't be a problem. Every year I've been in the top ten percent of my class. I'm not stupid no matter what Tommy says."

She only heard about half of what he said. He reminded her eerily of Cormac McLaggen doing his best to impress her the night of Slughorn's Christmas Party. The thought actually made her start to giggle. What would the older, more mature Kingsley think about the comparison? Surely he knew how idiotic he sounded at sixteen. Wanting to spare herself from a 'Kingsley's Greatest Plays' session where he described the impressive bludger hits he made, she sped up her steps. They arrived at the gates well before she was expected. Thankfully, Hagrid was already waiting.

Hermione almost forgot herself in the excitement of seeing a beloved figure from her childhood. Before she could throw her arms around the midsection of the half-giant who had not technically met her yet, she stopped herself. She accepted Hagrid's outstretched hand. He was pleased to meet her and surprised to see Kingsley had tagged along. When the groundskeeper seemed about to invite the boy along for tea, Hermione interrupted him.

"No, he was just leaving."

She glared at Kingsley, daring him to argue. Hagrid lamented his departure and attempted to extend the invitation once more.

"No, his grandmother is sick," Hermione insisted. "He has to go home."

"Oh, no!" exclaimed Hagrid. "I hope Madam Shafiq feels better soon."

Kingsley smiled at Hermione while she crossed the gates onto the grounds of her beloved school. She did not return the gesture. Determined to enjoy her afternoon exploring the familiar grounds, she tried to put Kingsley out of her mind. By the time she reached the comfortable hut she had spent many happy and sad hours with Hagrid, she had all but forgotten the child.

Tea with Hagrid was just like old times. The tea was horrible, the snacks inedible and the company divine. She laughed harder than she had since she arrived in the past. Everything had been perfect until she remembered that she used to enjoy afternoons with Hagrid with Harry and Ron. She had done all that she could to put them out of her mind the past several days because she was afraid once she started thinking about them, she would break down completely. She missed them terribly. Hagrid could sense her melancholy. He gently patted her on the back, knocking her face into the table.

They left the confines of the hut soon after to explore the grounds in more depth. Their first stop on the way towards the castle was the greenhouses. While she had not loved the subject to the extent that Neville had, Hermione always felt at ease inside the expansive greenhouses. There was something about working the dirt with her hands that calmed her down. Her father was always puttering around his garden. Well, he was when he wasn't off in Australia thinking he was someone he wasn't. She pushed down the morose thoughts to prevent the afternoon from becoming too serious.

"And here's Professor Sprout!"

Hermione did not know the Head of Hufflepuff House very well. She had always been an engaging teacher certainly, but beyond the boundaries of her greenhouses, Professor Sprout was not someone she spent a great deal of time thinking about. The woman had always been kind. She excitedly shook Hermione's hand when she was introduced as the Headmaster's niece. Instantly she felt at ease.

"I was unaware Aberforth had a daughter," she said. "But then again, he is not exactly the easiest of men to get to know, is he?"

She sensed a hint of bitterness in the older witch's voice, but it was gone almost immediately.

"I lived abroad with my mother," Hermione explained. It was a story that she had been practicing with every new person she met.

"But your accent, dear?" Professor Sprout asked.

"Mum was very strict about the way I spoke. She did not want me to pick up any bad habits."

Professor Sprout shook Hermione's hand one final time before she begged them to excuse her. She had a new crop of baby venomous tentacula she needed to repot. Hermione happily left her to the arduous task. If she never had to get within a few feet of the horrid plants, she would be happy.

Hagrid led them up the castle. Everything was as it had always been. Or at least what it had been before the horrific final battle months earlier. Even the smells of the old castle were what she remembered. When she stared up at the ceiling in the Great Hall, she smiled. Memories of the night of her first Sorting were very present in her mind. It had been both an exciting and a terrifying time. Becoming a Gryffindor was everything she thought she wanted. When the Sorting Hat could not decide between Ravenclaw and Gryffindor, she begged for the House she eventually ended up in.

She was just given a very basic tour of the castle. With so many levels and staircases and random towers it would have taken all day to see everything. Even then she was certain to miss parts. Hagrid did, however, lead her up to the portrait of the Fat Lady guarding Gryffindor Tower.

"This is where yer Dad was and yer uncle."

Though she knew Dumbledores had a proud history of being sorted into Godric Gryffindor's House, all she could think of was that Kingsley was a Gryffindor. Imagining spending an entire year sharing a common room with the annoying boy was exhausting. She had no doubt that he would not cease to bother her simply because she asked him. It was enough to find Ravenclaw a much more attractive prospect.

"That Kingsley boy is a Gryffindor, isn't he?" she asked.

"Yes, and so are his two best mates, the Prewett twins. You'll like them."

Hermione highly doubted she would. As much as she loved their older sister and their other Weasley relatives, she was afraid that they would be too similar to the Weasley twins. Thinking of spending any amount of time with two people who would most likely remind her that when she returned to her present time Fred was gone, only made her sad. She also did not relish the thought of meeting two people she knew would be brutally murdered in only a few short years. It might be best to stay away from as many future members of the Order of the Phoenix as possible. She still wasn't sure that she could have any lasting impact on the future timeline, but she certainly did not want to risk it. Gryffindor House was becoming less and less attractive the more she thought.

Hagrid escorted her back to the castle gates almost two solid hours after her arrival. Her buoyant mood at a pleasant afternoon spent rambling through familiarity was destroyed when she saw Kingsley sitting on a large boulder outside of the gates. His face brightened at her arrival. He jumped up to his feet when Hagrid opened the gates.

"Have you just been sitting out here for the past two hours?" Hermione demanded.

"No, I came back."

She thanked Hagrid once more for a lovely afternoon before she took off towards the village. With his long strides it did not take long for the boy to catch up with her. Hermione fought the urge to curse the underage wizard. He would be unable to fight back after all. Hardly seemed sporting. She'd picked up several tips from his older self about effective dueling that might be unfair to use against him before he learned them.

Kingsley tried to start up a conversation the entire walk back to Hogsmeade. Hermione wished he would just go away. Surely there was something better he could be doing with his time. Didn't he have summer homework to complete? She knew she would have at least a dozen different assignments she would rather work on then sit outside in the damp Scottish afternoon waiting for a random girl she'd just met to come back.

"Most girls seem to be more interested in Tommy than they are me," Kingsley stated when they weren't far from her father's pub. "I don't get it personally. I think I'm just as handsome as he is. I look just like my dad and witches are always flirting with him. Makes Mum a bit jealous but she's a fiend with stinging hexes."

"Please shut up," she begged.

He was not deterred. Simply laughed and launched into another explanation of the differences between himself and his brother. No doubt he assumed that his stiffest competition for Hermione's affection was his older brother. She pondered the number of bludgers that must have hit in the head over the years. When they reached the front door to the pub, she could have cried in relief. She pushed the door open. While she was still standing in the doorway, Kingsley placed a hand on her arm to stop her.

"I would very much like to see you again, Hermione."

"I would very much like you to leave me alone."

"May I come back tomorrow?"

"Absolutely not!"

She could not understand how he could be so thick. It was no wonder that Aberforth's daughter insulted him the first time they met. She would never blame the woman for her frustration. Did he really think that he was going to earn her affections by being obnoxious? What was it that Ab's daughter said to him? She racked her brain thinking of the exact words.

"You are an arrogant berk who shows promise of one day being handsome if some exasperated witch doesn't hex your face out of sheer frustration!"

She slammed the door in his shocked face. Laughter from behind the bar broke through her murderous haze.

"Weren't you a bit harsh on him, lass?" Aberforth asked.

"No, I wasn't harsh enough! He is exasperating!"

Aberforth continued to chuckle at her expense. She wondered what it was that ever attracted Ab's daughter to the boy in the first place. Was she supposed to show up soon to meet the insufferable Beater? She hoped that she would hurry up and arrive. She was tired of lying to everyone around her and she was hoping that her arrival would distract Kingsley.

"Bloody fucking hell."

"You all right, lass?"

No, she wasn't all right. Suddenly it all became clear to Hermione. The older Kingsley did not send her back in time to help him find his old girlfriend. He sent her back in time because _she_ was his old girlfriend. Oh, he was going to have a lot of explaining to do when she got back!

* * *

June 18, 1998

 **11:40 pm**

Hermione's room had not been touched in over eighteen years, Kingsley decided. Despite having spent the night there weeks earlier, he had been in no fit state to appreciate the cozy room at the time. The quilt she loved so much was still spread across the bed. The red roses he had given her that she transfigured into silk were still sitting in the same vase on her nightstand. Aberforth had not changed a thing.

Even the two framed photographs she cherished more than any others were still there. One was of his witch with her father a few years after she showed up in the past. They were both smiling and Aberforth had that knowing gleam in his eye that he often did. Often Kingsley had to lay the frame down when he was alone with Hermione in there. It made him uncomfortable to have Aberforth staring at him in his more _ardent_ moments. The other was a picture taken of the two of them at Christmas under enchanted mistletoe. They had been in the middle of a massive row for days that neither was ready to concede. Tommy engineered the mistletoe to prevent them from leaving that spot until they quite literally kissed and made up. When they both agreed they had been foolish and smiled at each other, his older brother had been there ready with the camera. He loved the picture and had a copy framed in his own home.

The only disconcerting change about the room that he could tell as he slipped under the covers was the disturbing lack of her scent. There was a time when he would be almost overwhelmed by the lavender and ink that always seemed to follow her around. Too many years had gone by without her presence. He hoped he would be able to make it a few more months. He was tired of waiting.


	7. Chapter 7

_Author's Note: Ugh, today has been a hellacious day! Could not wait to escape into my fantasy world. I continue to be amazed by all of the attention this story has gotten, but am so very thankful for each one of you. It's fun to share and you all make my day. I've needed that lately!_

Chapter Seven

June 24, 1971

 **4:30 pm**

Aberforth seemed as if he was not going to allow Hermione to storm off to her room without providing a better explanation for her turbulent mood. She prepared herself for the interrogation she was certain was coming. When the door to her bedroom clicked shut and remained closed for several seconds, she threw herself down on top of her bed. A thousand different thoughts were tumbling around inside her head.

Every single one of them involved Kingsley Shacklebolt. Whether in his gawky, awkward teenage phase or in his confident, self-assured and undeniably sexy persona as the Minister for Magic, he was all she could think about. The odd looks he gave her that night in the pub made a startling amount of sense. The day they met on the staircase at Number Twelve Grimmauld Place for the first time and he'd gawked at her as if he was staring at a ghost also made perfect sense. In his mind, he _was_ seeing a ghost. At the time she just assumed that the powerful, respected auror was simply too busy to socialize with teenagers, but the longer the summer wore on, the more he seemed to actually seek out her company. More than once they sat a respectable distance apart from each other across the kitchen table to have hours-long discussions about a number of topics. Even when the other adults all seemed to ignore her, Kingsley was always quick with an encouraging smile.

The moment they met at Sirius Black's home played back in her mind. His dark brown eyes widened in shock when she smiled at him in an attempt to introduce herself to another important Order member. When she actually said her name was Hermione, he blinked several times as if expecting her to disappear. His large hand was actually trembling when she shook it. At the time she just assumed he was tired from a long day catching Dark wizards. He ran down the stairs moments after their hands touched. The front door slammed shut behind him and Hermione could've sworn she heard the distinctive 'pop' of Apparition seconds later. When he returned after an absence of several hours, Sirius teased him about drinking alone.

"You can always find someone here willing to drink with you, Kings. No need to run off to do it by yourself."

Hermione wondered where he had gone in those moments following their introduction. If she had to make an educated guess, she would have assumed he Disapparated straight to Hogsmeade to confront Aberforth. It would also explain why he came back to London at least partially intoxicated. She would have to remember to ask him about that when she returned to the future. _If_ she returned.

Knowing that a man she so admired had once been in love with her was a heady feeling. Despite her continued frustration with the man over his chosen methods to ensure she became a part of his life, she was flattered that he had actually done something so dramatic because of her. No one had ever made much of an effort to get her attention beyond staring at her in the library or boasting about their Quidditch skills loud enough in the common room to prevent her from studying. The Minister for Magic loved her enough to break countless laws to bring her back in time so his awkward teenaged self could call in love with her while they were both young. Didn't Kingsley admit that he still wished every damned day that he was a member of the Dumbledore family? He still wanted to marry her and unless he was lying through his perfectly straight teeth, she was once in love with him too.

There was no doubt that she would bring Kingsley to task over hurtling her back twenty-seven years in the past when she saw _her_ Kingsley again. For a few short moments, however, Hermione allowed herself to be flattered. He must have really cared about her to risk loss of his coveted position and even a lengthy prison sentence in Azkaban just for the chance that their paths would cross. It almost made putting up with sixteen year old Kingsley bearable. At the very least she promised herself to be nicer to the kid.

After about an hour of wallowing in her new bedroom, Hermione poked her head out of the family section of the pub to the main room. A couple of wizards she remembered serving the night before were already seated with large tankards of foaming butterbeer in front of them. Aberforth stood over a small cauldron just behind the bar. He concentrated on counting the number of stirs. Once he completed three counter clockwise stirs and six clockwise, he used a spell to bottle the steaming green liquid in several bottles.

"You finished hiding?" he asked without even looking up.

"I wasn't hiding," she insisted.

Aberforth snorted. It was apparent that he did not believe a word she said.

"What had you so upset earlier?"

Hermione did not want to tell him the full truth. She wasn't even sure she _could_ tell him the truth.

"I was only upset because Kingsley was annoying me," she admitted. "He followed me to the gates and then sat outside of them for two hours waiting for me. He claimed he left and came back, but I don't believe him."

"Kingsley is a good lad. Just needs to do some growing up a bit."

Hermione knew that was the truth well enough. Aberforth handed her a bag with several of the bottles he had just filled. He asked her to deliver them to Madam Shafiq at Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop. While Hermione was very curious to meet Kingsley's grandmother, she wasn't sure if she was quite ready to see him again. Too much of his company too soon might make her promise to be nicer to him that much harder.

She soon found herself standing in front of the familiar quill shop. Saying 'no' to Aberforth was almost impossible, she was swiftly learning. He was every bit as persuasive as his elder brother when he put his mind to something. There weren't any customers inside the shop when she stepped inside, a tinkling bell above her head advertising her arrival. Most of the High Street shops closed around six in the evening on weeknights.

Thomas Shacklebolt stepped out from behind the front counter when he heard the door open. A bright, welcoming smile lit up his face when he recognized the witch. Hermione scanned the shop to make certain no other Shacklebolts were about to jump out from behind the shelves. She was pleased to learn that Thomas was minding the store by himself.

"Good evening, Hermione. How are you?"

She smiled back and assured him that she was doing well. He crossed the short distance between them to stand closer.

"Kingsley just came back talking about you," he announced, staring at her countenance to judge her reaction.

"Yes, he walked me to the castle gates earlier and then met me when I was done to walk me back home."

Thomas rolled his eyes and sighed. His annoyance for his younger brother was something they both had in common.

"I'm so sorry," he replied.

Laughter bubbled out of her mouth at his reaction. She lifted the bag Aberforth gave her to deliver and stated she had his grandmother's potion ready. It was Thomas' turn to laugh.

"You know it's not really a potion, right?" he asked.

Hermione shook her head 'no'. It certainly _seemed_ like a potion. What else would Aberforth have brewed in his cauldron? He had been so precise in his movements she could not imagine it being anything else.

"It's hot gin punch. Granny claims Aberforth makes the best."

She rolled her eyes at the news and they both started laughing. While she knew that there were people in the world who swore by the punch when they had a nasty cold, she had never heard it referred to as a potion. Suddenly her admiration for her fake father's potion brewing skills was non-existent.

"Let me close up and we can go see her," Thomas said, moving towards the front door in only a few strides of his long legs. "Mum hates that she lives alone ever since our grandfather died a few years ago. That's why we're here when she and Dad aren't needed in the Wizengamot."

Hermione was impressed by the news that both of his parents were members of the Wizengamot. She knew that one had to be respected to have an opportunity to sit in the court to make decisions during trials and help the wizarding government pass laws. It was surprising to learn that Kingsley was not the only member of his family involved at one time in the country's government.

" _Both_ of your parents are members of the Wizengamot?"

"Yes, all of the Sacred Twenty-Eight families have permanent seats. Not all of the families bother though. Dad represents the Shacklebolts and Mum the Shafiqs. They hope that Kings and I will follow in their footsteps and be able to take over for them when they retire. None of our cousins have any interest."

She was fascinated and looked forward to meeting their parents. They seemed like intelligent people. If they were Ravenclaws like Kingsley said they were, it certainly made sense.

"They're hoping for a quiet summer. Last year they were in session all of July. Kingsley and I had fun staying at our London house. We had new neighbors with kids our age. Muggles, but our parents don't mind. They are more progressive than most."

Once Thomas finished locking up the front door of the shop with the heavy deadbolts and then several locking charms, he led Hermione to the back storeroom. She moved her eyes around the small room trying to take in all of the various kinds of quills they kept in the back. While the shop had not changed much since the last time she had been in there, she was intrigued by some of the quills that were not available in her own time. Perhaps she would take some time to explore the shop in more depth when she knew Kingsley would be elsewhere. Thomas held the back door open for her to step out. He repeated the same locking charms on the back door as he had the front before leading her across the alley. They walked through a small back garden into the back door of a rather large house.

She felt strange entering a new house through the kitchen door. It seemed wrong somehow. Only family members should ever enter through the back door. Hermione's eyes landed on a tiny woman standing at the stove waving her wand to make dinner.

"Granny, what are you doing up?" Thomas asked, apprehension clear in his cadence.

"How do you expect me to get any better if I'm stuck eating your mum's cooking?"

Hermione snorted out loud at Madam Shafiq's remark. She liked the little old lady immensely already. Marjorie Shafiq seemed out of place standing next to her much taller grandson. If the woman reached five feet tall, Hermione would have been surprised. Very thin and with the same caramel complexion that Thomas had every right to be proud of, it was evident that once upon a time she had been a stunningly gorgeous woman. Even at her age with gray hair and more of her face boasting wrinkles than not, she was striking.

"She's not _that_ bad," replied Thomas.

"I can say what I want. She's my daughter. Who's this?"

Remembering his guest, Thomas introduced his grandmother to Hermione. After shaking the petite offered hand, she handed over the bag with Aberforth's 'potion'. Madam Shafiq's face brightened considerably at the prospect of gin in her future.

"Thank you."

Hermione started to step back from the witch, but the same tiny hand stopped her movements. The elderly woman examined her face closely for several long, awkward seconds.

"I don't really see the family resemblance, but I never knew your grandparents. You're staying for dinner. Tommy, send her father an owl."

She left no room for argument. Thomas slipped out of the kitchen with a wink towards Hermione to send the note to Aberforth. Hermione was left alone with the matriarch of the family. Though she liked the woman already and was very curious about her, she was nervous. Remembering her mother's words to always offer assistance in the kitchen while visiting, she asked Madam Shafiq if there was anything she could do to help with dinner. The woman stared at her for a few moments with narrowed, somewhat suspicious eyes before directing her to the large pile of potatoes that needed peeling. While she was pleased with the offer from the younger witch, Hermione knew that Madam Shafiq did not trust her cooking skills any more than she did her daughter's. Thankful that she paid attention to Molly Weasley when she was taught the charm, Hermione set to work peeling the potatoes. Only moments later Kingsley came bursting into the room demanding to know when his grandmother was going to finish dinner.

"You eat too much. Where do you put it all?" Madam Shafiq demanded.

Kingsley's eyes fell on the young witch peeling potatoes at the kitchen sink. He smiled widely enough that Hermione thought she likely could have counted every single tooth in his mouth if she was so inclined.

"What are you doing here, Hermione?"

"She's busy," barked his grandmother. "Leave the lass alone. Go away."

Kingsley left the kitchen clearly disappointed. Hermione was grateful that she did not have to worry about him distracting her while she was charming a knife. It could potentially be dangerous, especially if he started to annoy her.

"He's been very curious about you," Madam Shafiq stated. "Offered to go to Ab's today just to meet you."

"He was very persistent."

Madam Shafiq's laughter rang through the expansive kitchen. Hermione felt the corners of her mouth turn up into a smile at the woman's mirth.

"He's a good lad. Wait a few years. He'll grow on you."

She winked at Hermione before chuckling to herself.

"His grandfather was the same way. Pushy, obnoxious, utterly clueless. Could not _stand_ him, but once he grew up a little, I fell in love."

"Yes, well, no offense intended, Madam Shafiq, but I will not hold my breath."

Both women laughed and turned their attention back to their tasks. Hermione was more and more impressed with the woman by the second. She had multiple tasks going on at the same time. Her wand was in constant motion, but she still had the ability to keep up a steady stream of conversation. The pointed and personal questions she asked about Hermione's past living abroad and about her mother made her more than a little uncomfortable. This was a woman she was going to have to be very careful around. Somehow she got the feeling that Madam Shafiq never missed a thing. Despite feeling nervous that she was going to slip up and tell her something she should not, Hermione thoroughly enjoyed their discussion.

After several minutes of pleasant dialogue, a large, imposing man came rambling through the large swinging kitchen door. At first Hermione thought she was seeing _her_ Kingsley and then had to promptly chastise herself mentally that she most certainly did not have a Kingsley. With slightly reddened cheeks she stared at the tall man who looked just exactly like the Minister would look almost thirty years from that moment. The only difference was he was not bald. He smiled at Hermione with an almost identical toothy grin to his son. She realized immediately that she felt the same sense of comfort and security in this man's presence that she did with the older Kingsley.

"Kingsie was complaining about being kicked out of the kitchen," the man laughed. "Think I've figured out why. Don't tell me. You're Hermione Dumbledore."

The moment she nodded her head the wizard began to laugh. He had the exact same laugh that Kingsley had. The resemblance was uncanny. If there had ever been any doubt on who fathered the future Minister, three seconds with his dad cleared up all confusion.

"Dean Shacklebolt," he announced, extending his hand to shake hers. "I've already heard quite a bit about you from both of my boys. Nice to put a face with the name."

Hermione shook his warm hand, hating every single second that she knew he was staring at her reddened cheeks. She wondered if there would ever come a day when she would not get so embarrassed being teased about the youngest Shacklebolt.

"Unless you're cooking or cleaning, out of the kitchen," Madam Shafiq ordered.

Dean Shacklebolt's booming laughter filled the space.

"Can you just feel all of the love, Hermione?" he teased.

She couldn't help but laugh at the man. So far the only member of Kingsley's family she wasn't just a tiny bit in love with already was Kingsley himself.

"Better get used to it," he continued, winking. "Kingsie is already planning your wedding."

Hermione groaned, which in turn only made Dean laugh louder. Obviously fed up with her orders not being heeded, Madam Shafiq charmed a dish towel to float across the room and flap in her son-in-law's face until he left the room still laughing.

"The more I think on it, lass, the more I think you should stay away from Kingsley. He's going to turn out just like daddy. I don't know how Katie puts up with him. I'd have already killed him."

The elderly witch winked at Hermione. They both laughed before turning back to the task at hand. At least half an hour later, dinner was ready to be served. Even after almost eight years living in the Wizarding world, Hermione could not get used to how many ordinarily arduous, time-consuming tasks like cooking could be completed in a fraction of the time. Just before they charmed the dishes to float in the air in front of them, one of the most beautiful women Hermione had ever seen walked into the kitchen.

"Mum, the Healer said you needed to stay off of your feet as much as possible," chastised Mrs. Shacklebolt.

"Like I told Tommy earlier, I can't be expected to get any better if I have to eat what you cook, Katie. I'm not sure where I failed you, but you do not have the cooking gift."

Kingsley's mother rolled her eyes before scoffing quietly. This was obviously not an argument she was unfamiliar with. She turned her attention on the new arrival. If Hermione thought she was already beautiful, it was nothing compared to how she looked when she smiled.

"Qadira Shacklebolt, but everyone calls me Katie," greeted the woman.

Hermione shook her offered hand with a hesitant smile of her own. Katie was only a few inches taller than her mother with the same exquisite caramel complexion. If Kingsley inherited his looks from his father, it was apparent that Thomas inherited his from his mother. The same chestnut eyes Hermione admired when they first met looked back at her from his mother's face. Suddenly she felt woefully inadequate. Kingsley's mother was breathtaking. How could he possibly settle for someone as plain as her if he had grown up in such a gorgeous family? She felt out of place with her frizzy hair and unremarkable features.

"Hermione Dumbledore," she muttered, nervous to meet the kind witch's eyes.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Hermione. Thank you for helping my willful mother with dinner."

Katie banished all of the dishes out to what Hermione assumed must be the dining room with a single spell. More than a little impressed by her spellwork, she met Kingsley's mother's eyes once again. The older woman had a warm smile on her lips that immediately put Hermione at ease. She might be beautiful, but she was also exceedingly kind. Madam Shafiq pushed her way out of the kitchen towards the food.

"She's a very _interesting_ woman," Hermione replied, unsure if her remark would be taken as a compliment or an insult. Katie's soft giggles proved she was not bothered.

"That is a very nice way to put it," Katie agreed. "Let's get in the dining room before it's all gone. I'm afraid my men can tuck it away very quickly."

Hermione sat in the open seat to the right of the chair that Katie chose. Something about the woman made her want to get to know her better. Thomas quite literally elbowed his brother out of the way to take the open chair next to Hermione. Kingsley stomped his large feet to the chair directly opposite her instead. When he lowered his gangly frame into the chair with a huff, Thomas caught Hermione's eye and they both chuckled.

Sharing a meal with more Ravenclaws than Gryffindors was an experience that Hermione thoroughly enjoyed. While she was used to listening to incessant Quidditch talk, stories about dangerous deeds and the cocky recollections of arrogant acts, it was a pleasant change of pace to actually discuss topics and subjects that mattered. The Shacklebolt parents were both eager to answer any of the dozens of questions she had about what they did in the wizarding court. Everyone else was also eager to ask her questions about her past and her future plans. She had to be very careful with how she answered, but with the exception of a couple of pointed looks from Madam Shafiq, she did not think anyone was suspicious.

"I am certain you are tired of hearing this question, Hermione," began Dean. "But are you planning on studying at Hogwarts for your final year? I understand that your schooling was somewhat interrupted last year."

"I am still considering it," she admitted, though she was almost certain she would be returning. "My father wants me to attend."

"Ab never was much of one for education, but I'm pleased to hear that he is finally beginning to act like a father. Should have been doing that all along."

Several forks, including Hermione's, crashed onto their plates at the abrupt observation made by Madam Shafiq. Katie hissed at her mother, immediately demanding she apologize. Dean followed up with a request that they not speak about subjects that were none of their business. Both of her grandsons remained silent out of sheer humiliation.

"I have known Ab since we were eleven years and sorted into Gryffindor together. I can safely say that I know him better than _anyone_ seated at this table," Madam Shafiq continued. " _He_ is his own worst enemy."

"Mother, this is inappropriate!"

"Ab's spent his entire life believing he doesn't deserve to be happy." She was not deterred. "I don't know all of the details of why he feels that way. It doesn't matter. He let your mother go when she was the best thing that ever happened to him, lass. They could have had a wonderful life together and raised you together like they should have. It breaks my heart to know he threw away his chance at happiness with both hands. I only hope that he doesn't squander this opportunity."

Madam Shafiq carefully laid her fork down on her plate. Dean stood up to assist his elderly mother-in-law from her chair. After saying her goodnights to everyone and even laying a wrinkled, tiny hand on Hermione's shoulder, she left the dining room to head up to bed. No one said a word for at least a minute after she left. Finally, Katie could not keep silent any longer.

"Hermione, I am positively mortified. She should have never said what she said about your father."

"It's all right," Hermione replied. "She's right. She knows him better than any of us. Maybe she said nothing but the truth. I don't know my father very well."

"Well, I for one, hope that you are Sorted into Ravenclaw," Thomas declared, helping to break the tension.

"Gryffindor is also a fine House," Kingsley insisted, ignoring the good-natured laughter around the table.

Once dinner was completed, the entire Shacklebolt family plus Hermione adjourned to the comfortably appointed lounge. She was not surprised to see the stacks of books scattered around the room. A half-finished game of wizard's chess lay ready for its players. When Thomas challenged his father to finish their game, Dean laughed and promised him later when they no longer had such a diverting guest to entertain.

Katie poured every one of them a liberal glass of red wine, assuring Hermione with a conspiratorial wink that it aided in digestion. As she sipped her wine seated between the two Shacklebolt boys, Hermione found that the awkwardness of the end of their meal dissipated quite easily once they renewed their intellectual discussions. She found herself in the middle of a friendly, yet heated, debate with Dean on werewolves' rights and loving every second. He was mostly in agreement with her beliefs. Their disagreements had more to do with their age and personal experiences than anything else.

"Education is important. I quite agree with you on that point, Hermione. It is imperative that we teach infected lycanthropes how to maneuver through our society."

"That is just meaningless chatter if you don't also educate the wizarding society at large," she insisted. "The lycanthropes can learn all of the skills they are capable of and even score 'Outstanding' on all of their NEWTs, but if we don't educate the society that there is nothing to fear from them, how will they ever be fully integrated?"

"But isn't there something to fear with werewolves?" Kingsley innocently asked.

Hermione had to bite her tongue to prevent telling him that one day one of his very best mates was going to be a werewolf. No one would have believed her and she would have only come off seeming like a lunatic.

"I had a werewolf as a Defense teacher when I was thirteen," she announced.

Katie almost choked on her wine. Dean's mouth dropped wide open. Thomas narrowed his eyes. Kingsley mirrored his father's expression perfectly.

"How is that possible?" Thomas asked. "He would be a danger to his students once a month when the moon was full."

"He was kept isolated during those times," she explained, conveniently leaving out the part where he imbibed a potion that had not even been invented yet to retain his mind. "He was quite honestly one of the best teachers I have ever had. He was kind and had an enormous heart, but after one year as a professor, he was forced to resign because of prejudice. He was ready for society, but society wasn't ready for him."

"You have given me quite a bit to think about, Hermione. Thank you." Dean followed up his remark with a wink so like his son's would become that for a moment, she forgot to breathe.

Any further discussion was interrupted by the mantle clock chiming the nine o'clock hour. Katie rose from her chair to pick up Hermione's empty wine glass.

"It was wonderful to have you over this evening, Hermione, but I fear it's growing rather late. I would not want your father to get worried," Katie stated. "You are welcome to come back any evening if you wish."

Hermione smiled back at the woman. Thomas rose to his feet to help her out of the deep, squashy sofa. Not wanting to be left behind, Kingsley jumped up moments later. Katie rolled her eyes while her husband laughed.

"Boys, please take Hermione back to her home," she gently commanded. "It's a safe village, but I would feel better if you weren't out there by yourself."

Her escorts seemed to be in no hurry to rush her back home. She knew that the walk down High Street to The Hog's Head only took at most ten minutes, but both Kingsley and Thomas were dragging their feet to prolong their evening. Hermione did not mind. She had been having a wonderful evening. Part of her wondered selfishly if she could expect to have _half_ as much fun at her uncle's home the next night.

"I know someone who is going to be very jealous he couldn't be here tonight," Thomas teased in a singsong voice.

"Who?" Hermione asked.

Thomas laughed, disturbing the stillness of the cool night.

"Antonin. He's stuck all summer in Russia with his grandparents."

"Why would he care?"

"Let's just say he's _very_ interested in whether or not you come to Hogwarts in September."

Hermione was unsure how to respond to the news. While she had certainly been aware that Antonin had some kind of fascination with her the day he was in the pub, she did not know how to process that a man she had been afraid of for years might actually _fancy_ her. She could not imagine not being afraid of him simply because he was a teenager instead of a half-crazed Azkaban escapee.

"You can do better than Dolohov," Kingsley blurted out, his annoyance coating every single syllable. "He's too serious."

"There's nothing wrong with being serious," Hermione retorted, forgetting for a moment that she was actually _defending_ the wizard. "Life isn't always one big joke."

"Antonin's a good guy," agreed Thomas. "Intense, yes, but a good friend. Once you have his loyalty and trust, you have it forever."

Kingsley scoffed.

"They've been best mates since we were all little. I don't know why."

"Then I guess it's good he's not _your_ mate, isn't it?"

Hermione was grateful that they arrived at the pub moments before she had to bear witness to a brotherly fight. After thanking them for walking her home, she entered the front door. It had been a surprisingly pleasant evening. When her eyes met Aberforth's across the room, she wondered how much of what Madam Shafiq said about him was true. Did he really believe he did not deserve happiness? Just the thought threatened to break her heart.

* * *

June 19, 1998

 **7:05 am**

Kingsley tossed and turned in Hermione's old bed all night. Just when he would finally be able to drift off to sleep, his body would force him awake. His mind simply would not shut off. When he finally gave up any hope of going back to sleep, a silvery weasel floated into his room.

 _"Kingsley, Hermione never came back to her tent last night. We can't find her anywhere. Please come to the castle as soon as possible."_

He set his feet on the ground moments after Arthur Weasley's patronus disappeared. Remembering the evening when he _finally_ was able to kiss his little witch for the first time with no interruptions, his patronus shot out of the end of his wand. It blasted out of the bedroom the moment he gave it his message. Aberforth handed him a steaming cup of coffee seconds after he emerged from the bedroom.

"The search about to begin?"

"Afraid so."


	8. Chapter 8

_Author's Note: I just joined Tumblr. Still figuring out what in the hell I am doing, but if you are interested in sneak peeks, direct quotes from future chapters and even previews of chapters before they are posted, feel free to follow. Told my Thorfinn over dinner last night that I was still learning the purpose of the site, but that I had already been sent more than one hot gif of Idris Elba. "So even though you don't what you are doing, you already love it?" Yes, yes, I do. Someone already had Canimal (how dare they!) so look for me under_ _ **Canimallow**_ _._

* * *

Chapter Eight

June 25, 1971

 **6:15 pm**

Hermione paced the main room of The Hog's Head nervously awaiting the arrival of the man who believed she was his cousin. Rodolphus promised to be there to pick her up right at six o'clock. Not knowing the wizard very well at all, she assumed that he would not keep her waiting. Every minute that passed without the tinkling of the bell above the door announcing his entrance made her more and more nervous.

That night was going to be one of the first true tests of the identity she had created with Aberforth. While the dinner with the Shacklebolt family the night before had been a helpful practice run, fooling the Lestrange Family into believing she had a right to be considered a part of them was going to take more than just nerve. If Regnault asked her a question about his sister that she did not know, Hermione was terrified that she was going to burst into a loud, bumbling mess of wet tears.

"There are three keys to fitting into the Lestrange family according to Sia," Aberforth had explained earlier that day during one of their informal lessons. "One, agree with every single ridiculous thought or notion the head of the family has. Two, do every single act or task that the head of the family requests of you no matter how insane, arduous, or petty it seems. And finally, three, adopt an attitude that every person you meet is beneath you."

"I can't do this, Aberforth," she fretted, taking a series of shallow breaths that were dangerously close to causing her to hyperventilate.

"That's another thing, lass. We might be alone right now, but often even when we think we are, we never know who is listening in. Best to call me Dad or Father or whatever fool name you want to call me at all times. It'll keep you from slipping up when it matters."

She could certainly see the sense in keeping up appearances even when there was no one else to witness their interactions. One mistake and her entire identity could come crashing down around her ears. If anyone figured out she was from the future, her life was in danger. All Voldemort would need to know is that there was a witch who knew _exactly_ how his life would play out over the next thirty years. Hermione shuddered in terror at the thought of being thrown at his feet by one of his loyal followers.

"Reg would be the least of your worries if anyone else suspected you weren't actually my daughter."

In the same moment the front door to the pub opened. Aberforth quickly shut his mouth. Hermione was afraid that he might have been overheard, but when Rodolphus turned his brightest smile in her direction, she stopped worrying. He crossed the main room to where they were standing at the bar in only a few strides. A sheepish expression marred his otherwise handsome features.

"I am very sorry I'm late, cousin," he declared. "Afraid I was stuck on a prolonged Floo call with my intended."

A scowl marred his face that only made Hermione giggle. Naturally she felt guilty the moment the sound escaped her mouth. Rodolphus proved he was not offended by smirking. Hermione hated that he was doomed to marry the horrid woman. She could not imagine a moment of happiness being possible in their lives together. Even just a short walk with her cousin and then an even shorter Floo call made her wish that his life could be different.

"Is everything all right?" she asked, scared to know the answer.

"Nothing you need to worry about. Just a disagreement we have been having for months now. Nothing new."

Hermione fidgeted under the gaze of the wizard. She was tense and worried about the upcoming dinner. So much had the potential for going wrong. Even if everything was perfect and she managed to keep her fake uncle from realizing she was a fraud, she was still planning to spend an evening with three of Lord Voldemort's staunchest supporters. Rodolphus' current loyalties were unknown, but she knew it would only be a matter of time before he was either seduced by the promise of power and prestige or forced into service at the whim of his wife.

"Are _you_ all right?" Rodolphus asked. "Are you nervous?"

"Is what I'm wearing all right?"

She was limited in her options for what she was sure to be a formal dinner in an elegant manor. Nothing she brought with her from the future in her purple beaded bag had been close to appropriate for the evening. She'd had to dig deep into the bottom of the bag to pull out the lilac dress robes she wore to Bill and Fleur's wedding a lifetime earlier. Several Transfiguration spells later changed it into a more modest garment in a richer violet color. Even with the changes she knew that it was not the height of fashion. Knowing how all of the Lestrange men dressed in expensive, personally tailored robes, she was afraid she would not fit in. Rodolphus smiled warmly at her question. Almost immediately she began to feel at ease.

"You look lovely, Hermione. Father will likely accost you at some point, however, to make sure you look more like a Lestrange." He sneered and rolled his eyes.

Hermione had not thought about the fact that Regnault would likely want to mold her into something more befitting a member of his family. From what little she was able to learn from Aberforth about Roesia Lestrange, part of her issue with her late father was his desire to make her into someone she was not. He arranged her marriage to a wizard she did not even like, let alone love. He tried to prevent her from finishing her education at Hogwarts because he did not believe it was necessary for proper Pureblood witches to have NEWT scores. Aberforth had only hinted at the fact that her relationship with him was something of a rebellious act for the woman. Maybe there had been love there, she wasn't sure, but she knew that at least in part, Roesia used him as an escape for the stifling confines of her stringent family. Her new father refused to tell her anymore. She knew enough.

"You don't have to stay the night if you don't want to, lass," Aberforth announced.

Part of the invitation had been allowing Hermione to stay in her own private guest room. Rodolphus informed her that his father wanted her to feel at home in their manor. She was given her own suite in the family corridor. While it had certainly been flattering that Regnault was attempting to make an effort to include the woman he believed to be his sister's child in his life, Hermione did not believe she would use the suite very often at all. Only the realization that the manor was all the way in Norfolk encouraged her to stay at least one night. Long distance Apparition on a full stomach did not always have the best consequences.

Hermione could tell that Aberforth was worried about her. She couldn't help but find his concern sweet. He did not want her to stray too far out of his sight. She knew that if she stayed the night at the manor, he would likely not sleep well or at all that night. After over a year of having no parents to speak of, it felt wonderful to know there was a parent figure that cared enough about her to worry.

"I will be fine there for the night, Dad," she assured him for at least the seventh time in the past hour. "I'm just staying the one night. I'll be back in the morning."

Without giving it much thought, Hermione wrapped her arms around Aberforth. Unused to such physical displays of affections, at first he did not seem to know how to react. His entire body tensed up as the young witch hugged him. Only a few moments later he calmed down enough to give in to the embrace. Hermione tried not to dwell too long on the realization that this was a man who did not even know how to hug another. Tears pricked at the corner of her eyes. When was the last time someone actually embraced the man? How had he made it through so many years of his long life without knowing the joy of simple affection? Had it always been like that? She hoped that when his mother was alive and before his father was taken to live the remainder of his days in Azkaban that there had been affection in the Dumbledore home.

Rodolphus grasped Hermione's arm when she broke out of the embrace with Aberforth. After shaking Aberforth's hand, he led the young witch out of the front door of the pub. Once out on the High Street, he tightened his grip on her arm and Disapparated. Side-Along Apparition was much more difficult to recover from than Apparating herself. She hated the loss of control the act made her experience.

She closed her eyes and took several deep breaths to steady her frazzled nerves. Her stomach was churning furiously. Throwing up immediately upon arrival would not be the best first impression to make.

The Lestrange Manor was one of the grandest houses that Hermione had ever seen up close. Her mother had a love for rambling through the old manor homes of the aristocracy on public days, but she had never shared the same level of interest. Regardless, none of them compared to the expansive medieval style manor at the end of a long gravel path. She must have stared at the massive structure with her mouth gaping like a fish for several long moments. It was apparent that once upon a time there had been an extensive moat that surrounded the structure itself. Perhaps there were wizards living there distrustful of their Muggle neighbors. Most of it had been filled in with tons of earth and covered in some of the most beautiful rose bushes she had ever seen in both the Muggle and Magical worlds. The formal gardens of the estate were definitely worth the visit. She hoped there would be adequate opportunity to explore.

"It's not much, but we are pretty proud of it," Rodolphus teased. He winked at the end of her sentence, causing both of them to laugh.

"Yes, well, it is positively primitive," she laughed. "I do not know how I will ever bear to spend a night in such horrid conditions."

Rodolphus led her towards the main door of the mansion with his hand lightly touching her elbow. Hermione's eyes were in constant motion every single step of the journey. She was convinced that she would never be able to see everything of interest she wanted to see and she had only seen the outside of the house. She could only imagine what she would find when she stepped inside.

"It will just be the four of us this evening," he announced. "Father urged me to invite my fiancée over, but I told him not tonight."

Hermione was grateful that for the time being at least, she would not be forced to break bread with the crazed woman who once carved a hateful slur into her arm with a cursed blade. She last saw Bellatrix's body as it lay on the floor of the Great Hall. There had been an odd sense of satisfaction seeing the woman who once tortured her dead. If Dobby had not interrupted that evening, she was fated to be turned over to Fenrir Greyback as a prize for his assistance in capturing the Undesirable Number One. Imagining what she could have expected from the werewolf always filled her with dread. More than one nightmare since that night involved rather graphic details of his plans. She shook her head in an attempt to physically banish the ever increasingly disturbing thoughts from consuming her.

"There will be plenty of opportunities in the future to be made miserable by the company of Bellatrix Black. No need to rush it just yet."

He sighed deeply. His bitterness dripped off of every single syllable of the woman's name. Tension positively radiated off of his entire body. Hermione had at least a thousand questions about why the man would willingly allow himself to be bound to such a person, but she still did not feel like she had a right to ask. Maybe when they knew each other better.

"When is the happy day?" she asked, afraid that it would be sooner rather than later.

"Not for at least two more years, thank Merlin," he answered with another deep sigh. "She convinced her father to allow her to go on the Grand Tour before we marry. Witches don't normally get the opportunity, but seeing as Cygnus does not have a son, he often allows his eldest daughter more freedom than his other two girls."

"What is the Grand Tour?"

She had heard the term once or twice in her life. Her limited research proved it to be a rite of passage that most wealthy Pureblood wizards experienced in their early twenties. If the war had not been a factor, she was certain several of the wizards she knew from Hogwarts would have been allowed to take part in the tradition. Unfortunately too many of those who were of the right age were also the right age to be recruited into Voldemort's growing army.

Rodolphus slowed his steps towards the manor to allow their conversation to continue without interruption. He explained how privileged wizards and rarely witches, made a two year journey across the world visiting magical locations in almost all of the continents. They visit the vast majority of the countries in Europe including Spain, France and large chunks of Russia. Then their travels traditionally take them to the Far East and into certain parts of the Middle East, including Egypt. Africa was becoming more of a destination in the modern age, but customarily the wizards would spend the last third of their trip exploring the Amazonian rainforests, the Incan ruins and the native magics in the United States and Canada. It was a grueling excursion that most considered the best years of their lives.

His Grand Tour had been shortened by more than a year by the sudden sickness of his grandfather, but he did not mind in the slightest. In Rodolphus' opinion, the Tour was entirely too long. He missed being at home and was more than ready to return to familiar environs. In confidence to Hermione, he admitted that the largest reason he was ready to come home was that he missed his dogs tremendously. One had been old and close to dying when he left. It broke his heart leaving knowing that he would likely never see her again. When he used the excuse of his grandfather's illness to return, he was able to make certain the last days of her life had been comfortable.

"Something good did come out of the trip, though," he explained. "I met an interesting wizard who went to Durmstrang. We spent part of the trip together. I skipped Japan and Egypt to go straight to Brazil. Big mistake. You actually might like him. He's in the country now completing his potions apprenticeship. Foreign, of course, but from a powerful Russian family. Even Father likes him and he hates most foreigners."

Rodolphus explained that there was a group of British wizards that included his fiancée that were planning on making the Tour with one of his father's associates. Someone he had gone to Hogwarts with and greatly admired. Regnault believed that one day he would likely be Minister for Magic. Rodolphus had been invited to attend, but he made the excuse that his father needed him to stay.

"I couldn't bear another minute in the Amazon," he admitted. "Do you have any idea how _hot_ it is there?"

Hermione laughed. She could only imagine how different the weather in a tropical rainforest in South America was from drizzly, cool England.

"It was worse for Igor. He was always used to snow and freezing temperatures. He was very susceptible to heat stroke."

"Does it bother you that she is going to be travelling for so long?" Hermione asked.

"No, not at all. I'm still holding out hope that she gets trapped in some Mayan temple and suffocates."

Hermione would not have giggled if he was speaking about anyone other than Bellatrix. Death in a Mayan temple would be the best case scenario for everyone involved. It would give her cousin the opportunity to live his life outside of the sphere of influence of the woman she knew would one day be several sandwiches short of a picnic.

"Truthfully though, I'm hoping she falls in love with one of the blokes on the trip. _She_ can be the one to break off the engagement and I don't have to risk my father's wrath."

By that point in their conversation their feet had carried them all of the way down the driveway to the front door. As if there was someone waiting for them in the entrance hall, the heavy point of entry swung open just as they arrived. A tiny, little elf stood just inside the doorway waiting on them with her hands on her hips.

"Master Reggie was getting worried," the house elf castigated in her shrill, squeaky voice.

"I'm sorry, Rosie," Rodolphus replied, his cheeks flushing slightly.

"He is waiting in the study with Master Rabby."

Hermione found the manner in which the tall, strong Rodolphus deferred to the miniscule house-elf very funny. Somehow she got the impression that Rosie was the one who really ran the house. She felt all of the hair on her body prickle as she realized she was under intense scrutiny by the elf in question. Hermione worried if she could sense she was not actually a Lestrange. House-elf magic was mysterious and not very well known by the wizards they served. Remembering the birth certificate that Aberforth showed her over breakfast her first morning in the past, she recalled that she was legally and magically Roesia's daughter thanks to whatever Unspeakable Kingsley forced to go back in time. Perhaps that was enough to satisfy the house-elf.

"Rosie is happy to meet Missy Hermione. Rosie thinks she should have lived here her whole life."

Rodolphus chuckled at Hermione's obvious confusion. She had never met an elf so outspoken even after all of the visits she used to make to the Hogwarts kitchen during her SPEW days. Kreacher was always quick to insult her, but he did so quietly and not nearly as boldly as Rosie was speaking her mind. Her cousin placed an arm around her shoulders gently to lead her down the corridor towards the study.

" _Interesting_ elf. I thought they were all supposed to be timid and frightened of their own shadows?"

The older Lestrange son laughed loudly once more. His chortles echoed down the wood paneled hallway.

"Most of them are, but not Rosie. She's not afraid of any of us. She's the real Master of the house."

He escorted her down a long, wide corridor. Just as she expected, her eyes could not take in all of her surroundings quickly enough. It seemed that in every corner or on every stretch of wall there was some kind of fascinating artifact or elegant portrait to examine. Hermione thought it possible to spend weeks exploring the country house and still not see everything.

The study was exactly how she expected it to be. An obvious bastion of masculinity, it smelled of costly liquor and fragrant cigars. The walls were covered in a deep mahogany paneling. The furniture was heavy and dark. It was a place that she would not have felt comfortable lingering too long in without the charming wizard with his arm around her. Everything about it seemed to shout out that women were not needed or wanted within. A massive fireplace with a roaring fire even in the midst of the summer dominated most of the space.

Regnault and Rabastan were both seated across from each other in deep leather armchairs sipping at full glasses of what Hermione assumed to be fire whiskey. Even almost eight years in the wizarding world, she rarely saw anyone drink any kind of liquor _other_ than fire whiskey. She briefly wondered if wizards actually preferred the caustic alcohol or if they were simply trying to stay true to their heritage. Both men rose immediately from their chairs at her entrance. The stern patriarch of the Lestrange family traversed the thick carpet in only moments to greet his _niece_ with a kiss on her cheek. Hermione noticed that the usually unyielding man was much more handsome when he was not scowling. Part of her hoped that she would have the opportunity to see a softer side to him.

When Rabastan approached her, his cheeks were blushed. A self-deprecating laugh slipped out of his mouth before he too leaned down to kiss her on the cheek. His embarrassment from their last meeting was all too apparent. Not one to leave an opportunity alone to mortify his little brother, Rodolphus grabbed Hermione by the arms as soon as his kiss was completed to push her behind his much larger frame with a dramatic flourish.

"Don't get too close to her, little brother. Don't want to give her the wrong idea."

Hermione playfully swatted at Rodolphus' back causing the two eldest Lestranges to laugh. While she already knew that she liked the sound of the son's laughter, she was pleasantly surprised by the richness of the father's. It was a sound that she was almost positive was not heard very often in their home.

"Ha ha, very funny, Roddy," Rabastan retorted with a grin. "I only flirted with her because Felix dared me."

The lone female in the room pretended to be offended by his remarks. She pushed Rodolphus out of her line of sight so she could stare directly at the younger wizard.

"That hurts my feelings, Rabastan," she teased.

Rabastan rolled his eyes, eliciting even more laughter from the other occupants of the room.

"I didn't know you were my cousin, Hermione. Do you have any idea how much grief they're all going to give me when school starts again?"

After a brief interruption by the head house-elf to announce that dinner was getting cold, Regnault led the members of his small family down the long corridor to an extravagant dining room. Hermione had assumed that with only four dining together that night and all of them being essentially family, that they would share their meal in a much smaller space. It felt strange being led to a table that could easily seat thirty guests when there were only four present. No one else thought the arrangement odd. Regnault stood behind the chair at the head of the table. Rodolphus waited to be seated on his right. Rabastan was on his father's left. The wizard escorted his cousin to the sumptuous dining chair immediately to his right with a blush still marring his awkwardly handsome features. None of the men sat down until her chair was pushed in by Rabastan.

Where the meal she shared with the Shacklebolt/Shafiq family the night before had been casual and relaxed, dinner with the Lestranges was the exact opposite. The meal she helped Madam Shafiq prepare had been simple, hearty food. When she realized just how much the Shacklebolt men could consume, Hermione understood why the emphasis of that meal had been quantity. With the Lestranges, _quality_ ruled. Multiple courses of some of the most extravagant dishes Hermione had ever seen were served.

Also unlike the previous night, there was very little conversation. She was painfully reminded as the meal wore on how warm the Shacklebolts had been and how dinner with the Lestranges was a cool, almost gloomy affair. Hermione had to clench her lips together to prevent a sigh of relief from escaping her mouth when the elves began to clear away the dessert plates.

Regnault rose from his seat in one swift motion. Both of his sons followed his example moments later. Rabastan pulled Hermione's chair out and assisted her up. Satisfied that everyone was standing on their feet, the head of the family stalked out the door. Hermione found the bizarre manner in which both of her cousins rushed to follow the man perplexing. Rodolphus realized at the last second that they were in danger of leaving their dinner guest behind. He turned back around to offer her his arm.

Large glasses of wine in the study and intellectual discussion over werewolves' rights were not proper after-dinner activities for the Lestranges. Hermione had to stop in the middle of the brisk family walk around the estate to place a cushioning charm on her shoes. If she had known that a veritable hike after the meal ended to aid digestion was going to be part of the evening's activities, she would have worn more comfortable shoes.

"We do not sit indolently around after we eat, Hermione," Regnault explained when he could sense the confusion on his niece's features. "No Lestrange has ever been fat. I firmly believe it is because we do not follow the rest of society's view that the hour after the evening meal should be spent seated and indulging even further in wine or brandy."

Privately Hermione wondered if the reason why no Lestrange had ever been fat was because such a hike around the estate following the heavy meal meant more than one family member likely lost the contents of their stomach in one of the large hedges. Rodolphus could sense her discomfort. She wondered if he was embarrassed by his father's behavior as she assumed.

"Some nights Father makes us race each other through the massive hedge maze," he explained with a grimace. "There's nothing quite like enjoying some of Rosie's sticky toffee pudding and then running at a full sprint through a damned maze just minutes later."

"That's sounds dreadful!" she whispered back.

"I have decided to throw a large party to welcome you back to the country, Hermione," Regnault announced about ten minutes into their walk. "I am certain that rumors have already been spreading around the country since you arrived. It would be best to meet them head on and show that regardless of your mother's past decisions, you are being accepted into the family."

She did not know how to respond to his announcement. Honestly, the thought of spending an evening in the company of Regnault's associates and their families sounded like the worst possible evening she could imagine. No doubt they would be predominantly Slytherin, Pureblood elitists. They were the kind of people who could _smell_ an outsider. She was certain she could not possibly pull off such a large-scale masquerade.

"While I am certainly not against you completing your education as Father would have been, I think it very important that we introduce you to the _right_ sort of people before you attend Hogwarts. It may also behoove you to meet the _right_ sort of wizard as well."

"I am not even nineteen," she protested. "I have plenty of time to meet the _right_ sort of wizard."

"Nonsense. Proper marriages are decided at a young age. You do not wish to be left with only the less desirable candidates, do you?"

Hermione stopped walking at the implication that she was going to allow her marriage to be decided by her uncle. It did not matter what year she was living in, she would choose her own mate. Arranged marriages were archaic and not anything she would allow herself to be involved with.

"I will choose my own husband when I am ready," she declared, daring her uncle to challenge her words. "I will marry for love and nothing else. You will not use me as a means to garner more influence, Uncle."

Regnault actually laughed at her response. Both of his sons stared at the two of them with widened eyes, terrified of what was about to happen. Hermione got the distinct feeling that _no one_ argued with Regnault Lestrange.

"You really are extraordinarily like your mother," he said in an almost awed whisper.

"Thank you." She chose to accept his words as a compliment.

He laughed once more before resuming the walk. Rodolphus and Rabastan both stared at her with matching expressions of confusion and respect. She smiled smugly at them both to their great amusement. Soon the evening air was ringing with multiple peals of laughter.

"As Hermione has already made her opinion on the matter clear and Rodolphus already has his match, it appears that we must look to find your wife, son."

Rabastan quietly groaned. If his older brother was stuck with Bellatrix Black, Hermione could only imagine what kind of precious pearl his father would find for him.

"I heard a rumor that Vadim Dolohov has approached St John Selwyn about one of his daughters for his son," Regnault announced.

"Which daughter?" asked Rabastan suddenly curious.

"Vadim is allowing the boy to pick which one he prefers."

A bright smile crossed Rabastan's face at the news. Hermione did not understand why he suddenly changed from being almost annoyed by the prospect of his future marriage to intrigued.

"Antonin will choose Sybille. He likes the dark haired girls who read too much. Her younger sister is much more fun and we all know I love blondes. If that means that Solveig is still in need of a husband, I could be agreeable."

"I will speak with St John."

Hermione could not hide her disgust at what she had just witnessed. _That_ was how a marriage was decided in this family? The fathers arranged it. She was surprised that Regnault even cared that Rabastan had an opinion about the unsuspecting witch he was likely to be married off to. Everything was so clinical and detached from any real emotion. She could not imagine what it would be like to have one arranged for herself. She almost would rather die alone.

"I'm surprised that Selwyn is even considering Vadim's son," said Rodolphus.

"Why?" Hermione asked.

"Vadim's wife is a Mudblood," Regnault answered for his son. "Their son is only a Half-Blood."

"Mother always thought that Madam Dolohov was pleasant," Rodolphus added.

Regnault scoffed.

"Your mother had too much emotion in her. Too bloody _kind._ Rather like someone else I know."

Rodolphus' eyes dropped to his feet at the harsh remark. Hermione instantly felt anger and a desire to shield her cousin from his father. What was wrong with being kind? To her, it sounded like Roddy should be proud to be more like his mother and less like his father. She hated how Regnault was trying and likely succeeding in making his son feel inadequate. Part of her longed to wrap Rodolphus in a blanket and take him home with her away from the pettiness and anger of his father.

"Bloody poor decision on his part to marry the Mudblood. Vadim is going to have some difficulty securing an advantageous marriage with his son only being a Half-blood."

"I'm a Half-blood," Hermione reminded him harshly. She was sorely tempted to come right out and admit to being Muggleborn herself, but she did not have a death wish.

"Yes, I am all too aware of the mistake my sister made," he spat, his blue eyes flashing.

Hermione was not surprised in the slightest by his outburst. While she knew he had been making an effort to include her in the family, she knew Regnault was not likely to forget that she had the misfortune of possessing a Muggleborn grandmother. Pureblood blood purists like him were more than aware of the failings of their own families. It became clear to her that the reason he wanted to steer her in the direction of suitable mates was his attempt to clear the stain of her illegitimate, non-Pureblood birth from his family tree.

She turned on her heel and ran full speed towards the gates of the estate. Rodolphus' pleas for her to stop rang through her ears, but she did not heed them.

* * *

June 19, 1998

 **7:10 am**

"What do we do?" Aberforth asked, deferring to the mastermind of their plan for further instructions.

Kingsley swallowed a mouthful of hot coffee to delay his response. There really was not much they could do. Both of them were responsible for breaking numerous laws. If anyone found out that they had stolen a time turner from the Ministry, used it to go back in time to forge official documents and then forced a woman to go back in time without her permission, they would be looking at lengthy sentences in Azkaban.

"We have to help with the search," Kingsley answered. "We cannot let anyone even suspect that we know where Hermione really is."

"It's all going to come out in the end, son. It always does."

"We will deal with the consequences when she is back with us again."


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

June 25, 1971

 **9:55 pm**

Hermione was not sure what her final destination was going to be when she Disapparated away from the gates of the Lestrange Estate. In the back of her mind she could remember the words of Wilkie Twycross during one of their first Apparition lessons warning his students to always have a set destination in mind before even attempting to Apparate. There were too many moments in Apparition where it could go wrong if the traveler was not one hundred percent certain of their planned terminus. Too many chances for serious splinching.

While she could have recited the guide to Apparition backwards and forwards to anyone dumb enough to ask her to, Hermione quite simply did not care. She wanted, no, _needed_ to get away from the Lestrange family. Regnault's words still stung. It seemed that no matter what she did or said, she would always be an outsider. Part of her wondered why she even cared what _that_ family thought of her, but despite her past issues with certain horrid members, she _did_ care. Aberforth told her she would be stuck in the past for at least the next nine years. It would be a long, miserable existence if she could not get along with the people who were supposed to be her family.

She should have set her course for The Hog's Head. Rodolphus would no doubt come running after her straight to her father's home. He had too large of a heart to not want to make certain she was doing all right after his father's insults. Once Aberforth learned that she had left the estate and not come back to his home, there would be concern. Hermione did not want Aberforth to worry, but she also did not want to face the man just yet. Too many variations of the words 'I told you so' were likely to be a part of her immediate future. She needed some time alone to calm herself before she dealt with yet another emotional upheaval.

The ramshackle structure that would come to be known as the Shrieking Shack in her time appeared before her when her feet touched solid ground. She knew thanks to her knowledge of the future that Professor Dumbledore had the seemingly abandoned structure built to house Remus Lupin during his transformations during the full moon. Rumors about the home were already spreading through the village by that time, although no one could say for certain just when they knew it arrived. Despite knowing that it was not the most haunted house in Britain as so many would come to believe it to be, Hermione still found being alone at night in the woods surrounding it to be quite eerie.

A rundown fence had been constructed around the property as well. The fence was the simple split-rail construction that had been easy and cheap to construct for hundreds of years. Carefully ignoring the ridiculous dress she'd transfigured for the evening, she climbed up to the top rail. Hermione swung her legs over the top to face the building that had factored into two of the most frightening and traumatic nights of her life.

Severus Snape died in that building. Or, she reminded herself, _would_ die there. He would die alone thinking that no one cared about him. She hated to admit even to herself that he was likely correct. Even though she remembered feeling great sadness watching his life drain out of him, she did not know what a great man he actually was until many hours later when the smoke was beginning to clear and the bodies already beginning to rot. And then the night that Remus transformed into a werewolf right before their very eyes…

She had every reason to want to avoid the place, but somehow she felt a tiny bit comforted being in a place she knew she would step foot in years from then in her own time. It seemed a silly thought. She did not care. Perhaps she would feel the same level of comfort when she attended Hogwarts in the fall. Though she had appeared to be wavering with her decision, deep down she knew that she would always return to her beloved school. She had too much time invested in her education to not complete her NEWTs.

A disturbing thought crossed her mind. This would be the year that Professor Snape and the group of Gryffindors known as the Marauders would begin their years at Hogwarts too. So many of her fellow students were already dead in the future. Dead too soon and too young an age. Professor Snape and Remus had only been thirty-eight years old. The Potters only twenty-one. She hated knowing that she would also be seeing the young Sirius Black years before he was locked up in Azkaban for twelve years for a crime he did not commit only to die tragically a few years later. It made her heart constrict to know that so many were going to die and she was going to have to watch them live again.

An overwhelming sadness took hold of her at the realization that she would likely be unable to change anything about the world she found herself in. Unless she was completely mistaken about time travel, every single thing that she knew about the past had already happened. She was stuck living in a kind of loop where past events were doomed to repeat themselves. There would be no saving the Potters from a tragic demise. Harry would have to grow up without his parents again. Sirius would be back in prison. Remus would be alone. Rodolphus would still marry that horrible woman and get sucked into the Death Eaters no matter what she tried to do to stop it.

She had not allowed herself to fully cry since she arrived in 1971. Too often when she felt the urge, she choked down the emotions to keep on moving. She had always tried very hard to keep her emotions from controlling her, but there were times in her life when she was simply too exhausted or upset to keep the tears from flowing. In that moment she could no longer stem the tide of the tears that were threatening to drown her. With her elbows resting on her knees, she covered her face with her hands to cry. More than once when she felt the urge to cry she could convince herself that she was simply stuck in a bad dream that she would soon wake up from. Finally releasing the torrent brought reality crashing at a furious pace.

"Hermione?"

The whisper of her name was so soft and she was sobbing so loudly that she almost missed it. Startled that she was discovered in such a vulnerable position, the distraught witch turned her head quickly towards the source of the voice behind her. Sixteen year old Kingsley Shacklebolt reminded her of the frightened deer her dad almost struck with the family car when she was eight years old. Like so many other young men, he did not seem to know how to approach her in her current state.

"What do you want, Kingsley?"

She did not mean for her words to be so rude. Almost immediately she regretted her tone. It was not his fault that she was feeling exposed and demeaned. Either Kingsley did not take offense to her words or he was better at hiding his emotions than she realized.

"I heard crying when I was walking through the woods," he answered. "Thought someone might be in trouble. I did not mean to intrude."

Kingsley removed a wrinkled, but clean handkerchief from his pocket. It only took a few strides of his long legs to close the distance between them. When he tried to hand her the strip of fabric, she actually laughed out loud. His furrowed brow confirmed his confusion.

"Do you often wander through the woods offering clean handkerchiefs to crying damsels in distress?" she teased, though her tone had a steeliness to it that she almost did not recognize. "You really are a bloody Gryffindor, aren't you?"

She accepted the handkerchief from his outstretched hand. Too late she wondered if she had revealed too much. Wasn't she supposed to be a girl who had spent her life wandering the world with her rebellious mother? How would she know about the various traits associated with each of the Hogwarts Houses? Kingsley did not make a comment on her question. Hermione assumed that if they weren't standing in the darkness and his complexion wasn't so dark, she would see embarrassed, flushed cheeks. Immediately she hated herself for her rudeness.

"I'm sorry. That was unkind of me. Thank you."

Kingsley leaned over the top rail of the fence to stare at the Shrieking Shack. Hermione turned back around. Neither of them said anything for several long moments. Simply stared straight ahead at the decrepit structure that appeared as if it would fall over with one moderate gust of wind.

"It's really dangerous to be out here alone, Hermione," Kingsley said, interrupting the stillness of the night. "Werewolves have been seen near here on several occasions."

"It is not even the full moon yet."

"No, but it is still dangerous."

Hermione really did not want to argue with the boy. If he had a hint of the man he would become already, she knew that he could debate her for hours. There had been several lively discussions in their past, or rather their future, that had lingered on for far too long. Kingsley did not like to be proven wrong especially when he was vehement that he wasn't. She could understand his reluctance to give in too easily. She was the exact same way.

It had been a long time since she had had the pleasure of an evening spent in Kingsley's presence. Or rather the Kingsley he would become as he grew older. Between the war escalating, the rebuilding and his new position as the Minister for Magic, she had a hard time remembering when the last time they argued over a lukewarm cup of tea had been. Too damn long, for certain. She wasn't aware until that moment how much she missed him.

Hermione turned her head slightly to examine the young man leaned over the top fence post. There were hints of the man he would become. She wondered how much longer it would take before he ceased to annoy her. Obviously there would come a day when she would actually love him. Otherwise why would Kingsley be so reckless to send her back in time? She had to assume that at some point he would eventually grow up enough that she would enjoy his company.

Kingsley grew uncomfortable under her gaze. Hermione thought the awkward manner in which he held himself was slightly endearing. Her recollection of him from the moment they met on the staircase at headquarters was always of a confident, powerful wizard. More than once she had envied his self-assuredness. Seeing him as a gawky, unconfident teenager tugged just a tiny bit at her heartstrings. There was obviously more to his façade than he allowed her to see in the future.

"What?" he finally asked when he could not stand the stares any longer.

Hermione laughed at his discomfort.

"Why are you in the woods anyway?" she asked. "If they're as dangerous as you claim they are."

He shuffled his feet and dropped his eyes to the grass.

"Just needed some time alone," he muttered. "Too many people at home right now."

Hermione softly chuckled. She could understand the feeling. Every time she spent more than a few hours at the Burrow she longed for an escape, even if it was just five or ten minutes behind Mr. Weasley's shed full of broken Muggle objects. She had never been a part of a large family. It was overwhelming.

"Do you have guests over?" she asked. There had only been five members of his family present the night before. Hardly a large group.

"No, it's just us, but sometimes that's more than enough."

She laughed again, but if his smile was any indication, he was not offended. After a loud sigh, he spoke again.

"It's hard being the only Gryffindor in a house full of Ravenclaws. That might not mean a lot to you, but I always feel somehow…"

"Less?"

"Yes. I am not stupid. I just don't always want to sit around and debate the differences between wolfsbane and aconite."

"They're the same plant."

Kingsley groaned before pretending to smash his head on the fence rail. Hermione burst out in loud laughter at his dramatics, forgetting her own issues for the first time since arriving back in Scotland from the dismal dinner in Norfolk.

"That's it. _You_ should marry Tommy. My parents will be overjoyed and you two can have beautiful, swotty, little babies and I will come visit as big, dumb Uncle Kingsley. I'll be the perfect example of what they _shouldn't_ become."

Hermione playfully slapped his arm. Kingsley was startled by the touch.

"Nonsense. You are going to become a respected auror."

He perked up a bit at her declaration. It was the truth, after all.

"And then one day you are going to become the youngest Minister for Magic in centuries."

Kingsley smiled broadly. He stood to his tallest height and actually puffed out his chest in pride. Hermione wondered when the last time was he received a compliment from his family or even reassurance that they were proud of him. Though she knew his parents loved him fiercely, it was all too easy to not remember to show a child how special they were when you did not understand them. Hadn't she learned that the hard way with her Muggle parents? They could understand enough to be proud that she was made a prefect, but they could not understand why it was important to know how to transfigure a tortoise into a teacup.

"Minister Shacklebolt, huh? I can see that," he laughed. "I bet Tommy will be jealous."

The sinking feeling she had been experiencing earlier when she thought of everyone she knew that died during the First and Second Wizarding Wars returned in full force. She did not know Thomas Shacklebolt's fate, but it was not difficult to assume that it had not been pleasant. Kingsley never once mentioned his brother and she wondered why. Did he die? Did he get seduced by the same promises that almost all of his friends sitting at the table in The Hog's Head did and become a Death Eater? She closed her eyes and tried to mentally picture every single Death Eater she had ever seen. None of them reminded her of Thomas. That would have been a comfort if she was not well aware of the fact that there were many Death Eaters she never came into contact with. It was all too likely that Thomas would not even be alive when his brother became the Minister. The thought brought back the overwhelming sadness from earlier.

"Why are you out here alone?" Kingsley asked, sensing the shift in her mood almost instantly.

"I had dinner with the Lestranges tonight. It did not go well."

Kingsley grimaced.

"I only know Rabastan a little bit, but I don't like him. Too concerned with his self-image and with how everyone else can help him. Guess it makes sense that he's a Slytherin."

"Yes, well, it was awful. I ran out of there and didn't want to go back to Ab's, I mean, my _father's_ house just yet. I needed some time by myself first."

"Is it… is it because… are you missing your mum?"

Hermione felt her eyes fill up with tears at his innocent, concerned query. Yes, she missed her mum dearly. And her dad. And what her life had once been. Everything changed because of Voldemort. Even if she were able to return to 1998 that second, her life still would be irrevocably changed. She could not answer him beyond a nod of her head. Kingsley placed a hesitant and soft hand on her shoulder. The simple gesture made her cry even harder.

"I want to go home," she whimpered quietly.

"My granny says that home isn't a place. It isn't four walls and furniture and a roof. We carry it around with us everywhere we go with our memories and the love we have for others. Granny talks too much, but sometimes she's right. You could make this your home too."

"That's a nice thought."

Kingsley extended his hand to assist Hermione off of the railing. She gladly accepted it. The hour was growing late and she really needed to face the consequences of her abrupt exit. Once her legs were safely on the other side of the fence, Kingsley released her hand to reach for her waist. Hermione wasn't expecting the familiar touch and almost kicked him away. She was on her feet and he released her in moments.

"Thank you," she mumbled, feeling her cheeks warm. "We should both go home before our parents send out a search party."

They walked to the well-trodden path towards the village. Neither spoke for at least the first few minutes. Finally Kingsley could no longer remain silent. His eagerness made Hermione smile.

"I'm sorry that I interrupted your private moment," he stated.

"It's all right," she assured him. "I'm just embarrassed you saw me like that."

"I promise not to tell anyone."

She had to chuckle at his enthusiasm once more. Despite being more than a little annoying, he had his adorable moments too. He seemed to be like an overzealous puppy, eager to be a part of the excitement and constantly underfoot. It was either a trait that would grow on her or he would grow out of.

"If you want, I will tell you a secret I've never told anyone before," he offered. "That way you can be certain I won't tell anyone what I saw."

Hermione was intrigued. What kind of secrets could the sixteen year old Kingsley possibly possess that were worth so much?

"All right. Tell me one."

"The Sorting Hat wanted to put me in Hufflepuff, but I begged it to put me in Gryffindor."

As far as deep, dark secrets went, that was hardly one to be ashamed of. The more Hermione considered the traits that Hufflepuff House was known for, the more she thought that Kingsley would have made a wonderful Hufflepuff. No, it most certainly was not the most glamorous of the Houses, but he was loyal to a fault, patient, exceedingly fair and very kind. He had proven himself to be unafraid of toil and a hard worker. How else would he have even been considered for the coveted Minister position in his early forties?

"Is that a bad thing?" she asked, legitimately confused by his reluctance to be placed in that particular House. Too often she had actually found herself feeling jealous of the Hufflepuffs in her year. Most of them had qualities that she strived for and always fell short of.

"Not exactly, but if I thought my brother made fun of me a lot being a Gryffindor, that is nothing compared to what he would've done if I was Sorted into Hufflepuff."

"You or your brother are going to have to educate me on the differences in the Houses before September. I don't want to show up ignorant."

Kingsley's face split in a wide grin at the announcement she was planning on attending Hogwarts in the fall. In their short acquaintance he must have already asked her a dozen times if she was planning on finishing her last year there. He appeared as if Christmas came early.

"You don't need to know the differences. Just ask the Sorting Hat to put you in Gryffindor."

His exaggerated wink made her laugh again. She knew it was only going to be a matter of time before the kid got on her nerves again, but in that moment at least, she was enjoying his company.

"I will ask Thomas then. I am certain he will tell me."

The rest of the walk back to the heart of Hogsmeade passed in fairly entertaining conversation about a number of topics. They discussed his family and what there was to do in the village during the quiet summer months. Before she was aware of how far they had gone, they were standing in front of the blazing, clean windows of her father's pub. A quick glance through the front showed her suspicion that Rodolphus was going to follow her was true.

"Looks like they're expecting you," Kingsley said, gesturing to where her father was talking to her cousin.

"Thanks for walking me back, Kingsley."

They parted ways. Hermione took a series of deep breaths before she had worked up enough nerve to open the front door. When the bell tinkled above her head announcing her arrival, Aberforth and Rodolphus both met her eyes across the half-empty pub. Thankful that the presence of at least a dozen other patrons meant that she was likely to be spared a loud lecture, she quickly closed the door behind her and marched towards her fate.

"We've been worried about you, lass," Aberforth gently chastised.

"Hermione, are you all right?" asked Rodolphus, concern written across his handsome face.

"I'm all right," she assured them both. "Just needed some time to myself."

Rodolphus stood to his full height to pull out the stool next to his. Hermione really wanted to just disappear into the back room, but did not want to be rude. He was not the one who deserved it. If it had been his father trying to get her to sit down next to him, she would've flung a series of very unladylike words in his direction before stomping out of the pub once more. Instead, she settled herself down on the stool. Aberforth pushed a glass of fire whiskey in front of her without even asking.

"Hermione, what my father said…" Rodolphus began.

She raised a hand to cut him off.

"Was inexcusable, but I don't want to discuss it any further," she stated. "He is entitled to his own wrong opinions."

"I knew I shouldn't have let you go alone," Aberforth muttered.

Hermione lifted her eyes to meet Aberforth's. She felt heartened by his remark and gave him a warm smile. The slightest twinkle returned to his blue eyes.

"Father sent me with his apologies and his request that I smooth it all over," her cousin declared.

She actually snorted at the notion that Regnault was sorry about his behavior. As if she would believe that in a million years. He was not a man who changed his views lightly or on a whim. Even though she was not biologically his niece, it still hurt that he would never accept her fully because of the choices his younger sister made. Part of her did not even want to try. Wasn't her life complicated enough now without bringing in the entire Lestrange family as a distraction? She was already convinced that she would be unable to save her favorite member of the family from a future fraught with pain. Maybe it would be best to just walk away before she became too invested.

"I'm sure he did," she mumbled. "How does he expect you to 'smooth it all over'?"

Rodolphus' cheeks turned a light shade of pink. He did not seem eager to answer her question only making Hermione's curiosity grow stronger.

"He wants me to take you shopping tomorrow for a dress for the party," Rodolphus answered in a soft tone she almost didn't hear.

 _Almost_ didn't hear. She laughed out loud at the suggestion that all it would take was her going shopping to make her forgive her uncle's insults. Just how vapid did he believe all young women were?

"Of course. Yes, taking me shopping is _exactly_ what will help the situation," she retorted. "Why didn't I think of that sooner? Insult my mother. Insult my bloodline. Tell me how inferior I am. Why yes, a new dress will certainly make me forget the humiliation I experienced tonight."

"Hermione…" Aberforth warned.

"I told him it was a bad idea," Rodolphus replied.

"Well, you were right, cousin. I'm not certain I even have any desire to attend a party he might throw. What would it consist of? Parading his halfblood, illegitimate niece in front of the wizarding elite to show me how little I'm worth? Maybe find me some desperate wizard to marry who won't mind I was born on the wrong side of the blankets?"

"That's enough, Hermione!"

She had never heard Aberforth raise his voice to her before. It was a disconcerting feeling. One that she did not want to repeat any time soon. He stared down at her from the other side of the bar with a pained expression on his countenance. All at once she realized that every word she was just spouting off was also insulting him personally. The tears she had thought were over returned in full force.

"I'm sorry, lass," Aberforth whispered, handing her a rag from behind the bar.

Hermione cast an inconspicuous _scourgify_ on the fabric before wiping her face. Rodolphus seemed at a loss on how to proceed with their discussion. He looked as if he would rather be just about anywhere else in the world.

"Roddy, do you mind if I have a few minutes alone to talk to me dad?" she asked.

"Of course not."

Knowing he was a lover of all animals, she gave him directions through the private family section of the pub to the back door that would lead him out to Gladys and Agnes. When he was no longer within earshot, Hermione turned back to face Aberforth.

"You were right," she declared. "Regnault is awful. I should have listened to you."

"I'm sorry he made you feel inferior. He and I have never seen eye to eye on a lot of issues. Perhaps it was for the best that Sia and I never did get married. I imagine Christmas mornings with the family would not have been very peaceful."

Hermione laughed softly at the thought. At the very least his comment broke the tension between them.

"I'm sorry about what I said," Hermione whispered. "I was not thinking about how it would affect you."

"I'm not offended, Hermione. Mostly I am just angry that Reg thought he had a right to make my girl feel like she wasn't important or just as good as his awful children."

Every time Aberforth had referred to her as 'his girl' since the night she came to in the past, her heart warmed. It was a wonderful feeling knowing that even though there were no blood ties between them, Aberforth was taking his role as her father seriously. She was thankful that she had such a fierce ally in such a frightening place.

"If it were up to me, I would not let you anywhere near anyone whose last name was Lestrange, but it's not my decision," he continued. Aberforth lowered his voice to a quiet whisper to prevent any of his customers from hearing. "Legally, they are your family too. Whoever my accomplice was in sending you back here, they were thorough. I don't have a right to keep you from them as much as I would like to. They are a powerful family. As much as I hate it, they can help you make a life here with connections and money that I could never dream of."

Hermione reached across the bar to take one of Aberforth's hands in hers. Just as he had been when she gave him a hug earlier in the evening, he seemed uncomfortable with the physical touch. Her heart hurt at the renewed realization that affection was somewhat foreign to the man. She wondered how long it would take before he was comfortable with the casual touches she had always taken for granted.

"I don't need them," she retorted. "But you're right. They have connections that might come in handy later and I already love Roddy. He's the best one in the whole family."

"Then as much as I hate it, you _should_ go to the damned party. Let your cousin take you shopping and buy the most extravagant, expensive frock you can with Reg's damned galleons."

His wink set her laughing again. He squeezed her hand before releasing it to go back to serving his customers.

* * *

June 19, 1998

 **7:15 am**

Aberforth and Kingsley headed to the front door of the Hog's Head preparing themselves mentally for the subterfuge they were going to have to undertake once they arrived at the castle. Both men knew that this was always going to be a possibility once they started their plan to send Hermione back to the past. Still did not make it any easier to face the public knowing they were all about to begin a fruitless search.

The proprietor of the pub was the first to reach the door. He unlocked the deadbolt and before he could open the slab of wood himself, it was pushed open by an unseen force on the other side. Kingsley instinctively reached for his wand in his pocket, ready for battle if necessary. When he saw the tiny witch step across the threshold and place both of her hands on her hips, he rolled his eyes.

"Granny, what are you doing here?" he asked, not even bothering to hide his annoyance.

"Heard the Granger girl has gone missing," Marjorie Shafiq replied. "Now which one of you numpties is responsible?"


	10. Chapter 10

_Author's Note: I may be unable to update this weekend (Boo!) but hope this will hold you all over until then! Thank you so much for all of the encouraging reviews and for taking the time to Follow or Favorite. You all are awesome!_

* * *

Chapter Ten

June 26, 1971

 **9:00 am**

After two large glasses of fire whiskey with her cousin at the bar where her father periodically came to stand behind, Hermione was calm enough to almost forget the humiliation of the dinner at the Lestrange Estate. Rodolphus promised to arrive at The Hog's Head precisely at nine the next morning to take her to Diagon Alley. Because she was unused to such strong liquor, she had had no trouble falling asleep despite the emotional upheaval.

Rodolphus was knocking at the front door of the pub three minutes before the nine o'clock hour in an effort to make up for his tardiness the night before. Aberforth welcomed him back into the family section of the pub where Hermione was finishing up her breakfast in the kitchen. The three of them passed several pleasant minutes discussing the agenda for the day.

"Before we do anything, Hermione, we _must_ stop by Gringotts," Rodolphus explained.

Hermione was both nervous and excited about the prospect of returning to the scene of the crime, so to speak. She had not been back inside the famed wizard bank since the day she, Harry and Ron stole the blind dragon down in the bowels of the bank's extensive caverns. Though it had not been expressed in so many words, she was almost certain that the goblins of Gringotts would not be pleased to see her face again within their establishment when she returned to the future. Between the numerous funerals following the final battle and then the rebuilding of the school afterwards, she had not had the opportunity to escape to London for even a few hours to test out her theory.

After giving Aberforth yet another hug that he seemed slightly uncomfortable with, Hermione followed her cousin out the front door. She did not really need his assistance in Apparating to the familiar London shopping district, but she got the feeling that it made Rodolphus feel better to have some semblance of control over the situation. Imagining his horror at being unable to find his younger cousin when they reached their destination and having to face the wrath of both her father _and_ his, she giggled quietly and grasped his offered arm.

She was curious to see if Diagon Alley was any different from what she remembered from her own time. Of course her last couple of visits in the middle of the war did not really count. She was certain there would not be wandless Muggleborns begging in the street or beloved stores boarded up with no owners in sight. A lump formed in her throat at the realization that those events were still to come. It was too easy in time travel to forget. Once their feet landed in front of the marble pillars, Hermione felt her lungs constrict and her palms grow sweaty.

"Are you all right?" Rodolphus whispered, concerned by the change in her breathing pattern.

Hermione tried to nod in the affirmative except her brain was having trouble communicating with the rest of her body. All she could think of was the day she promenaded down the main alley disguised as Bellatrix Lestrange, intent on burglarizing the ancient vault belonging to the family she was now strangely considered a part of. Her arm began to burn where the horrible woman carved a hateful slur only a few months earlier. So many thoughts and feelings that she had not expected came rushing back at her with an intoxicating fury. Rodolphus was beside himself with worry. One of the only coherent thoughts she could muster in the moments as her vision became fuzzy and loud buzzing sounded in her ears, was the sensation of a gentle, but firm hand on her arm pulling her inside the building.

"Make way! Make way!"

Concerned voices in varying tones sounded around her muddled head. She was led to a chair and carefully pushed onto the plush seat. Someone was rubbing her back with a tender hand, whispering soothing words into her ear. Reminding her to breathe. Telling her she was safe. Begging her to drink water. Smoothing down her hair. Hissing at someone offering a calming spell.

She had only had one other panic attack in her life that she could remember clearly. It had happened only days following the terrifying night she witnessed Professor Lupin transform into a werewolf and she and Harry had been able to save Sirius Black's life on the back of the condemned hippogriff, Buckbeak. In the heat of the moment while flying over the Hogwarts grounds with her arms thrown around Harry's waist, she had been able to forget that she was so afraid of flying. Days later when she woke up in the middle of the night after a vivid dream with the same sensations of flying, she had forgotten she was in the safety of her four poster bed in Gryffindor Tower. It had taken a large dose of calming potion from Madam Pomfrey to bring her back to herself. Naturally the matron assumed that she was only suffering side effects of the dementor attack and the close call with a full-grown werewolf.

"Hermione, darling, are you all right?"

Her eyes focused enough to recognize Rodolphus crouched on the floor in front of her. Concern and fear were splashed across every inch of his face. His entire face and neck were bright red and a single drop of perspiration dripped down from the top of his head. Without giving it much thought, she threw her arms around the wizard's neck. The force almost knocked him backwards, but it only took him moments to right himself and return the embrace.

"Could we have a few minutes, sirs?" Rodolphus asked.

"Yes, of course, Mr. Lestrange," replied a voice that could only belong to a goblin.

The moment the door clicked shut behind them, Hermione burst into tears. Rodolphus tightened his arms around the sobbing witch, continuing his encouraging words. She was not sure how long they remained in that position before she was thoroughly humiliated.

"I am so sorry," she mumbled, carefully pushing back from her cousin.

Rodolphus smiled at her in an attempt at reassurance. It _almost_ made her feel less embarrassed. The wizard slowly rose from his crouched position, wincing as the feeling came back into his muscles. He reached into his front pocket to remove a handkerchief. When it was offered to the witch, Hermione could not help but snort and laugh softly.

"What?" he asked, a perplexed smile on his face.

"I was just thinking that it was about time I started carrying around my own handkerchief," she replied, rolling her eyes. "I'm liable to steal everyone else's otherwise."

"Are you all right? Is there something you need?"

She attempted a half-smile that came out more like a grimace. Mostly she just wanted to melt into a puddle and hide underneath the ornate desk they were seated in front of. How many people witnessed her _event_? Rodolphus sat in the chair next to hers.

"Once when I was about seven, Grandfather took me into the Ministry of Magic. We were doing something in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Probably something about his desire to reinstate legal Muggle hunting."

"What?!"

Rodolphus sighed.

"Yes, it's as awful as it sounds. Imagine a fox hunt, but instead of foxes, the dogs hunt helpless Muggles. Barbaric, yes, but unfortunately a sport that our ancestors excelled at."

"Fuck."

"Yes, I'm afraid there are a lot of hideous ancestors on our tree. Some of them not that far up the branches either," he continued. "But somehow I got separated from Grandfather and I got lost. Managed to get myself locked in one of the empty offices. No matter how many times I pounded on the door, no one came for me. A custodian found me the next morning."

"What?! Grandfather just _left_ you there?"

Rodolphus shrugged his shoulders. Hermione could not believe the horrible story he was telling her. What kind of man was this person, anyway? How can a person just leave their seven year old grandson alone overnight in a strange building? Surely there had been some sort of search for little Rodolphus.

"He believed it would be a good lesson to remind me to always stay close to him when we were out in public."

"I'm very thankful I never met the man. Oh! That's the worst story I've ever heard of a grandfather and his grandchild. If he were still alive, you better trust I would have a few choice words to share with the horrible man."

Her cousin chuckled softly at her continued rant against the former patriarch of their family. Despite not knowing the full details of her life or why exactly she ran, Hermione could certainly sympathize with Roesia's desire to leave her family. If that was how he treated his family, she was well shut of him. No wonder Aberforth's daughter wanted nothing to do with the rest of her family. While she felt badly for Aberforth in that arrangement, she could not blame her for not wanting to know her relatives.

"Why did you tell me that story?" she asked, suddenly confused by his tale.

"Just an experiment, I guess," he replied, shrugging his shoulders once again. "I got the feeling that if you were able to channel your emotions to something else upsetting, you might be able to move on from whatever just upset you. Wasn't certain it would work, but it's easy to tell you have a large heart, Hermione. You can't bear it when someone else is in pain."

His explanation made her laugh and her laughter made him laugh. Before they were even aware, both cousins were crying hard enough that tears were running down their cheeks. Rodolphus wiped his eyes on his sleeve since his only handkerchief was now put to use on Hermione's face.

"I am so embarrassed," she finally admitted. "How many people saw that?"

"Just a few. Couple of goblins. Saturday mornings are fairly slow. If anyone asks, we'll just say you have the flu."

His wink set her laughing again.

"Do you want to tell me what happened?"

She shook her head. How on Earth could she explain that she had a panic attack because it was the first time she had been back to a place she would one day rob in the future? And add in the fact that she actually broke into _his_ vault to steal Lord Voldemort's horcrux entrusted to his atrocious wife for safekeeping, there really was no explaining. Part of her hoped that he would just assume she was having some symptoms related to a feminine problem he wanted no information about.

"All right, let me just get one of the goblins so we can conduct our business. I don't like lingering here any longer than necessary."

Minutes later a rather officious looking goblin with the tiniest pair of glasses Hermione had ever seen sat in front of them examining her wand. She never cared for anyone to handle her wand due to the extreme intimacy of the act. Only those she trusted had ever been given permission. Though it was a new wand because hers was confiscated by Snatchers and she could not bear to use Bellatrix's any longer than necessary, it still unnerved her to have the goblin examining it so closely.

"Everything seems to be in order," the goblin declared, handing it back to her.

Hermione grasped the wand tightly in her hand in an effort to calm her nerves. The familiar wave of magic washed over her arm. Rodolphus could sense her uneasiness. He gave her a small smile before turning his attention back to the goblin.

"She will be needing her own private vault like we discussed earlier this week," he explained. "And she will also need to be given permanent access to the main Lestrange vault."

At his announcement Hermione burst out into loud, almost manic laughter. Their trip to the vault in the future would've have been a whole lot easier if she had been aware that she had already been given access to the vault they were forced to break into. Ignoring the stares from both Rodolphus and the goblin, Hermione wondered if she could have simply walked up to the goblin teller line and demanded to be taken down to the vault as an official member of the family. They might have been spared the burns from the falling treasure and the ride on the back of a dragon if she had known.

"I'm so sorry," she apologized, her cheeks flushing red. "I was thinking of something unrelated. Made me laugh."

Neither of them seemed fully satisfied with her answer, but returned quickly to the task at hand. The goblin whose name Hermione must have missed in the midst of her panic attack, stood up from his desk and excused himself from the room for a few minutes. He mentioned something about paperwork that she did not quite catch or understand.

"This is all really unnecessary," she insisted.

"Nonsense. Despite your last name, you are every bit as much of a Lestrange as I am. The family vault is, by rights, part of your inheritance from Auntie Sia."

"I don't need your father's money."

"It's not Father's money. It's the family's money. Two hundred and fifty galleons will be transferred to your personal vault at the first of every month."

Hermione almost choked on the glass of water she was sipping. In 1998, one galleon was approximately equal to five pounds. Her monthly allowance was one thousand two hundred and fifty pounds! While she was not sure exactly how much to figure in for inflation to find the value of the pounds in present day, it was a great deal of money for an eighteen year old without any bills or living expenses.

"I know it's not much, but it will increase to five hundred galleons after you finish your NEWTs. Some stipulation in the family trust to encourage us all to finish school."

She could not believe that Rodolphus was concerned that her allowance was not enough. Of course remembering how full the main family vault was when she broke into it, she was well aware that her monthly allowance even after she finished her NEWTs was hardly a drop in the bucket of the family wealth.

"If you are ever running a bit low, just let me know. I'll make sure you're taken care of," Rodolphus declared with a conspiratorial wink.

The goblin returned only moments later with copies of the vault keys for Hermione. She took them both with some reluctance. Somehow accepting the financial support of her new family was making this all very real. A small part of her felt guilty for lying about her identity especially when large amounts of money was involved. When the goblin explained that her first deposit had already been made, she actually blushed.

"Father wants me to take you down into the vault so you can pick out the proper jewelry for you to wear to the party."

"Surely that's not necessary."

"No, he insisted you be dressed like a proper daughter of the Lestranges. He was adamant and it is best not to argue with him about this."

She did not want to, but she relented with a deep sigh.

"I can't promise that I will stop arguing with him entirely, but I will certainly strive to pick my battles more carefully."

Rodolphus smiled.

"You'll have to forgive me, Hermione, but I don't know how this works. Would it be best to pick out the jewelry before the dress or the other way around?"

Hermione giggled at his obvious discomfiture. As much as she knew that he enjoyed spending time with her just as much as she enjoyed spending time with him, Rodolphus was at a complete loss how to shop for a woman's dress robes. She thought for at least the dozenth time in their acquaintance that he was simply adorable.

"I think it best to pick out the dress first. Besides, I would not want anything that belongs in a vault to be removed too soon before the party. We can always come back."

Rodolphus seemed relieved that he was not going to be expected to help her pick out the appropriate jewelry for their formal party. He rose from the chair and extended his hand to help her up. Hermione thanked the suspicious goblin for all of his help. The creature narrowed his eyes at the gesture. Obviously he was unused to wizards or witches being kind.

Once outside Rodolphus led her towards the end of the alley where Twilfitt and Tattings was located. In the present time, Hermione would not have dreamed of shopping in the stuffy, elite bastion of Pureblood fashion. Despite being unable to afford even the most modestly priced garments, she always felt ill at ease around the snobbish seamstresses who seemed to have the ability to smell her lack of funds.

"Father insisted that I take you here specifically," he explained as he held the door open. "The family has an account here and he wants you to order an entirely new wardrobe."

Hermione snorted. Of course he would not be pleased with the clothing he had already seen her in. They did not compare to the threads he wore.

"Something more befitting a Lestrange," Rodolphus continued, sneering as he said the last words.

She rolled her eyes at the phrase, but remembered her father's words of advice from the night before. If Regnault thought that he could simply buy his niece's affection and forgiveness, she was going to make him pay dearly. She was determined that she would get everything she wanted and then some. It was petty, _extremely_ petty. Somehow she found she did not care.

"Mr. Lestrange, what a pleasant surprise!"

One of the elderly witches at the front counter practically tripped over her hideous skirt to approach the new arrivals. Rodolphus was uncomfortable with the attention. Hermione found it amusing.

"What can we help you with today?"

"This is my cousin Hermione. She needs a formal dress for a party in three weeks' time."

"Oh wonderful!" the overly excitable witch exclaimed.

"Yes, and uhh, all that comes with that."

Both Hermione and the saleswitch chuckled softly at his uneasiness. His cheeks were bright red.

"Yes, and I will be needing an entirely new wardrobe," Hermione declared. Both of the witches working in the shop gasped at the announcement. "'Something befitting a Lestrange daughter'."

Her wink put Rodolphus at ease enough to laugh. He made his excuses to slip out of the store for a short time. She promised to meet him at his store when she was done. Never had she seen such relief as was plastered on his face when he stepped out into the sunshine.

"Well, ladies, I defer to your expertise," she stated to the amusement of the excited witches. No doubt they could _smell_ the profits they were going to ring from her uncle.

Two solid hours passed of the most asinine, mind-numbing discussions Hermione thought it possible to have. Her previous education on petticoats, formal dress robes and silk stockings had apparently been shockingly lacking. The ladies in the shop were only too happy to help her pick out a new wardrobe fit for a princess. Dozens of robes in a variety of shades and styles were ordered with promises that they would arrive before the next week was over.

She had no idea where she was going to store all of the new pairs of shoes and yards and yards of lace undergarments. Just thinking about asking Aberforth for a new dresser simply to hoard all of her new knickers made her cringe and want to hide. At least she knew that she was proficient with undetectable extension charms. The small closet in her bedroom at home was going to get an update when she returned.

All she had been prepared for that day was what she thought would be a simple dress for the damned party. Madam Tatting insisted on designing a gown for her personally. It was meant to be considered an honor, but Hermione was no fool. She knew tacking on the word 'bespoke' to just about anything doubled or even tripled the price. Once her final measurements were taken and a list compiled of exactly what she would _not_ wear, Hermione directed all of her purchases to be sent on to her father's home in Hogsmeade. She could not keep from laughing at the horrified expressions on both of their faces when she told them she actually lived at the Hog's Head.

Excited, boisterous shoppers crowded the Alley when she stepped back outside. They reminded her of some of the first trips she ever made to Diagon Alley. Thoughts of the abysmal state the area had become during the war were a distant memory. She found herself enjoying the short walk to the Magical Menagerie. It was easy to believe that one day the world would right itself and they would be back to the way it had been before Tom Riddle ever had the thirst for immortality.

Nothing about the Magical Menagerie had changed since the first time she stepped in the shop to purchase Crookshanks. Cages and owl perches were stacked all over the cramped space. Not a single surface was empty. If it was not displaying owl treats or magical tracking collars, it was the resting space of an elderly kneazle. The smell was overpowering when one first stepped into the store, but quickly was ignored the longer the customer remained.

A tall man was standing at the counter holding a tiny kitten when she entered. The ubiquitous bell that seemed to exist on all shop doors rang to announce her entrance. It seemed unnaturally loud in an establishment with hooting owls, hissing cats and squawking birds. The stranger turned his head in her direction, caught her eye and smiled. She felt strangely awkward in his presence. After returning his large smile with a rather bashful one of her own, she dropped her eyes to the first cage she saw.

"Hey, Rod, come out from the back," the attractive stranger shouted at the door towards the storeroom.

Hermione tried and failed to keep her attention focused on the glass case full of multi-colored streelers. Why anyone would want a pet snail that left a trail of toxic venom behind it everywhere it moved, she had no clue. Based on the large number in the cage, it seemed that very few _were_ interested in the color-changing snail. The man at the counter was unashamedly staring in her direction. From the corner of her eye she could appreciate his dark brown, almost black hair that fell in loose waves down to his shoulders. His deep blue eyes were striking. Though she usually did not care for large amounts of facial hair on anyone, the close clipped goatee covering his chin seemed to suit him. Holding and cuddling the mewling kitten softened the dangerous persona she was certain he was striving to achieve.

Rodolphus emerged from the back of his shop wearing a heavy blue apron over his shirt. His eyes moved from the wizard straight to Hermione. Once he saw her he smiled.

"Did you find everything you needed, Hermione?" he asked, removing the apron and coming around to the front of the counter.

"Hermione?" the other man responded with an almost feral grin that caused an unnerving swoop in her abdomen. "This charming creature is the cousin you were telling me about?"

"Yes, Igor," Rodolphus replied. "Hermione Dumbledore, this is Igor Karkaroff."

The future Headmaster of the Durmstrang Institute crossed the short distance between them in just a few strides of his long legs. At least four or five inches over six feet, he loomed over Hermione. Shifting the kitten into his left hand, Igor reached for her right hand with his. Instead of shaking it, he pressed a kiss on the back. It was an almost ridiculous gesture harking back to archaic times, but against her better judgment, Hermione found the attention pleasing.

She allowed herself the opportunity to stare at the man she would one day see in the future. He could not have been more than twenty-five or twenty-six. When she met him during the course of the Triwizard tournament, he was much altered. If she had not been introduced to him before the stress of years as a Death Eater altered him, she would not have recognized him.

"It is nice to meet you, Mr. Karkaroff."

"It is my pleasure," he crooned, not releasing his grasp of her hand. "You must call me Igor."

Hermione looked up to see her cousin rolling his eyes at the display. She did not expect his friend to be so charming. When she heard they were friends, she expected him to be some cold, stoic version of his older self constantly annoyed and barking out orders to his students. It had been easy to not imagine the wizard as a young man.

"I do so hate to go now that you've only just arrived, but I'm afraid I must purchase some supplies for my Potions Master," Igor stated with a prominent pout on his full lips.

"Go away, Igor," Rodolphus teased. "You'll see her again at the party."

"Ahh, yes, that's true. I am so looking forward to it too, Miss Dumbledore. Please be sure to save me a dance."

His wink and another kiss on the back of her hand sent her into another fit of embarrassing blushes. It had been a long time since she had had a proper crush on anyone. There had not been time for such frivolity when a dangerous war raged. Igor handed the kitten over to Rodolphus, shook his hand and with another wink sent in her flustered direction, stepped out onto the Alley.

* * *

June 19, 1998

 **7:15 am**

Neither of the men knew how to respond to Kingsley's grandmother's question. They tried to make eye contact with each other without it being too obvious what they were doing. Far from being fooled, Marjorie rolled her eyes and sighed.

"Kingsley Dean Shacklebolt, just how big of an eejit do you take me for?" she demanded.

"Granny, I…" He had no idea what to say next.

"I have known you from the second you were born. If it wasn't for me catching you, that big head of yours would have hit the floor. Now, don't you think that I might know a bit more about you than you give me credit for?"

The silence that fell was tense. Aberforth cleared his throat and began to slowly inch away from the argument between the relatives. One harsh glare from his friend of over one hundred years stilled his steps. She might be even tinier than she had been for most of her life, but she was still intimidating. He had been on the wrong end of her wand more times than he cared to remember.

"You and Tommy both thought you were so clever at keeping secrets," she continued. "But I figured out his too. I knew the first time that girl walked into my shop when she was thirteen there was something special about her."

"Granny…"

" _Don't_ interrupt me! I loved Hermione. She was one of my own and I know the two of you would have a family today if she had not disappeared the way she did. Just like everyone else, I assumed she died. Thought one of those Russian Death Eaters she always spent time with finally got to her.

"When I first saw her, I just assumed that Hermione's reason for disappearing had less to do with death and more to do with an unplanned pregnancy. That child didn't have a hint of you in her face or her complexion, that's for certain. Assumed she made a mistake and that child was the product. The older she got, though, the more I realized she _was_ Hermione."

"Now, Margie, that doesn't make any sense," argued Aberforth.

Marjorie spun around to glare at her friend. The man immediately swallowed and prepared himself for the hex he just knew was on its way.

"It all started to add up," she continued. "The strange responses she had to questions, the way she behaved towards certain people the longer she was here. Thought once she might be a Seer, doomed to know the fates of those around her whether she wanted to or not. Wasn't until I remembered seeing the strange necklace she always tried to keep hidden under her clothes that it clicked."

She turned her full attention to her youngest grandson. Despite his age and his lofty position within the government, he felt six years old again under her intense gaze.

"Only one person I know of who could muster up the resources to send someone back in time. Someone with almost unlimited power within the Ministry. Someone who has the ability to order the Unspeakables to do as he wishes."

"Granny…"

"And only one other person besides my doaty grandson who would even want that girl back in time."

Aberforth shifted uneasily under her gaze again. Both of the men were prepared to deal with lying to the searchers and loved ones at the castle. Neither of them was prepared for the interrogation from the miniscule witch.

"So, tell me, what's the plan to keep your actions from blowing up in your face?"


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

June 26, 1971

 **1:35 pm**

Hermione stared at the closed door of the Magical Menagerie for several seconds after the future Headmaster disappeared through it. Realizing that her cousin was staring at her with an amused expression on his face, she cleared her throat and walked to where he was standing. The adorable black and grey kitten he was holding struggled to get out of his grasp. She reached for the animal, satisfied that he immediately stopped squirming in her hands.

"I don't know how you can go through life without adoring cats, Roddy," she teased, ruffling the playful kitten's fur.

"I'm not saying that kittens aren't adorable. I just believe dogs make much better pets."

Somehow she got the feeling that this was one disagreement they would never resolve. She smiled at the wizard and began scanning the contents of the shop.

"Care for a tour?" Rodolphus offered.

"I would love one."

Hermione decided within the first few minutes of the in-depth tour she was being given by the enthusiastic owner of the store that it was a real shame Rodolphus did not feel brave enough to admit the truth to his father. He was in his element amongst all of the owls, lizards, rats and more than a few slithering serpents that made his guest ill at ease. She would never be able to look at a snake without imagining the horrific night she and Harry spent at Bathilda Bagshot's home in Godric's Hollow. While she was pleased to not have been present for the moment that the rotting body of the famed historian came apart to release the horcrux residing within, the aftermath and the detailed description Harry gave later that night was more than enough to set her up with nightmares for the rest of her life. She gave the section with the snakes a wide berth, focusing instead of the dozens of different kinds of owls for sale.

"Do you have an owl yet?" Rodolphus asked when he caught her admiring a baby spectacled owl.

"Not yet. Honestly don't really have a need for one yet."

"That one's a sweet one. Not ready to deliver mail yet, but at the right age to start training." He ran this back of two of his fingers down the bird. The adorable owl preened under the attentions. "You'll be a real good one, won't you?"

The owl's tiny answering 'hoo' made them both laugh. Hermione wished she could take him home with her, but like she said, she did not have a need yet. At that point in her life she wasn't inundated with potential correspondents. If she was actually going to be stuck in the past for nine years as Aberforth accidentally revealed on her first night, her need for mail delivery would likely change. At least she could be almost certain that her cousin would offer a family discount when that day arrived.

"So your friend seemed very nice," she blurted out, hoping that she sounded as casual as possible.

Unfortunately she wasn't as casual as she hoped. Rodolphus laughed loudly enough to startle the tiny, baby owl. He hooted once more in what must have been an indignant tone before turning around on his perch to show them his back.

"I thought you might find him interesting," Rodolphus replied. "What is it? The tall, dark and handsome bit? His attempt to appear dangerous or that ridiculous goatee he insists looks good on him?"

She wasn't quite sure how to answer his question. While she ruminated on a possible response that would not give him cause to ridicule her relentlessly, she thought back to the night she met Igor Karkaroff officially for the first time. Naturally she remembered seeing him around the castle from the very first night the Durmstrang contingent arrived for the Triwizard Tournament her fourth year. Karkaroff was an imposing figure and had made an impression on her from the start.

There had not been an opportunity to actually speak to the man until the night of the Yule Ball. Viktor Krum smugly introduced his date to the Headmaster. Karkaroff narrowed his eyes at her, seeming to give her face a thorough examination without making it obvious what he was doing. She remembered feeling a bit nervous with the attention. Almost immediately he demanded to know who her parents were. When she proudly announced that both of her parents were Muggles, he actually sneered.

"Not who I assumed you were after all," he retorted before removing all attention from her the next moment in a haughty manner that annoyed her greatly.

Moments later he swept away from them in a flurry of silver furs. At the time she just assumed he was surprised to find out she was Muggleborn. That fact still bothered a great number of people she met even after Lord Voldemort's final defeat. Now that she was standing in the middle of her cousin's store, she wondered if his initial reaction to her might not have been because he remembered meeting someone that looked an awful lot like her in the past. Maybe they knew each other well once upon a time. She felt a bit embarrassed by the thought of what that could mean.

"I'm just teasing you, Hermione. You don't have to answer."

"He speaks excellent English, hardly an accent. You said he's from Russia?"

"His mum is British. Russian is his first language, but he's been speaking English since before you were born."

She found that bit of knowledge interesting. He seemed very at ease speaking in her native language. Russian had always been a fascinating tongue for her to hear despite the fact she knew next to nothing about it.

"You met him on your tour?"

"Yes, he actually got to finish his. I'm certain he can answer any questions you might have for him about the tour."

He winked at her and proceeded to laugh again. Obviously he enjoyed teasing her immensely. Hermione fought the urge to roll her eyes.

"Actually, he's not a bad sort of fellow," Rodolphus continued. "Tries to make himself seem more important or dangerous than he really is, but every time he comes to visit my store he picks up the first fluffy kitten he can find. I'm certain he would take one home with him if he wasn't still an apprentice."

"He's a potions apprentice?"

Rodolphus smirked. This time Hermione did not care if he witnessed her roll her eyes.

"Uh huh. I got the feeling you would like the smart wizards."

"Oh, shut up!"

After they both laughed for a moment, she hugged her cousin closely. It had been an unexpectedly emotional day for her. She was thankful that she had had proper support. Rodolphus seemed embarrassed by the attention. Here was yet another man in her new life that was unfamiliar with affection. It made her sad. She was ready to go back to Hogsmeade. The wizard kissed her cheek before she left with assurances that he would be by some time that week to see her again. She was already looking forward to the visit.

Her new father was inspecting a glass when she walked back into The Hog's Head. There was only a single half-asleep witch in the corner. Hermione expected the excitement would pick up later that evening. Aberforth was behind the bar just staring at the sparkling glass with a bemused and annoyed expression on his face. While it was difficult to see behind his mass of whiskers, Hermione rolled her eyes. The day before she'd taught him a self-cleaning spell for all of his glassware. He was still not impressed with the charm, convinced that his customers weren't the sort to care whether or not their glass was clean. Hermione sat on the bar stool across from him patiently waiting for him to give up his assessment.

"Did you enjoy yourself in London?" he asked.

Hermione sighed. Aberforth crinkled his blue eyes and set the glass back down on the bar.

"Not at first," she answered. "But it got better."

His concern for her wellbeing was evident. Once the inevitable question of what happened exited his mouth, Hermione sighed again. She was not sure she wanted to tell him the complete truth.

"I had a panic attack just as we were entering the bank. I'm still humiliated."

"A panic attack? Why? What happened?"

Already hating that she said anything, Hermione tried to brush off the incident like it was nothing. Aberforth, however, was relentless. His concern was evident and growing.

"Did the goblins frighten you? They've been known to unnerve me a time or two."

Hermione sighed before telling him 'no'.

"Something happen in the future?"

Hermione nodded her head. At first she was reluctant to give him any further details, but she really wanted to talk to someone about what happened. Besides, he would not be in danger of knowing too much if she just gave him the barest details.

"My two best friends and I broke into the bank during the war with a renegade goblin. Burglarized a high security vault. Stole their dragon. Actually rode it out of there in our escape."

Aberforth knocked over several of the newly charmed glasses. In one massive clang that startled the witch in the corner full awake, at least ten glasses shattered on the recently cleaned stone floor. Hermione lazily waved her wand in the direction of the glasses, repairing and levitating them back onto their proper shelf. Aberforth looked like he was in danger of having a stroke. He was forced to take multiple deep breaths before he could speak again.

"Well, obviously you lived to tell the tale, but gods, child! What kind of dangerous world were you living in?"

Hermione shrugged her shoulders. It was easy not to dwell on the constant danger she had been in since she was eleven years old. Being friends with Harry meant she was thrust into situations that no one should ever be forced into, let alone children. She wasn't sure how to answer his question without revealing too much about the future.

"No, you're right. Best not to tell me anymore." Aberforth exhaled deeply again. "Are you all right now? After this morning?"

She nodded her head in the affirmative.

"Still a little embarrassed, but Roddy said not many people saw me. He helped calm me down."

"I'm sorry it was a distressing morning, but you said it got better?"

She nodded again and gave him a bright smile.

"Spend a great deal of Reg's money?'

They both chuckled when she answered that she had indeed enjoyed spending Regnault's galleons.

"Some of your packages arrived while you were out. Mind putting them away?"

Hermione smiled and hopped off of the stool. Only one step inside of the back made her burst out into loud laughter. Boxes with the prominent Twilfitt and Tattings logo were piled on every single surface. She could hardly see the parlor furniture for the stacks of purchases. A quick glance in the direction of her bedroom proved that even more were piled inside the room on her bed. Somehow it didn't seem like she was buying as much as she was when she was in the store. Realizing that the saleswitches told her that she should be expecting more packages to arrive throughout the week, she started to feel a bit embarrassed by the extravagance.

"Did you leave anything left in the shop, lass?"

She laughed again at his twinkling eyes. The rest of her Saturday was spent casting numerous extension charms on her cupboard and various pieces of furniture in her bedroom to accommodate her new wardrobe. With more still left to be delivered, she had her work cut out for her to complete the project. Only when the last box was unpacked did she finally allow herself a rest.

* * *

July 3, 1971

 **7:30 pm**

Hermione passed the most pleasant week so far of her trip to the past entirely inside the village of Hogsmeade. There was so much to see inside the village that she had never had the chance to with her short Saturday afternoon visits during school. She was quickly becoming a recognized and favorite sight of the shopkeepers up and down the village.

There was also a great deal to keep herself busy at the pub. Aberforth had all but given up on trying to fight the petite witch when she had her mind set to something. Every surface in the entire inn was sparkling like new before the week was out. He had been impressed to find out that she had even been able to book a couple of overnight guests in one of the rooms upstairs. Each night the main room was hosting more and more curious patrons who could not get over the fact that it was possible to actually _see_ the floor of the ancient pub. When he experienced the most profitable week of his entire career as the proprietor of the establishment, he grumbled to himself that maybe some of the chit's ideas were valid. Hermione simply smiled knowingly as he ran through the numbers in his books.

Thomas Shacklebolt had been a frequent visitor to the pub during the days. Unlike every other friend she had ever had in the past or rather, future, Thomas completed his summer assignments well before everyone else did. While his brother was stuck at their grandmother's home being forced to work under their mother's watchful eye, the older brother was able to get to know their new neighbor better. Determined to make it seem as if she had not spent six years of her life within the castle walls, Hermione asked him dozens of questions about how the school was set up, what the professors were like, what classes she should sign up for. He had been a helpful confidant.

When Kingsley was released for a few hours Thursday afternoon, he rushed to The Hog's Head to find out just what his older brother was up to with Hermione. It was obvious that he was very suspicious of the two of them spending so much time alone. That thought only served to amuse Hermione. While she could not deny that Thomas was handsome and any girl would be lucky to be able to pull him into a vacant broom cupboard, she was quite simply not interested. He was only a friend. Everything about him felt familiar and comforting in a time that was neither. Kingsley's suspicions were funny and very annoying at the same time.

Saturday evening found Hermione behind the bar learning to make a smoking cocktail that was made with a small amount of Pepper-Up potion. The drinkers were willing to endure smoke coming out of their ears for the pleasure and she was excited to learn a new skill. Aberforth was a patient teacher. At half-past seven the bell above the door rang out to announce new arrivals. She was not surprised to see Rodolphus at all. As soon as he entered with a wide grin she waved at him, narrowly missing knocking over the entire smoking pitcher. When Igor entered the pub just moments behind him, she felt a pleasant fluttering in her stomach. She was thankful that she was wearing some of her new clothes despite Aberforth's repeated assurances that she would get her 'new frocks dirty'.

Rodolphus and Igor settled themselves at the table closest to the fireplace. Neither of them seemed to be in any hurry as they patiently waited for her to approach them after finishing her lesson. Once she was within a few feet of their table, both men rose to their feet. Rod to hug her and kiss her cheek. Igor to kiss the back of her hand and wink. In an effort to distract herself from the humiliating crush she was developing on the Russian wizard, she asked them what she could bring them to drink.

"Three glasses of your best fire whiskey," Igor declared.

"Oh, are you expecting someone else to join you?" she asked, intensely curious about the man's evening plans.

"No, only hoping you would."

Rodolphus scoffed quietly and rolled his eyes. Igor was not bothered by his best friend's reaction. Simply winked again at the flustered witch. Hermione looked around the room at the number of customers present.

"I'm sure I can join you both for a drink. I may have to get up to help Dad if he needs me."

"Of course."

Hermione crossed the large room to stand back behind the bar. She immediately began filling up three glasses with fire whiskey. While she was slowly learning to appreciate the liquor, she was not sure she would ever become a fan of the caustic liquid. It tended to hurt her stomach for hours after imbibing. Aberforth cast a suspicious eye towards the table with the young wizards.

"Who's the foreign one?" he demanded, his voice quiet but still gruff.

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes when she told Aberforth who was sitting with Rod. He did not like the idea of her joining them, but did not stop her. A mutter of her being of age and stubborn caught her ear as she walked away, carefully levitating the glasses in front of her.

The next hour and a half passed with almost incessant pleasurable chatter between the three. Hermione did not need to help Aberforth as the pub remained fairly slow. Part of her was disappointed that they weren't extremely busy to help line the coffers, but every time Igor flashed a grin in her direction she was grateful. There was a wealth of subjects for them to all talk about. She enjoyed asking Igor about his apprenticeship with one of the prominent potions masters alive in that day.

"Oh, please, Hermione, don't ask him to start describing to you what he's been working on," Rodolphus begged in a teasing tone. "We'll be here all bloody night listening to him talk about rejuvenation potions and the best way to shred a shrivelfig. I can't bear it!"

Her chosen topic of his years at Durmstrang was a much more welcome topic as it allowed Rodolphus the opportunity to contribute with stories about his years at Hogwarts. The schools were vastly different which naturally led to many friendly, yet heated debates on which one was better.

"Rod, mate, no, _no_! It's not that Durmstrang _encourages_ learning the Dark Arts. It simply gives us the opportunity. Your Headmaster was doing you a disservice to limit your education. Magic is magic. What your government labels as Dark is not always Dark."

"Would you say that intent has a great deal to do with whether or not magic can be considered Dark, Igor?" Hermione asked, very interested in his line of thinking.

"Of course! Take the Imperius Curse. No one here would deny that it is a dangerous spell in the wrong hands, but is it _Dark_? Not necessarily. What if it helped prevent a suicidal person from killing themselves? Would you still say that was Dark?"

By the time the bells around the village began pealing to announce the nine o'clock hour, they had gone through topics ranging from Igor's family home in Russia to their mutual experiences on the Grand Tour to England's chances in the next World Cup. Hermione had been adamant in limiting herself to only two glasses of fire whiskey, but she was still experiencing the effects. It was helpful in keeping her uncharacteristic shyness under control. Rodolphus glanced at his watch and groaned loudly.

"What's wrong, Roddy?" she inquired, concerned suddenly by the stricken look on his face.

"I'm expected at the Black home for a discussion with my blushing bride-to-be."

He downed the rest of his fire whiskey in a single swallow. Hermione felt nothing but sympathy for the man. Knowingly seeking out Bellatrix Black had to be a frightening prospect.

"Afraid I must leave you both."

Igor wasted not a second promising to keep a close eye on his cousin for him. Rodolphus rolled his eyes and left several galleons on the table to cover their tab for the evening.

"Have you ever met Bellatrix?" Igor asked when Rodolphus was safely out of the pub.

Hermione lied and said that she hadn't. Technically, they had yet to meet. They would not come face to face for another twenty-five years in the Department of Mysteries, but she certainly could not tell him that without seeming insane.

"I always get the feeling she's only four seconds away from removing my bollocks with her teeth."

She almost spewed fire whiskey all over the man. He smirked before continuing with a dramatic shudder.

"She's terrifying. Feel bad for Rod. He deserves better. Arranged marriages are so cold."

"You don't have a wife picked out for you by your parents?"

Igor laughed at the question. His opinion on the matter of arranged marriages became even clearer.

"No, I do not. We are more, umm, _progressive_ in Russia. I will pick my own wife if and when I decide to get married."

"I agree. My uncle wants to choose my husband for me. I informed him in no uncertain terms that I could _not_ go along with that. My dad supports my wishes completely."

"It's for the best," Igor agreed. "Your uncle would likely match you with some old, boring wizard from an ancient, boring family. You would be miserable and I would be miserable."

It was her turn to laugh.

"Why would _you_ be miserable if I had an arranged marriage?"

"Because it would be inappropriate for me to call on you and get to know you better. Both of which I am _very_ interested in doing."

Hermione's stomach clenched at his statement spoken in a low tone. She knew that she was blushing. Damn it, she was _always_ blushing around this wizard. Igor reached across the small table to cover her hand with his. The touch only lasted a moment. When he released her hand, he ran the back of his index finger down her reddened cheeks. She shivered slightly at the contact.

"You are flushed, Hermione. Is it too warm in here? Should we move away from the fireplace?"

She tried to assure him that she was fine even though it _was_ a bit warm in there. Igor only laughed. Hermione had the instant worry that he must think that she was some kind of idiot, naïve child. Maybe he was only teasing her because he was bored and the young witch was providing him a distraction. She was not sure why it was important to her that he not think of her that way. Igor leaned across the table to speak softly directly into her ear.

"Would you care to join me for a walk along High Street? Perhaps the cool night air will do us both some good."

He had hardly finished talking before she was agreeing. Hermione rose from the table and picked up Rodolphus' galleons to take up to the bar. Aberforth watched every step she made without speaking. When she told him that she was going for a walk outside, he narrowed his eyes in Igor's direction once again. His suspicions from earlier had not improved as the evening wore on.

"Not until I meet the young wizard staring at you first."

Hermione was torn between being annoyed by his request or being touched by Aberforth's concern for her. They were still finding their way around each other. Still learning to live with each other and still figuring out how their new father-daughter relationship was supposed to work. Being apprehensive about a potential suitor and demanding to be introduced before allowing them to leave was exactly how her own Muggle dad would react in that situation. She would likely find it endearing later, but in that moment, she was a bit frustrated by his seeming overprotectiveness. One glance at Igor and a wave brought him across the bar in moments.

"Igor Karkaroff, this is my father Aberforth Dumbledore," she stated. "Dad, this is Rod's best friend Igor Karkaroff."

The younger wizard tried and failed to use his charming personality to soften the harsh glares the older wizard was sending in his direction. Aberforth was not moved by handsome grins or rakish winks. Hermione was feeling more and more embarrassed as the short interaction wore on.

"Will you be gone long, lass? I'll need to know when to alert the aurors."

Hermione groaned out loud and rolled her eyes for yet another time that evening.

"I will just be outside, Dad. No need to 'alert the aurors'. Come on, Igor."

Karkaroff laughed all the way out the front door. Obviously he found the cheeky little witch very amusing. They walked several yards down the quiet High Street before either one of them said a word. Igor was finally the one to break the silence.

"Your father seems an interesting sort."

"I'm sorry about back there."

"No, no need to apologize. I respect a man who is protective of his daughter around strange, foreign wizards."

His wink set them both laughing. The tension began to break slightly. As their walk down the street progressed, their earlier comfort in speaking with each other returned. They spoke about nothing of any consequence, but both found the walk pleasant. When Hermione looked ahead and saw the edge of the village looming ahead, she grew nervous. While she was not afraid of the man, knowing that they were just a short distance from almost complete privacy made her a bit anxious.

Igor stopped walking just as the village ended. He turned around to face Hermione with a broad grin on his handsome face. She startled just a hint when the back of his right hand ran down her cheek once more.

"I had hoped the night air might take some of the flush out of your cheeks."

She could feel herself blush even harder. Hermione hated how expressive her face could be. Every time she was nervous or frightened or embarrassed or angry or a thousand other emotions, the blood rushed under her skin. It could make an awkward situation even more awkward. Igor seemed to find the action delightful. He stepped closer to her, moving his hands to rest just on the outside of her upper arms.

"Am I making you nervous, Hermione?"

"A little bit," she admitted.

Igor's soft chuckles above her emboldened her just enough to meet his deep blue eyes. She hazarded a small smile, trying desperately to ignore the frantic fluttering in her stomach. He leaned down from his lofty height to bring his mouth to hers. Before their lips could touch, they were both startled by someone clearing their throat nearby. Hermione was annoyed that the almost perfect moment was ruined. A first kiss was important and this one could have been memorable.

She turned around to tell the interloper to bugger off. Fenrir Greyback's smirking face terrified her beyond words. Igor grabbed her roughly into his arms, putting himself between them. She appreciated the protective stance he adopted at the werewolf's arrival.

"I do hope I wasn't interrupting, Karkaroff," Greyback declared. He sniffed the air loudly. The grin that appeared on his lips made Hermione want to run. "Appears I was. Your witch smells just like the right mix of arousal and fear. Intoxicating."

Hermione could hardly breathe. She had not even once considered the possibility of running into Greyback in the past. Memories of the horrific night spent in Malfoy Manor ran through her mind. Greyback had been so focused on what he wanted to do to her, so disgusting in his whispered plans in her ear. She clung so tightly to Igor's robes that her fingers began to hurt.

"What do you want, Greyback?"

"Just to remind you that our mutual friend is growing weary. Sent me to _encourage_ you to make your mind up faster."

Voldemort must have already begun attempting to recruit Igor, Hermione decided. That was the only possible explanation that made any sense. She knew next to nothing about the man shielding her from the werewolf beyond he was a disloyal Death Eater when his Dark Lord returned the second time and that he died after being on the run for a year. Some called him a coward. Others said that he was brave to face the wrath of Voldemort by not returning. She simply thought he was sad. Part of her wished she could influence the future Death Eaters before they became acolytes of the evil serpentine man. She was not sure if it was even possible to change the course of the future.

"I have not forgotten," Igor spat. "You can run along now."

Greyback took a moment to leer at Hermione once more. He made a dramatic show of sniffing the air again.

"Have a pleasant evening, Karkaroff."

The werewolf Disapparated away moments later. Igor exhaled harshly the moment he was out of their sight. He spun around to face Hermione again. Both of his hands landed on her shoulders and he stared her directly in the eyes.

"He is a very dangerous man, Hermione. Do not _ever_ allow yourself to be caught alone by him."

She nodded, unable to trust her voice. Igor grasped one of her hands in his to lead her back into the village. Neither of them spoke a word the entire trek back to the safety of her father's house. All thoughts of sneaking a first kiss were left behind in the darkened woods.

* * *

June 19, 1998

 **7:20 am**

Kingsley had no idea what he could say to his grandmother to get her to remove the scowl from her face. Though he did not want to admit it out loud, neither he nor Aberforth had really even thought much about what they were going to do after Hermione was sent back. The main focus had been on making certain that she _could_ arrive in the past as she had so many years before. He was an intelligent man capable of thinking on his feet. They only had to keep the charade of not knowing where Hermione was for a few months.

"You don't have a plan, do you?"

The wizened witch seemed ready to strike him or hex him. He neither knew nor cared which. Kingsley knew his granny. She wasn't going to sell him out for anything. He had always been her favorite. She could be trusted to keep a secret.

"Margie, leave the lad alone."

"Ab, you stay out of this! This right now is between me and my grandson."

"No, Margie, I won't let you stand there and berate him," Aberforth continued. "We made a decision. You can either agree with it or shut your big gob."

Kingsley had to bite down on both of his lips to prevent the smile threatening to overpower his mouth. One second of mirth caught by that woman's eye and he was a goner. She was a powerful little thing who knew some of the nastiest hexes imaginable. He watched the two friends engage in a tense staring match. To his great surprise, his granny was the one who finally broke it off.

"Fine!" she conceded. "Let's all go up to the castle and _pretend_ we don't know where our girl is."

"Granny, you're one hundred and fourteen years old," Kingsley gently reminded the woman.

"And three months younger than this arse," she replied, making a rude gesture in Aberforth's direction that once upon a time would've earned him a smack in the back of the head. "If he's going, I'm going."

The respected Minister for Magic rolled his eyes and followed his grandmother to the front door. All three of them were out of the pub and on their way to the castle moments later.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

July 17, 1971

 **5:55 pm**

The evening of the dreaded party arrived long before Hermione had had the opportunity to prepare herself for an entire night spent in the presence of hundreds of snooty Purebloods. She managed to keep busy enough to forget that the summer was quickly ticking by. By mid-July she could no longer ignore the impending social event of the season. More than once during dinner at her uncle's home she was forced to endure listening to Regnault's plan to make her debut into their society the most talked about celebration in recent memory.

Hermione prepared to leave the safety of the inn just a little before six. She received a terse note just that morning from her uncle informing her that she was expected to arrive at the manor no later than two hours before the first guests were scheduled to begin showing up. Her feet felt like lead as she exited the back of the pub into the main room. Aberforth had been invited, of course, but he made his feelings on attending very clear from the start. He would rather be boiled alive in a cauldron full of hot oil.

"Are you sure you don't want to come?" Hermione asked, ignoring the whiny tinge to her voice. She was not looking forward to any of the festivities.

"I am positive, lass," Aberforth replied. "Though I will admit I feel a bit guilty just throwing you to the wolves like that. Just not guilty enough to actually go."

She knew there was no sense in arguing with the wizard. Aberforth was eighty-seven years old. He was not in the habit of doing anything he did not want to do. Though he had allowed many changes in the inn since her arrival, he was not afraid to put his foot down when something was too much. Hermione rose up on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. She pretended not to notice the flash of color on the exposed parts of his face. He was steadily learning to accept affectionate gestures from her. Hermione was pleased with the progress he'd already made.

"I will be back some time tomorrow," she stated. "Depending on how much I have to drink, I may need to sleep there late."

Aberforth chuckled.

"Try not to drink too much, lass. I know you don't want to be there, but a hangover won't help you either."

She smiled once more before stepping outside onto High Street. Since the horrible first dinner with the Lestranges she had returned to the manor three more times. Each meal had been slightly better than the first, but she would never declare them to be exciting or interesting affairs. Regnault never brought up his previous insults though Hermione still did not feel very comfortable around the man. They made a promise that they would both try very hard to get along. It was only going to be a matter of time before neither one of them would be able to keep that promise.

When she Apparated to the front gates of the Lestrange Estate, she found a flurry of activity everywhere she looked. With only a few more hours before the party was to start, house-elves and hired wizards alike were rushing across the grounds completing all of the last minute tasks required by such an exclusive event. A large tent similar to what Bill and Fleur Weasley had at their wedding was being erected just north of the house. Hermione could only imagine what was going to be happening under the silk. Tables were being set up and filled to bursting with dozens of different dishes and drinks. Magical lanterns were charmed to float around the formal gardens.

Realizing that everything was being done for her made Hermione feel overwhelmed. _Hundreds_ of witches and wizards from the highest echelon of their society were expected to attend to meet the mysterious Halfblood daughter of the late and rebellious Lestrange heiress. She was to be on constant display for hours. It was nerve-wracking and if she was not careful, Rodolphus would be charged with calming her down from another panic attack. She was nervous about how she was expected to behave. What if she committed some grave, embarrassing social error that came to haunt her later? Navigating the past was a difficult enough prospect without becoming a social pariah on top of it all.

Rosie was waiting for her at the front door. Hermione had attempted more than once to strike up some kind of friendly repartee with the bossy elf, but Rosie was much more interested in ensuring Hermione was taken care of than whether or not she was satisfied with her lot in life as the Head Lestrange elf. Somehow Hermione got the feeling that Rosie would rather die than be given a single sock.

"Good evening, Rosie," she greeted, attempting to ignore the irritated expression on the elf's face.

"Good evening, Missy Hermione. Rosie was worried that you would be late. Master Reggie wanted you here before six."

The ornate grandfather clock in the Entrance Hall was just striking the six o'clock hour at that moment. Hermione resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She was there just as she was supposed to be. Rodolphus had only said kind things about Rosie, but Hermione got the feeling that she was not yet liked. It would have been upsetting if she was not already used to the vast majority of house-elves disliking her immensely.

"It is Rosie's job to make certain that Missy Hermione is dressed this evening to look like a proper Pureblood princess, according to Master Reggie."

This time, Hermione did not worry about the tiny creature's reaction when she rolled her eyes. Already she was miserable and the night had hardly begun. Was her uncle seriously trying to hide the shame of his family by dressing her up like a doll? Reluctantly she followed Rosie up the massive staircase to the second floor where all of the family bedrooms were located. They passed a large, double door on their left.

"That is where Master Reggie sleeps," Rosie announced.

One of the doors was opened revealing a large, well-appointed room. Her uncle was likely already downstairs barking orders. He seemed to Hermione like the kind of man who craved control. Her house-elf guide pointed out the closed doors belonging first to Rodolphus and then to Rabastan. She assumed they were still inside getting ready for the evening. No one had shown the least bit of enthusiasm for the party except for Regnault. Her uncle had to bribe his younger son into a better attitude by promising to invite the Selwyns. Rabastan perked up over dinner when mention of his potential bride-to-be Solveig was mentioned.

Her room was at the very end of the long corridor. When Rosie pushed open the heavy door, Hermione bit her bottom lip to prevent herself from gasping aloud. The only time she had ever been inside a larger, more lavishly decorated bedroom was when her mother dragged her to historical country manor homes. She never expected that she would be allowed to sleep inside a similar room.

The ceiling was at least fifteen feet high. One side of the room was covered in floor to ceiling windows that overlooked the front gardens. Silky sheers covered the glass to allow the natural light in the room but allow for the privacy of the occupant as well. A decadently large canopy bed dominated most of the space. It was large enough to fit at least five people comfortably. Not that she had any desire to invite four extra people to join her in bed, of course. Only one and _maybe_ two in her most debauched fantasies.

Across the cream silk bedspread her formal dress robes were laid out ready to be put on. She had only seen sketches of the garment so far. Madam Tatting had done a phenomenal job. Hermione had had next to no clue what was required of a dress to wear to such a formal Pureblood society party. The co-proprietress of the shop designed a deep royal blue silk gown that was as modest as it was elegant. One of Hermione's requests had been for full sleeves. She was afraid that one of the eagle eyed society matrons would spot her disturbing scar on her arm. Even with a glamour disguising it she was concerned that someone would notice. Madam Tatting compromised with three-quarter sleeves that ended a few inches above her wrist. The skirt was full with a slight train she hoped no one would step on. A thick blue sash at her waist separated the solid skirt from the lacy bodice. Only a hint of her collarbones would show. All she needed was her scar from the Department of Mysteries showing.

"It's beautiful," she declared, hardly daring to reach out to touch the fabric.

Rosie nodded her head in agreement. As soon as the bedroom door shut completely behind the elf, she snapped her fingers. Hermione gasped when every single stitch of clothing she was wearing except for her knickers vanished off of her body. The garments folded themselves in the air before landing in a neat pile on an armchair near the fireplace. She was shocked by the suddenness of her bare skin appearing. Her personal elf for the moment was unfazed.

"We must get Missy Hermione dressed and ready quickly. Master Reggie wishes her to greet guests as they arrive and it will take Rosie a long time to get her hair fixed."

The elf rose up on her tiptoes to softly pull on one of Hermione's unruly curls. If the sneer that crossed her wrinkled face was any indication, Rosie was not impressed with what she had been given to work with. Not for the first time in their acquaintance Hermione wondered if she liked the creature. She was not exactly in a position where she could get herself ready without Rosie's help. Beauty charms and potions were not something she was very familiar with even after six years of living with Lavender and Parvati. Hermione patiently allowed the house-elf to dress her in the stunning gown.

She lost track of time with the frantic pulling and tugging on her hair. Rosie approached her head as if it were a beast to tame and control. More than once her eyes filled with tears at a harsh yank of her curls. When a soft knock sounded at her door, Hermione did not hesitate to call out to whoever was on the other side.

Rodolphus entered her room wearing a sharp set of black dress robes. His hair fell in loose light brown waves just above his collar. He seemed just as comfortable in his formalwear as he normally did in his regular robes. Of course his everyday clothes likely cost more than most people spent on their wedding attire.

"Beautiful, Hermione," Rodolphus said with a warm smile. "Absolutely beautiful."

She returned his smile and despite usually having difficulty believing she was attractive, she had to admit that between the fantastic dress and Rosie's hair and beauty charms, she agreed. He offered his hand to help her to her feet. Rosie immediately began lifting Hermione's feet to slip them into impossibly high black heels that she was certain would be her downfall. A sneer on her face made her cousin laugh. He pointed his wand at her feet. Instantly she noticed a difference in the comfort.

"Trust me. All of the standing you're about to do is murder on your feet."

Rosie proclaimed her ready to go downstairs. Hermione and her cousin exited the bedroom to the corridor. As they were passing Rabastan's room, he emerged wearing almost identical robes to his older brother's. The younger brother, however, was not nearly as comfortable in his attire as the elder. In just the first few moments she watched him pull on his collar at least three times.

"Look how handsome you look, Rabastan!" exclaimed Hermione. "Maybe we _should_ be more like the Black family."

Rabastan stopped in the middle of kissing her cheek when she began to tease him. He seemed annoyed instantly. Hermione and Rodolphus chuckled at his expense.

"How long are you going to keep teasing me about that, cousin?"

"Until it's no longer funny."

His groans followed the other two as they walked down the long corridor. The three travelled all the way to the front gates of the estate. Regnault was impatiently awaiting their arrival. Hermione felt ill at ease as her uncle began his thorough examination of her appearance. She never felt more like a horse being prepared for sale than she did in that moment.

"You look lovely, Hermione," Regnault stated emotionlessly.

"Do I _almost_ pass for an acceptable member of the family?"

Regnault glared down at her following her impertinent remark. A light pinch in her side from Rodolphus reminded the witch that she was supposed to be trying to get along with the patriarch of the family she never wanted to be a part of. After a muttered and only half-sincere apology, Hermione turned her attention to the gates where the first of the guests were beginning to arrive.

As the fashionably dressed witches and wizards arrived and were introduced to the guest of honor, Hermione recognized many of the names and even some of the faces. More than once she came face to face with someone who one day in the future would be on the wrong end of her wand. It was hard to keep everyone straight. After a while, one Pureblood looked exactly like the next.

When the Malfoy family arrived, Regnault perked up. Instead of being the serious, somewhat morose figure he had been for much of the evening, he lit up when he leaned over Mrs. Malfoy's hand to give it a kiss. Hermione imagined there was something more there than she was aware of. Certainly Lucius' mother appeared the tiniest bit less chilly when Regnault's attention was focused entirely on her. She was a cold, seemingly unfriendly woman, but she made certain to compliment Hermione on her new dress.

"I would recognize Seraphina's designs anywhere," Mrs. Malfoy stated, her eyes surveying the entire gown. "Lovely."

"Thank you, Mrs. Malfoy."

Abraxas Malfoy was every bit as deceptively charming as his son would become as an adult when properly motivated. He kissed the back of Hermione's hand. When he rose back to his full height, he sent a harsh glare in his son's bored direction. Lucius stepped forward, obviously uncomfortable with the attention.

"I wish to offer my sincere apologies for insulting you when we met in your father's pub, Miss Dumbledore," Lucius said. His speech sounded rehearsed and insincere. Hermione did not care. She would accept it as long as it meant he would leave and take his awful parents with him.

"Thank you, Mr. Malfoy. I accept your apology."

"I am certain Lucius would be agreeable to a dance with you later, Miss Dumbledore," Abraxas added.

Remembering the archaic rules of the society she was thrust into that evening, Hermione curtsied and told him it would be a great honor. Both Lucius and Hermione appeared relieved when the Malfoy family moved past the receiving line.

Over the next hour and half Hermione met many future Death Eaters. Realizing that these were dangerous men and women who would turn their lives over to a madman was a bit frightening. Most of the boys she met at her father's pub during their last Hogsmeade Saturday arrived with their parents. Rabastan seemed especially anxious to head into the party to spend the evening with his friends and several of the pretty girls that they greeted. A harsh glance from his father settled any of his fidgets and silenced any of his whines.

Cygnus Black arrived with his wife and three daughter about an hour after most of the guests arrived. Hermione was not sure if they were attempting to be considered 'fashionably late' or if they were simply trying to be rude to their host. Just as she expected, Cygnus continued to be cold in her presence. He obviously had not forgotten her snapping at him in the street. His wife Druella was much more polite, even going so far as to smile and admire the jewelry she'd picked out of the Lestrange family vault.

Hermione was perhaps most nervous about meeting Bellatrix. With the exception of the day of the final battle when the bitch finally met her demise courtesy of the Weasley matriarch, they had not been in the same room since the night Bellatrix tortured Hermione, carved a slur into her arm and offered what remained to the ravages of Fenrir Greyback. Of course technically, that hadn't happened yet. Time travel could be so confusing.

"Good evening, Bellatrix," Rodolphus said, leaning in to kiss his fiancée on the cheek. He seemed uncomfortable with the physical affection. "This is my cousin Hermione Dumbledore, Bella."

Lord Voldemort's most loyal and crazed follower stared down her nose at the much shorter witch. Bellatrix had a haughty manner even amongst those she deemed worthy of the name of 'wizard'. She did not even say a word to Hermione before sweeping off towards the festivities, leaving the rest of her family behind.

Narcissa was as cool as her father. Hermione did not expect any different considering how she acted when she was an adult. It wasn't until Andromeda gave her a big, warm smile that she finally felt the tiniest bit at ease with the Black family. Within moments of being introduced to Sirius' favorite cousin, Hermione liked her immensely. She looked a lot like Bellatrix, but Hermione could also see a great deal of her daughter in her face and mannerisms.

Hermione's mind flashbacked to the moment she was introduced to Nymphadora Tonks at Number Twelve Grimmauld Place in the summer before her fifth year. Just as it was with Andromeda, Hermione felt instantly at ease with the Metamorphmagus.

" _Hermione? That's an unusual name. Are you named after anyone?"_

" _Not that I'm aware of."_

" _My mum's best friend's name was Hermione. She was my godmother. I remember her a little, but I was very young when she died."_

It was too much of a coincidence to assume that Tonks was talking about _another_ Hermione that knew her mother when they were younger. She wondered if that means she and Andromeda were destined to become close friends. Part of her really hoped so.

"Andromeda is in yours and Rabastan's year at Hogwarts," informed Rodolphus.

"Oh! You will be there next term?" Andromeda asked with an even brighter smile. Hermione nodded. "Wonderful. We should chat later."

Hermione promised her that they would before she followed in her younger sister's footsteps towards the tent where the dancing had already begun. Rodolphus leaned down to whisper in her ear when the last of the Black family was gone.

"I would marry Andy in a second, but it is unseemly for the elder sister to be passed over for the second."

"She seems lovely."

Darkness had fallen and the magic lanterns were illuminating the area, but Hermione was still able to see a hint of embarrassment in her cousin's countenance. He cleared his throat before speaking again. She wondered what she did not know. Obviously there was a great deal.

"She really is," Rodolphus retorted. "You will like her."

To Hermione's great surprise the Shacklebolt family arrived only moments later. Katie was quick to kiss her cheek and apologize for being so late. Her mother was unable to attend and there had been a row about that fact before they were able to leave. Dean carefully pushed his wife aside to give Hermione a hug. She had been a frequent guest to the Shafiq home following her first dinner. She gave each of the Shacklebolt boys, including a very smug Kingsley, a hug in greeting as well. As soon as the men of the family allowed their stomachs to guide them towards the refreshments table with an amused Katie steps behind, Hermione turned to Regnault.

"I did not know the Shacklebolts were invited."

"It is customary to invite all of the Sacred Twenty-Eight families," Regnault responded. "Some naturally choose not to attend, of course."

Hermione thought of distinct absence of familiar red hair. None of the Weasleys had been introduced to her that evening. She assumed that this was simply not their preferred way to spend an evening. She was surprised, however, to meet Molly's parents and her younger twin brothers. Gideon and Fabian Prewett were both affable. Rabastan warned his cousin to stay away from them. They were Gryffindors and therefore could not be trusted.

"What do you think of the Shacklebolt boys?" Regnault asked.

"Thomas is a good friend, but Kingsley is obnoxious. He fancies me."

"An alliance between our families would be welcome. Do not discount either."

Igor arrived just before she could respond to her uncle's statement. The Russian smiled warmly at her and kissed her hand. They had not seen each other since the night they almost kissed. He had very little free time as an apprentice, but they had been able to exchange a few letters. One from him was to apologize for that night. After he shook the hands of her male relatives, she promised him a dance. Igor winked and walked off.

"Igor won't tell me that happened after I left that night," Rodolphus stated.

"Nothing to tell, really. We talked a little longer and then we took a walk."

"You were _alone_ with the wizard?" Regnault asked, stiff and tense in his anger.

"It was all perfectly innocent."

She resisted the urge to add 'because we were interrupted by a werewolf before anything good happened'. Somehow she did not think her uncle or Rodolphus would be pleased to hear about her potentially dangerous walk into the woods surrounding Hogsmeade. Regnault seemed satisfied by her assurances that they behaved.

At least an hour and a half passed of greetings and introductions. Hermione was growing weary of shaking hands and getting kissed by strange wizards. The dancing had already begun in earnest under the silk tent. Strains of music could be heard all over the grounds of the estate. Hundreds of guests were milling around enjoying themselves. Only Regnault seemed irritated.

"I thought he was going to make an appearance," he spat.

Hermione's stomach clenched at his words. She had a suspicion she knew just who her uncle was referring to, but hopes she is wrong. The last person she wanted to meet in 1971 or any other year for that matter was Lord Voldemort. Convinced that there would be few guests arriving at that hour, Regnault sent his sons and niece off to enjoy the party.

Despite only churning in fear and anticipation moments earlier, Hermione's stomach growled loudly enough that both of her cousins could hear it over the orchestra. Rabastan teased her about the grindylows in her guts. Rodolphus made her promise him that she would eat something before she had anything to drink. He left her to find his fiancée for a dance. It was expected of him whether or not he wanted to.

She headed straight for a table piled full with decadent canapés and hors d'oeuvres. Several of the guests smiled at her. She felt nervous around so many strangers and kept her head down. Once she had a plate piled full of food, she slipped into a quiet corner of the garden to sit on an empty bench. Thomas saw her and did not waste a moment to join her.

"Are you enjoying yourself?" she asked.

"It's an extravagant Pureblood party with elitist, old snobs," Thomas laughed. "Are _you_ having a good time?"

Hermione snorted.

"I'd rather be sitting in your grandmother's parlor arguing with your dad."

He smiled.

"I am one hundred percent positive he feels the same way. He and Kingsley both were whinging that they had to put on dress robes. Mum threatened them with silencing spells."

"I adore your mother." They both laughed.

"She likes you too. Says that you will be a good match for Kingsley one day."

Hermione groaned to his great amusement. Thomas stood to his full height and began to adjust his robes.

"You look like the perfect Pureblood princess, Hermione."

She rolled her eyes and groaned again.

"That's exactly what my elf was going for. She will be pleased to find you agree."

Thomas was even more handsome when he laughed.

"You must excuse me. Eleanor Fawley looks smashing in her pink dress. She looks like she needs a dance and a hot snog down by the pond."

Her laughter followed the confident young wizard towards the young witch in question. Hermione remained on the bench watching the party go on around her. Even though it was thrown in her honor, she did not believe her presence was missed. After only a short time alone, Andromeda Black approached her bench.

"Do you mind if I sit?" she asked.

Hermione smiled and gestured towards the empty spot on the bench. Andromeda returned her grin.

"You've found yourself a good hiding place."

Hermione could not prevent the blush that the statement caused. Instantly Andromeda seemed embarrassed too.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I was only teasing."

"It's all right. I feel out of place. Only know a few people."

"Well, I know _everyone_ and I still feel out of place."

Both girls laughed at Andromeda's remark. Hermione almost feels like she is sitting with Tonks again. It was a comforting feeling. She always enjoyed time spent with the clumsy auror.

"Would you like me to lie to you and tell you it gets easier and one day you'll love stuffy parties like this?" Andromeda asked with a wink. Hermione was quick to laugh again.

"Yes, please lie to me."

"One day you will not only look forward to wasting, excuse me, _enjoying_ with all of these horrible people, but you will even love every moment."

"I'm not convinced."

They laughed again. Hermione got the feeling that time spent with this witch would frequently result in a great deal of laughter. For the first time all evening, she was actually enjoying herself. Likewise, Andromeda seemed to feel the same way.

"Hope you don't mind me intruding, but if I have to spend another moment in the company of my disgusting _fiancé_ , I'm going to hex his robes on fire."

Hermione was surprised by her admission. She knew that in the future Andromeda would marry a Muggleborn wizard. It was that rebellious, blood traitorish act that got her blasted off of the Black family tree.

"Who is your fiancé?" Hermione asked, interested to know more about the girl.

Andromeda sighed before answering, "Maxwell Bole."

"Oh, I met him in my father's pub. He seemed…"

"Crude? Obnoxious? Immature? Like he can't figure out his arse from a hole in the ground?"

Hermione's snort set both girls laughing again.

"Well, I was only around him briefly."

"He's an idiot. Trust me."

Even though Hermione knew that eventually this woman's beloved husband would be murdered in the future, Andromeda was going to have many happy years with him. By all accounts, they were very much in love. Hermione had never had a chance to spend any time around the older Andromeda. During the night they moved Harry to the Burrow, she and Kingsley portkeyed to his own home and Andromeda had yet to go to Hogwarts during rebuilding. She was alone in her grief raising her grandson.

"Do you have any idea what House you'll be in?"

"No, I'm afraid I don't."

Andromeda sighed.

"Is it too much to hope you're in Slytherin with me? Already I can tell I like you better than any of the vapid slags in my House."

"I'm not exactly sure how to take that," laughed Hermione.

"It's definitely a compliment, Hermione," Andromeda assured her with a smile. "Rod was telling me about you the last time he was over at our house. I've been looking forward to meeting you."

"Thank you."

"Be careful around my older sister by the way. If she sees you as competition in the slightest, she will make your life miserable. Poor Roddy. He's too sweet to marry my sister."

Not wanting to potentially insult the other witch, Hermione kept her agreement silent. They were interrupted by the abrupt arrival of her uncle Regnault. He seemed quite nervous as he approached. Without a word he grasped Hermione's arm to pull her up off of the bench.

"Come with me," he ordered. "A very important guest just arrived and he's requested a dance with the guest of honor."

Hermione gulped. She had a very good idea who he was talking about.

"What's his name?"

"Lord Voldemort."

* * *

June 19, 1998

 **7:45 am**

The Minister for Magic walked to the castle with his grandmother and his potential future father-in-law in silence. He was nervous and had the feeling that they were too. Every step that brought them closer to the castle brought them closer to the beginning of the lie they were going to have to tell repeatedly. Even with two companions of advanced age, the trip did not take very long.

Once they crossed onto the grounds of the school, Kingsley could feel a distinct change in the air. More people were awake than usual at that time of morning. A few people were huddled in a group nearby talking in hushed voices. His grandmother's sudden shout took him by complete surprise.

"Dean Thomas!" shouted Marjorie. "You get over here right now."

Kingsley watched the young wizard look up. His serious expression changed almost immediately into a grin when he saw who was speaking to him. Dean approached his grandmother to pull the tiny woman into a big hug. The confusing embrace lasted only a few seconds before she pushed away from the boy to put her hands on her hips.

"All this time you've been here and you couldn't stop by the village for a minute to let me know you were all right?" she demanded.

Dean seemed embarrassed by the chastising witch. He rubbed his neck with his hand and tried to hide a shy grin.

"I'm sorry, Margie. I wasn't thinking."

"Clearly."

To say that Kingsley was perplexed by the exchanges between his grandmother and the young wizard he'd only met a couple of times would be a gross understatement. His granny usually only used that tone when she was talking to her grandchildren. Or when his dad was getting on her nerves.

"How do you know my grandmother, Dean?"

"She's a friend of my mum's," he explained with no hesitation. "Known her most of my life. Didn't even know she was a witch until just before they started making us register at the Ministry. Had my letter to appear but Margie showed up and brought me to her house. Mum was terrified."

"He and your brother's old classmate stayed with me for a while until they started random searches in Hogsmeade."

"What classmate?"

"Ted Tonks. Always knew how highly our girl thought of him. It kept them both out of danger for a little while until… well, I did what I could."

A tense silence fell on the small group. Dean made his excuses to head back to the castle to join the searchers. Already they were gathering and making plans of where to look first.

"That was very kind of you, Granny, to take in a boy you hardly knew."

Marjorie scoffed.

"For someone with such a large head, you weren't gifted with a lot of brains."

He was used to his grandmother's insults. Most of them she did not mean.

"Excuse me?"

"You'd think after all of that training you had to take to qualify as an auror, you would've learned enough to recognize your older brother's son when you saw him."


	13. Chapter 13

_Author's Note: I'm posting this a little early because I still want to try to update two new chapters this week. I will be travelling this next weekend and may not be able to post a chapter on Saturday. Hopefully I can get one more posted before I leave on my trip._

 _Charodeyka – sorceress, enchantress, witch, charmer_

* * *

Chapter Thirteen

July 17, 1971

 **11:16 pm**

If Regnault did not have a firm and steady hand on Hermione's arm dragging her towards the massive white silk tent where all of the dancing was taking place, she felt fairly certain she would not have been able to cross the grounds on her own. How many years of her life had she already spent actively avoiding even a moment in his hated presence? She was more nervous in those moments than she could ever remember being. Meeting Lord Voldemort was at the very bottom of her list of desired activities.

Before he was finally killed by her best friend, Voldemort was a gifted Legilimens. Probably one of the absolute best that had ever lived. When the wizard formerly known as Tom Riddle put his mind to something, he made certain he excelled. Hermione simply did not know _when_ he acquired his skills. Was he a master in 1971 or was he still learning how to root around in other people's subconscious without them even being aware? She pulled everything she ever remembered about Occlumency shields forward in her brain as they drew closer to the _real_ guest of honor. Clearing her mind of any potentially harmful thoughts, Hermione was almost in a convincing state of calm when they arrived.

Inside the massive silk tent was where the party was thriving. All around her she could see hundreds of well-dressed witches and wizards dancing on the slick hardwood floor dominating the space or standing around in small groups discussing the latest fashions, the juiciest gossip and the current political climate. Floating lanterns dancing around the tent shone light on to the sparkling jewels coating the silken walls in shimmering rays bursting with color. The clinking of glasses and the periodic popping of champagne corks added to the general festive din.

Regnault led his reluctant niece towards the largest group under the canopy. Just a few feet off of the dancefloor several of the most influential men and women she had been introduced to earlier in the evening were huddled around a solitary form. The wizard was taller than most. Hermione could only see his back in his perfectly tailored dress robes. His thick wavy dark hair appeared to be charmed to lie perfectly in place. Almost as if he could sense their impending presence, the feared Dark wizard turned around.

Hermione bit back a gasp that threatened to spill out of her mouth. He was an excruciatingly attractive man. Possibly even the _most_ attractive man she had ever seen. Harry mentioned that before he became the serpentine monster he eventually became that he had been handsome. She had been unable to imagine the creature with the red eyes, the waxy skin and the slits for nostrils instead of a nose had ever been gorgeous enough to make women, and likely even most men, swoon. His dark eyes fell on her and a smile stretched across his lips revealing his perfect teeth.

"My lord, this is my niece Hermione Dumbledore," Regnault announced when they were only inches from the star of many of Hermione's worst nightmares.

Lord Voldemort smiled another one of his disarming smiles. He grasped Hermione's hand in his to kiss the back of it like so many had already done before that evening. She was growing weary of the courtly gestures. Hermione resisted the urge to wipe her hand on her dress when he released it. It did not take long being in his presence to see and understand just what a charismatic figure he actually was. Of course he would have had to be to gather so many loyal followers.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Dumbledore," he stated, saccharine dripping off each syllable.

"The pleasure is all mine, my lord," she replied, dropping a deep curtsey to his intense delight. He seemed the type to enjoy all of the courtly trappings. She kept her gaze focused on the buttons of his robes to prevent making direct eye contact. It was her hope that she would come off as merely shy, not defiant.

"I just informed your uncle that I would be remiss in leaving before I had the pleasure of a dance with the guest of honor."

Hermione could feel her cheeks flush at the attention. Voldemort chuckled at her obvious discomfort. The others surrounding them in their circle followed suit. She was disgusted by the group of sycophants, her uncle included. A brief moment of insolence flashed in her eyes as she stared at the weaklings. It was a second that did not go unnoticed by the wizard.

Once the orchestra began playing a new song Lord Voldemort grasped Hermione's hand to lead her out to the dance floor. The couple was given a wide berth as the majority of the guests preferred to watch them twirl around the floor. No doubt there was fear of what would happen if one of them clumsily bumped into the dangerous wizard. Hermione was thankful that she was forced to take dancing lessons as a child. She settled into a rhythm swiftly. Naturally, not one to do anything by halves, Tom Riddle was a divine dancer. They glided around the hardwood to the simple waltz without speaking for the first part of the song. His reluctance to speak encouraged Hermione. Perhaps she would be able to get away from him without actually needing to converse. Her focus remained on his buttons.

"You seem anxious, Miss Dumbledore. Do I make you nervous?"

Her mind went back to the night Igor almost kissed her. He had asked the exact same question. Both men made her nervous for very different reasons.

"I am not used to having so many eyes on me, my lord."

Voldemort's laugh caught her off guard once more. It was a much less frightening sound than it would become when he regained his much less attractive body in the future.

"I imagine you will need to grow more comfortable with the attention," he replied. "You are a member of two _respected_ families. There will be many more who will seek you out."

She did not know what to say to his statement. Breathing was difficult as she contemplated the implication. Part of her was afraid that he was correct. Somehow she knew she would not be able to just slip quietly into the background until the day came when her time turner would work again. It was also disconcerting to realize that if she did not know what a monster the man she was dancing with would become, she could've easily been swayed by his charisma. A handsome monster was somehow more frightening than an ugly one. How many people were likely to be moved to support him because of his good looks?

"I have been anxious to meet the niece of Albus Dumbledore since the moment I heard she was in the country. Now I must discover if she is a strength of his or a weakness."

"I am neither. My uncle has never had much interest in me."

"Somehow I doubt that. I look forward to learning which it is."

Hermione was terrified but remained calm. She had hoped that she would be able to exist under Voldemort's radar until she was able to return to her time. Sadly, it did not look like that was going to possible any longer. She wondered if Voldemort was interested in killing her or recruiting her. Dumbledore's niece as one of his followers would be a boon to his pride. Voldemort leaned in closer to whisper directly in Hermione's ear. Every muscle in her body tensed at the feel of his body up against hers with such familiarity.

"I am going to lead you over to Igor Karkaroff now. Bloody fool's mind can be read from miles away. He is jealous and nervous that I will sweep you off of your feet."

His laughter ringing in her ears chilled her down to the bone. She dared to look up across the dancefloor to where Igor was standing and watching the couple dance. While she was still learning his mannerisms and his facial expressions, Hermione did not have to be an expert to tell the wizard was fuming. Even at a distance she could see a prominent vein in his neck sticking out. Lord Voldemort lowered one of his hands to rest directly on Hermione's arse. She stiffened at the unexpected contact. Igor's face began to turn bright red in his anger. Voldemort's mouth returned to just outside her ear to allow him to whisper again like a lover.

"Be a dear and reassure him he has nothing to fear. I need him on my side. His family is very influential. Can't have him scurrying off because he believes I'm trying to seduce the object of his affection." He stood back up to his full height before speaking again. "Try to teach him to keep his emotions under control. You are a puzzle, Miss Dumbledore. I've tried and failed to read you."

Her expression must have been amusing at his confession because he began to laugh loudly again. His sounds of mirth could be heard all over the tent. Several who had not been looking in their direction to start with turned to view the spectacle. Ignoring the wagging tongues, Voldemort lowered his mouth back to her ear. His breath tickled. Once again Hermione was afraid to breathe.

"And you said your uncle Albus had nothing to do with you. I do believe you are lying to me, _Hermione_."

In the same moment, the song ended. Voldemort bowed to his partner. Hermione returned with another deep curtsey. The niceties must be observed after all. He reached for her hand once again to lead her over to the edge of the dancefloor where a red-faced Igor was silently seething. The Dark Lord placed Hermione's hand in Igor's.

"I will return your witch to you, Igor," he stated, his voice quiet enough that only the three of them were able to hear due to the loud strings of the orchestra. "Perhaps you can take her somewhere private. Hopefully this time you won't be _interrupted_."

The Dark wizard stalked off to return to his group of bootlickers. Hermione was so angry and so terrified that she was physically shaking. Igor carefully squeezed her hand to lead her out of the tent into the fresh air. She grabbed a glass of floating champagne just outside the tent and downed it in one swallow. Another one floated within her grasp. She reached for it immediately.

"Are you all right, Hermione?" asked Igor.

"He is a _horrible_ man. I wish my uncle had not forced me to dance with him."

"From where I stood it appeared you both were enjoying yourselves immensely."

Hermione glared at the wizard. He was obviously upset. She was not in the mood to deal with a jealous, petulant wizard when she had just experienced one of the most frightening moments of her life. Dropping his hand first, she rushed towards the formal gardens. She knew from her after dinner walks with her cousins and uncle that there were plenty of large hedges in the gardens to hide behind.

Igor was following her, but Hermione did not care. She slammed back her second glass of champagne. When it was empty, she threw the glass to the ground. As soon as she was far enough away from the majority of the guests, she took her ridiculous shoes off and started running. Igor's shouts followed her, but she did not stop. At the back of the garden she stopped behind a tall hedge to catch her breath.

"Why are you running away from me?" Igor asked with a hint of pain in his tone.

He stepped closer to her, effectively blocking any means of escape if she had been so inclined. His hands were placed on either side of her head and he pressed the full length of his body against hers. All at once Hermione felt like all of the air had escaped from her lungs. She had to remind herself to take a breath.

"I needed a few minutes by myself," she stated when she remembered how to speak again.

"Get a little too heated on the dancefloor?"

"Shut up, Igor. You don't know what you're talking about."

Somehow he managed to find a tiny bit more space to allow his large body to move even closer to hers. His mouth was only inches from hers. Hermione's eyes were focused entirely on his lips.

"He had his hands all over you."

"We were dancing."

One of Igor's hands dropped from the hedge. He placed the free hand on Hermione's arse. When she squeaked at the sudden touch, he pulled her even closer to his firm body. She had to remind herself to breathe yet again. How did this man keep having this effect on her?

"Nice, respectable witches don't dance like that with a wizard they hardly know," he said, his voice husky and deep.

"Maybe I'm not a nice, respectable witch."

Igor pressed his lips against hers with a bruising ferocity. He seemed to want to take all of his frustration of the previous half an hour out on her mouth. Hermione did not mind. She had her own feelings to work out at the same time. All of her fear was channeled into her lips and her tongue. The wizard could not keep his hands still or off of her body. A pleasantly charged flame in her belly rapidly grew into a blazing fire. Every heated groan and soft moan only encouraged the couple. When Hermione brushed her arm against the front of Igor's rapidly tightening trousers, the wizard ripped his mouth away from hers. The witch whined at the loss of contact.

"I have no self-control around you, _charodeyka_ ," he hissed, his accent growing thicker. "If we don't stop now, I might take you right up against this hedge."

"Anybody could walk by."

"Yes, all the more reason we should head back to the party."

Hermione found it intriguing that in that moment his Russian accent was becoming more apparent. She wondered how heavy it would become if they became even more heated. It was an interesting experiment she looked forward to trying at a later time. Igor stepped back from her, trying to steadily calm his overactive breathing.

"My uncle might come looking for me," Hermione stated, realizing how foolish their rendezvous had been. "Or worse, Rod."

"He might hex my bollocks off."

They both laughed at the comment even though there really wasn't any real humor to the statement. It could sadly be true. Rodolphus was already protective of the fake cousin that managed to worm her way into his heart in such a short time. Hermione and Igor both knew he would not hesitate to hex or curse his best friend.

"He's invited me to stay tonight in one of the guest rooms on the first floor," Igor announced.

"Very interesting. I, too, will be staying the night. On the second floor."

Igor's smirk caused her stomach to begin its intricate routine of backflips again.

"We really should go back to the party," he said, stepping even further away.

"Yes, I have several boring people I've promised to save a dance for."

"Just make sure certain they keep their hands where they're supposed to," he warned as he made a discrete adjustment to his robes. "You go on ahead. I will follow in a few minutes."

Hermione leaned up to kiss him one more time. Compared to the fierce snogging they had just done up against the large bush, the kiss was almost chaste. She whispered into his ear before walking away towards the cacophonous sounds of the merrymakers.

"My room is at the end of the corridor. Two doors down from Rod's. Come by after everyone has gone to bed."

Igor's deep blue eyes darkened at the invitation. Hermione could hardly believe she was being so bold, but damn it, she could use a little tension release after the stress of the evening. It did not hurt that she found him very attractive and secretly wanted to know what he kept hidden behind his tailored robes. She felt a tiny bit guilty when she realized Igor was having trouble steadying his breathing again. She winked at him before walking back to the party.

She remembered to stop to put her shoes back on long before she reached the excitement. Before she could reenter the tent to resume the dancing that was expected of her, Hermione felt a hand on her arm drag her behind another hedge. Instinct made her reach for her wand, but before she could rattle off a hex or a jinx, she realized the intended victim was Andromeda.

"You do _not_ want to go back in there looking like you just got snogged within an inch of your life," Andromeda whispered.

Hermione was embarrassed that her activities in the back of the garden were so apparent. She had not even thought about her appearance. Without even giving her a chance to protest, Andromeda began to smooth down her hair. Errant locks slipped out of Rosie's elegant updo when Igor could not keep his hands off of her. Andromeda deftly fixed them. She applied a charm to Hermione's swollen lips to reduce their appearance.

"Roddy might seem like a gentle man, but if he suspects for a second that his mate is taking advantage of you, it will get ugly."

Igor chose that moment as Andromeda removed some of the obvious wrinkles from Hermione's dress to pass by the witches. He could not resist smiling at them both before disappearing into the tent.

"I would let that wizard drag me behind a bush too," Andromeda declared causing both girls to giggle. "But you have to be more careful."

"Thank you, Andromeda. I was not thinking."

"Oh, that's obvious."

They giggled again. Miss Black gave Hermione another thorough once-over before proclaiming her ready to face the masses once again. Both girls walked back into the party together. Hermione spent the next few hours dancing with several different people to be polite. Only her dance with Lucius Malfoy was somewhat awkward when neither one of them spoke to the other. As soon as the song was over, he gave her the fastest bow she'd ever seen before rushing off to Narcissa's side. Dancing with her cousins had been much more enjoyable. Even the obligatory dance with her uncle was preferable to the few minutes she spent with Lucius' hands on her body.

Regnault insisted that his sons and his niece accompany him to the gates of the estate to say farewell to their guests as they left. It had been an exhausting night. Thankfully Lord Voldemort chose not to linger at the party much longer after their dance ended. Hermione was very pleased when the guests began to leave in droves. She was tired of being polite and there was a handsome wizard who kept catching her eye and smirking. Privately she wondered what she would have to do to remove the smirk from his face.

"I'm going to owl you next week," Andromeda promised as they were saying goodbye at the gates. "We should meet in London before the school term starts."

It was close to three in the morning when the very last guest left and Regnault finally allowed them all to head back up to the manor house. Hermione wasted no time removing her shoes again to walk barefoot up the driveway. Even with Rodolphus' cushioning charm, the heels were extremely uncomfortable. At the front door she hastily said good night to everyone and practically ran up the stairs to her bedroom.

Once inside the privacy of her room she took one of the shortest showers she had ever taken. Ordinarily she preferred to linger under the hot water, but she had no idea when Igor would be able to sneak into her room. She charmed her hair dry into messy curls, a far cry from the sleek style Rosie tamed her hair into earlier that evening. Hermione pulled on a light blue silk nightgown with a matching robe. It seemed too decadent in the shop to even purchase, but she was glad she had something more than the cotton pajamas she normally wore to bed. At least she wasn't planning on wearing the nightgown for very long.

She did not have to wait very long for the soft knock on the door of her bedroom. When she pulled it open, she found Igor waiting for her with a bottle of champagne and two empty glasses. He had already removed his formal robes and somehow managed to look deliciously casual in just his shirtsleeves. Hermione reached for the open neck of his half-buttoned shirt to pull him inside the room. Igor hardly had time to set the champagne and glasses down on a side table before Hermione attached her mouth to his.

The heat from earlier in the garden manifested itself within moments in the privacy of her bedroom. Igor carefully guided her backwards to the oversized bed without breaking their kiss for a moment. Hermione yelped quietly when the back of her legs hit the bed. She smiled against his lips as she climbed up onto the mattress. For several seconds she lay on her back while Igor stood above her simply staring at the enticing picture she made.

Igor carefully climbed onto the mattress. He lowered his much larger body onto hers to latch onto her lips again. Only a second or two after they kissed again an extremely loud and disturbing alarm went off around them. It was reminiscent to Hermione of hearing the alarms on submarines during those awful military movies her dad was always watching. She had no idea where the noise was coming from or how to make it stop. Igor cursed as soon as they began and jumped off of the bed. He was unable to get very far before the door to the bedroom flew open and all three Lestrange men were standing in the doorway pointing their wands at the foreign wizard.

Realizing that all of her relatives were furious at finding a man in her bedroom, Hermione scrambled off the deep bed as quickly as she could. She placed her body in front of his to provide him some kind of protection. Hermione was incensed by the intrusion. She was positive she locked the door after her late-night guest arrived.

"What is he doing here, Hermione?" demanded Regnault, his wand still pointed menacingly in their direction.

"He was reading me a bedtime story."

Igor snorted behind her. Hermione struggled not to laugh. It was not the time or the place.

"Don't be cheeky with me, girl. Those alarms would not have gone off if he did not have immoral designs on you."

Just when she thought it was impossible to grow even angrier with her uncle, she found the incentive necessary to become ever more incensed.

"You put an anti-shagging alarm on my bed? Are you fucking serious?"

"All rooms where the young, unmarried ladies of the Lestrange family sleep are similarly outfitted. We take the virtue of our family members very seriously."

"Oh, really? Do _their_ beds have the same charms?"

Rabastan snorted when she pointed her finger in his and Rodolphus' direction.

"Not bloody likely!" her cousin responded. "Can you even imagine?"

"So it's perfectly fine for the wizards to shag indiscriminately, but the witches aren't allowed the same rights?"

"Of course they're not allowed to 'shag indiscriminately' as you put it," retorted Regnault, his face and neck bright red in anger. "Nice girls don't allow men they aren't married to into their bedrooms in the middle of the night."

"Then it is clear I am no _nice_ girl."

Hermione glared at her three male relatives. Rodolphus had yet to say a word about what they stumbled upon, but his anger was clear. Rabastan seemed annoyed that his sleep was disturbed. Regnault seemed to be in danger of having a heart attack. Knowing he would not get any further with his recalcitrant niece, he turned his attention to Igor.

"You realize I could use this as grounds to force you to marry her, don't you?"

Igor's gulp was loud enough that no one missed the ominous sound. Hermione could not stifle a laugh at his anxiety.

"No one is getting married here. Do not even attempt to try my hand, Uncle."

"Pack your belongings and go, Karkaroff. You are not welcome in my home again until you do what is honorable and marry my niece!"

Igor started to leave until Hermione grabbed his arm to stop him. She whispered in his ear for him to wait for her outside the gates. He seemed confused by the request, but agreed. As soon as he was out of the room, Hermione began packing all of her things as well. Using her wand she was able to summon all of her clothing to shove into her bag. Thankfully there wasn't much to pack since she had only planned on staying the one night. Hermione pulled her traveling cloak over her nightclothes and slipped her beaded bag into the pocket. All of the men watched her with matching confused expressions on their similarly featured faces. When she tried to push through them, Regnault grabbed her arm.

"Where do you think you are going?"

"Oh, probably to London. I'm certain I can find a hotel room there for the night. I refuse to stay in a house with such archaic customs."

She was able to shrug off her uncle's grip with little difficulty. Regnault continued to shout at her but she did not listen to a word he said. Hermione rushed out of the manor. When her feet touched the driveway she ran full speed ahead towards the gates. Igor was waiting for her just as he promised. She grabbed his arm.

"Where are we going?" he asked.

"The Leaky Cauldron. I know for a fact that as long as you use a silencing charm on the room, no one will come barging in."

* * *

June 19, 1998

 **8:00 am**

Kingsley could not believe the statement his grandmother just made. How could she be so cruel or so very mistaken? Wouldn't Tommy have said something if he had a son? Aberforth encircled the three of them in a muffling charm. He recognized it as one that Hermione used to use all of the time.

"This is perhaps a conversation saved for a more private time and place," suggested Aberforth.

"No, I have a right to know what you meant, Granny."

Marjorie was not bothered by the anger present in her grandson's voice.

"Your brother had a lot of secrets. We both know that. It's what got him killed after all."

He did not need a reminder. The day he found out his brother was dead was the second worst day of his entire life. And it had only happened a week after the worst. Both Hermione and Thomas 'died' right around Christmas 1980. Obviously they never found Hermione's body, but sadly, they did find Tommy's only three days after Christmas. It was a Death Eater attack. Dolohov confirmed it, swearing he wasn't responsible. Even claimed to be best mates to the very end. Kingsley wasn't so certain.

"It took your father and me a few years to find him," continued Marjorie.

"Dad knows too? Why have neither of you ever told me?"

Kingsley was angrier than he had been in a very long time. He felt like he had been lied to repeatedly. If there was one thing he could not stand, it was dishonesty.

"Your brother went to a lot of trouble to keep his family a secret. Obviously he felt like they were in danger. Considering how Tommy was _murdered_ , he was right."

Tommy had always had too many friends who were Death Eaters. During Hogwarts he was mates with a group of Slytherins that almost all became followers of the Dark Lord. His best friend was one of Lord Voldemort's most trusted lieutenants, known for his depravity and cruelty towards Muggles. Tommy was always being recruited. Likely he had been since Hogwarts. He never wanted to be a part, but as a member of two respected Sacred Twenty-Eight families, he was something of a prize to Voldemort. He was killed because he finally said 'no' too many times to the madman.

"You've lied to me for eighteen years. Eighteen years! How can you ever expect me to trust you again?"

His grandmother stared him down with the familiar expression she saved when she was truly annoyed with her boys.

"If you want to redirect some of your anger, you might be curious to know that Hermione was named his godmother. She knew about Dean for at least a year before she disappeared."


	14. Chapter 14

_Author's Note: In this chapter we will read about certain adult activities that may not be suitable for those not of age. Please do not proceed further if you are too young._

 _I will be unable to post this weekend as I am driving my elderly grandparents 1100 miles (one direction) to visit my parents. There will, however, be plenty of downtime next week for me to outline to my heart's content and get ahead on my writing. My goal is still to update this story at least twice a week. I hope this chapter will tide you all over until then._ _: )_

* * *

Chapter Fourteen

July 18, 1971

 **3:40 am**

It was almost four in the morning when Hermione's feet touched down onto the pavement just outside of the Leaky Cauldron. A 'pop' just behind her informed her that despite any misgivings he might have had about their choice of destination, Igor was prepared to follow through with their plans. Igor opened the door to the dark inn to allow Hermione to enter first. She stepped into the main room of the familiar establishment with her heart in her throat.

"What do you want?" demanded Tom, the proprietor just a few minutes after Igor closed the door behind him. If Hermione had to guess, she would assume that their entrance set off some kind of an alarm to wake the innkeeper. "We're not serving alcohol at this ungodly time of night."

"We simply need a room for the night," Igor announced in the imperious tone Hermione could remember hearing years in the future. It was a tone that brooked no arguments. She felt a shiver through her spine at the sound, wondering if he would ever have cause to use the same tone of voice on her. "Our previous accommodations are no longer suitable and we are very _tired_. Do you have a room available?"

Tom was annoyed and did not bother to hide the fact from his guests. After eyeing them both suspiciously, his eyes lingered on Hermione's dishabille despite her cloak covering most of her odd assortment of garments. Finally he admitted there was a room available and used his wand to summon a key to hand over to the young wizard.

"Checkout's at eleven and use a strong silencing charm," Tom ordered before disappearing back into his private quarters.

Hermione blushed at the remark. Igor cleared his throat. When the moment passed, they both headed up the narrow staircase to the upper floors hosting the guest rooms. A strong sense of awkwardness had fallen over the couple as soon as the key to their den of iniquity was passed over. Once inside the simply adorned room, Igor charmed the room as their owner of the establishment demanded. Hermione removed her cloak, hanging it up on a hook by the door. Igor grasped her hand in his to lead her over to the foot of the bed. They sat down on the edge side by side.

"I am so humiliated by what just happened," Hermione admitted.

Igor ran his hand through her hair and kissed her forehead softly.

"I am very sorry."

"You have nothing to apologize for, Igor. We are both adults. Capable of making our own decisions. I invited _you_ to my room. No one forced me. My uncle is old fashioned and unreasonable."

"While I will admit that having three grown wizards point their wands directly at my head is not how I planned on spending my time alone with you, I can appreciate how protective they are of you. They take their roles as your protectors seriously. It is admirable."

"I don't need them to protect me."

Igor kissed her forehead again with a smile on his lips.

"Perhaps not, but it wouldn't hurt to at least humor them a bit. Men like to feel useful."

When the indignation she was still feeling from her uncle's actions and words began to subside, Hermione gradually began to understand the significance of her own actions. She was alone in a hotel room with an older wizard, a wizard she remembered being in his fifties when she was still only fifteen. The memories of how the fastidious dresser with the cocky smirk would one day morph into a man she could not reconcile with the younger version seated on the bed next to her made her quite nervous. More nervous than she could remember being around a man in a long time. With the exception of the petrifying and mildly sexually harassing dance with the Dark Lord earlier in the evening, she could not remember the last time a wizard made her heart beat so fast.

Igor's muscular thigh brushed against her silk-clad one almost as if by accident. Hermione felt a shock at the simple involuntary movement straight to the core of her very being. Yes, he was only six or seven years older than her in the current time, but she could not help but dwell on the fact that her experience with the opposite sex likely paled in comparison to his. Those were important years, after all. She hated feeling once more like the naïve, innocent child in his presence. Maybe she would always feel that way. He had an air about him that was quick to remind her that he had experiences and knowledge that she did not.

She was not ignorant in the way of men. Or young wizards. Lingering caresses in the isolated library bookshelves with Viktor her fourth year had been her first experience with the debauchery of youth left alone with too much time on their hands. They had never progressed further than openmouthed kisses and an occasional hand in her oversized jumper. Stolen moments in hidden alcoves in the castle with Cormac had gone a bit further. She would never come right out and admit to anyone who knew them that she had ever spent more time with him than just the night of Slughorn's Christmas Party. It was an embarrassing secret she was not prepared to share with anyone. Sixth year had been lonely with Harry's obsession with Draco Malfoy and Ron's obsession with shoving his tongue down Lavender Brown's throat. Cormac found her in a _vulnerable_ moment that led to many moments over the course of several evenings she wished she could purge from her memory. They had gone further than she was prepared for which inevitably led to the dismantling of their torrid, clandestine relationship. Ron readily accepted the lie that fell from her lips the night they were first intimate that he was her first.

Hermione took a deep breath before turning her head to look at the wizard she had invited to her bedroom earlier that night. Igor was unashamedly surveying her facial expressions and the way the thin silk across her chest left very little to the imagination. She did not suppress the pleased shiver that went through her entire body at the attention. Sensing she was a bit nervous now that they were finally alone again, Igor slowly leaned in closer to her. Just as one might approach an unfamiliar animal out in the wild, he did not want to frighten the witch sitting next to him on the edge of the bed.

His hand slipped through her wild, unruly curls seeking some kind of purchase. Perhaps he was concerned she would startle and run off if he did not have a gentle hold on her person. When she did not immediately balk or try to slip way, Igor leaned in even closer to brush his lips against hers. The touch was nothing like the bruising kiss he had pressed on her in the privacy of the darkened garden. It was not even as passionate as the one she forced on to him as he tried to set the champagne bottle down. There was nothing hurried about the movement, as if they had all of the time in the world to take the next step.

Igor's lips were surprisingly soft when he was not trying to bruise hers with his fervor. For several unhurried minutes they sat perched on the edge of the bed simply massaging each other's lips with their own. He was the first to deepen the kiss, but did so in such a manner that Hermione felt the last of her nerves slip away. She encircled his neck with her arms, pulling herself closer to his body. The wizard was only too happy to have her settle her slim frame in his lap, her legs straddling his hips.

Hermione began to forget the insecurities she experienced earlier when thinking about how much more experience Igor was likely to have than her. He was an attractive man, unafraid to flirt with women he found eye-catching or witty. Rodolphus had warned her on more than one occasion to be careful around the man. Perhaps that was why her cousin seemed so stricken when he was pointing his wand at his best friend in Hermione's bedroom.

"What is it?" Igor whispered, aware of the sudden shift in her body language.

"Nothing," she replied.

Bringing up her reservations about how her cousin would feel was not going to serve any purpose other than ruining the moment. Hadn't they already had two, no, _three_ moments ruined in recent memory? To prove that she was all right, Hermione switched the roles to become the dominant partner. Placing her hands on Igor's shoulders, she forcefully pushed the wizard back onto the bed to his intense delight. His smirk that she had come to adore was present. Hermione strove to wipe it off with her lips. In her race to remove the grin, she missed his hands slithering underneath the hem of her flimsy nightgown.

The moment his long fingers slipped between her shaking thighs she gasped. Igor pulled his head back from her mouth to stare at her with a single raised eyebrow and the same cheeky grin she was obviously failing to remove from his face. In the rush to get dressed following her shower and before he arrived knocking at her bedroom door, Hermione had forgotten a key piece of clothing that she _never_ forgot.

"You are full of surprises, Hermione," he teased.

She could feel her cheeks burn for just a moment. Igor's large hands wrapped around her trim thighs. In one swift movement he used his superior strength to lift her in the air and toss her gently back down on the bed. Before she even had the chance to bounce back up off the mattress, Igor covered her body with his. Hermione reveled in the weight of the man above her. There was something she found oddly comforting about a powerful man resting his weight over her petite frame. She felt secure, safe, wanted. Like even though they had had their romantic interludes interrupted by both a homicidal werewolf and the jealousy caused by a sociopathic madman, he would allow no harm to come to her as long as his form was stretched atop hers.

Igor's mouth lingered on hers for a delightful few moments. Satisfied that her mouth had once again been thoroughly ravaged, the Russian moved his lips gradually down the column of her neck, across her exposed collarbones and further south. His breath blowing on her hardened nipples through the silk nightgown sent a shiver of pleasure coursing through her entire core. Igor's blasted smirk returned as he continued his trek further down her body, entirely too pleased with himself for the reactions his touches were causing. The lower his mouth moved down her body, the higher his hands pushed up the fabric covering her modesty. When she could feel the cool air from the chilly inn room on her exposed flesh, she bit back a moan. Igor did not miss her response. Following a speedy, but thorough examination of the skin and parts beneath her silk, Igor grasped the bottom of her night gown to pull it and the robe off in one fast jerk. His appreciation for his witch's naked body was apparent. Hermione silently thanked whatever deity might be listening that in her rush to prepare for their late-night rendezvous, she had the presence of mind to glamour the worst of her scars. At the very least they would not be forced to endure the awkward conversation where she lied through her teeth as to how and where she got her mutilations. Igor removed his wand from the pocket of his trousers to cast the charm she was familiar with. If he was unwilling to marry her despite her uncle's shouted wishes, he certainly wasn't about to impregnate her.

"I don't think it's fair that you're wearing so many clothes when I'm wearing so little," Hermione stated.

His lips curved into a wicked smile. Igor rose up from the bed to stand in front of her. Piece by torturous piece, he removed his attire. Hermione leaned up on her elbows to get the full show. His white button-up shirt he had been wearing under his formal robes was already half-unbuttoned. It was no wonder Tom eyed them with such suspicion and reminded them to use a silencing charm. Igor looked as if he had already been the victim of a forced undressing. Each button removed from its buttonhole revealed more of his skin. He was a thin man, but certainly well developed as Hermione witnessed firsthand. Igor dropped the shirt to the floor. Their room was dimly lit though she was certainly able to see his trousers were likely uncomfortably tight. Igor grew impatient after he unzipped the cursed garment. In one single motion he removed his trousers and his pants while simultaneously kicking off his boots.

Hermione felt her cheeks burn when she got her first good look at the naked man. Igor stood silently with his fists on his hips and his chest puffed out like some sort of Muggle comic book her, his invisible cape flapping in the breeze. He was not a shy man. And based on what he had hidden in his pants, he certainly had no reason to be ashamed. Especially not when the activities of the evening encouraged his favorite body part to extend to its fullest length. Embarrassed and nervous all at once, Hermione quickly turned her head to focus on the sole window in their room. Cormac and Ron had been perfectly acceptable sizes, but she knew with Igor, she would be stretched beyond what she had ever been.

He must have sensed her nervousness. Igor climbed back onto the bed to pull the witch into his arms. With whispered soothing words and soft kisses peppered across her face, Igor returned his full attention to worshiping the body of the _charodeyka._ His lips and tongue sought out every inch of her heated body, lavishing it with praise and devotion. They both lost track of time. When Igor muttered directly in her ear that he could not wait any longer to escalate their passion, Hermione was a quivering, excited mess.

She lay back on the mattress with her head on a misshapen pillow waiting for the next move. Igor was more tender and considerate than either of her previous lovers. She was learning quickly the lesson that there is quite a difference between a naïve, untested teenager and a skilled man with knowledge. His big hands deftly, but slowly pried her thighs apart. Hermione was certainly no virgin about to be impaled for the first time, but she was still nervous. A new lover was all at once an exciting prospect and a frightening one. Igor had been careful in priming his witch for the experience. Her body accepted him with no resistance.

"Are you all right?" he asked, struggling to keep his husky voice under control.

"Yes," she promised. "I'm all right."

Igor used her assurances as an encouragement to move within the witch's body. The rhythm he chose was slow, accommodating, but with each increasingly loud moan and tight grip of his witch's hands on his biceps, he began to increase his speed. Hermione was only accustomed to short bursts of carnal activity when a few minutes could be spared. A wizard taking his time was almost unheard of. She was unsure what to expect.

"You feel. So good," he moaned between thrusts. "Wanted. To do this. Since we. _Met_."

Hermione did not trust herself to speak during the throes of passion. The act itself did not make her uncomfortable, but talking about it only caused her to trip over her own tongue. She provided inspiration and reassurance with enchanting little squeals that only served to excite the man even more. Neither could ever be sure how long it lasted. Unaccustomed to any form of release or climax during sex, Hermione was not expecting the moment when Igor's hand dipped down between her folds to rub against the sensitive bundle of nerves mid-thrust. The untamed scream that came out of her mouth surprised them both. Her internal walls clenched around him, wrenching his own climax out of him at the same time. Igor spilled into her and collapsed on top of her moments later.

Neither spoke for some time after their heavy breathing came back under control. Igor shifted off of her smaller frame to lie on his back. He wrapped an arm around Hermione's shoulders, carefully pulling her into his side. They were both exhausted. Their activities coupled with the extremely late hour meant they were both fast asleep before a Round Two was even contemplated.

* * *

 **10:30 AM**

She woke up to the feel of Igor's morning erection poking into her back. Unlike with her past experiences with being prodded awake by an overeager teenager, Hermione found the knowledge that he was still interested in another session exciting. Igor pushed her on her stomach and they proceeded to come back into full consciousness in the most pleasant of ways possible.

"I'm expected back at my Master's by noon," Igor announced when they were finished. "I was only supposed to stay at the manor for breakfast this morning."

Hermione did not want to hear any mentions of the Lestranges. There would be plenty of opportunities later to dwell on what a dismal evening she had had the night before. Between the party where she was forced to dance with Lord Voldemort to the moment she realized her bed was equipped with the magical equivalent of a medieval chastity belt, it was a date she was not eager to remember.

"When can I see you again?" she asked, immediately hating herself for how clingy she sounded.

Instead of being turned off by the question, Igor smiled broadly. He reached across the bed for her to kiss her soundly on the lips yet again that morning.

"I only get two Saturday nights off a month," he explained. "We could meet back here in London or I could come see you in Hogsmeade."

They made the decision to iron out the details of their next rendezvous when the date drew closer. He was always subject to the whims of his potions master. With almost two years left of his apprenticeship, Igor could not afford to make any long-term or even short-term plans. His future was still undecided until he was able to sit for his Mastery.

"I should go home," Hermione declared, reluctantly pulling herself out of Igor's embrace. "I wouldn't put it past Rod to be waiting for me in Hogsmeade, and I would really rather not have that awkward conversation with my dad."

"You don't think your uncle hasn't already owled your father about your _disagreement_ last night?" he asked as he picked his wrinkled discarded clothing off of the floor.

Hermione honestly had not even considered the possibility that Regnault would tattle on her to Aberforth. How embarrassing! She _really_ did not want to have to explain to her new father that she stormed out of her uncle's estate angry because he would not allow her the opportunity for a good fuck. Aberforth's reaction to that news was too horrifying to imagine.

"My uncle and father can hardly stand to be in the same room together. Too much bad blood between them because of my mother. I hardly think Regnault would get him involved in what I'm certain he considers a 'Lestrange Family matter'."

At least she hoped so. They finished dressing in silence. Hermione was grateful she had her beaded bag with her. Stepping out into London wearing a cloak over her nightgown did not seem as acceptable at lunchtime as it did in the middle of the night. Knowing Tom would bang on their door promptly at eleven if they weren't outside of the room, Igor pulled Hermione to his chest for one last passionate embrace before they had to reenter the rest of the world. As had happened so many times the night before, Igor's kisses left her breathless.

"I'm already looking forward to seeing you again," he whispered against her lips.

"So am I."

The moment was halted by the insistent knocking they had been expecting. Igor yanked open the door mid-knock almost causing Tom to topple over inside. Disgruntled at the abrupt movement, the innkeeper glared at them both.

"Unless you both clear out of this room in the next sixty seconds, you will be charged for another night."

Igor bowed dramatically to the irritated wizard. He gripped Hermione's hand to lead her out into the corridor. They kissed one final time to Tom's obvious displeasure. He muttered something under his breath about the youth of that day having no discernible morals any longer. Hermione wasn't positive nor did she care.

"I will owl you," Igor promised again outside in the bright sunshine before Disapparating back to his master's house.

Hermione was reluctant to return to Hogsmeade. If Regnault went against character just in an effort to be petty, she could be walking into a terribly awkward situation at The Hog's Head. Finally deciding it would be best to get any potential unpleasantness over with as soon as possible, Hermione Disapparated to the magical village. She landed in front of Honeydukes, a bit of a walk to her new home. If there were angry relatives waiting for her in her father's pub, she wanted the opportunity to run before they cornered her.

When she turned off of the bustling High Street to the quieter side street where the inn resided, her eyes landed on a familiar figure. Seated out in front of the ruins of the old pub next door to her father's in what was clearly a conjured chair was her favorite cousin Rodolphus. He had been passing away the time charming colorful flowers into being on the pavement. He did not seem angry, but to be fair, he had not yet laid eyes on her figure. Running away seemed cowardly and she had always prided herself on being a Gryffindor.

"Good morning, Rodolphus," she greeted.

Rodolphus' head snapped up at the sound of her voice. Instead of the fury and rage she expected to see in his features, all Hermione could identify was disappointment in his green eyes. Somehow that only made her feel worse. She was used to dealing with furious, annoyed wizards. She was not accustomed to those she admired being disappointed in her or her actions.

"I waited out here for you instead of going inside your father's pub," he explained, his voice cooler and more detached than she cared for. "I did not think you would want your personal business blurted out to your dad."

"Thank you. He assumes I spent all night at the manor. I don't want him to know otherwise."

Rodolphus nodded and rose from his chair. A single flick of his wand vanished the piece of furniture and all of his conjured flowers. He seemed reluctant to meet her eyes again. Hermione wondered if this was how all family disagreements were going to unfold. She and Regnault would argue, insult each other and storm off to their separate corners until Rodolphus entered the arena as the helpful mediator. If it was, she did not envy Rodolphus his position.

"Have you been sitting out here waiting long?" she asked.

"I am not unfamiliar with checkout time at The Leaky Cauldron," he admitted. When he caught sight of her confused expression, he elaborated. "Rabastan and I assumed that's where you would go. Hogsmeade was too close to your dad. We didn't think you would want him to know what you were doing. I wanted to make certain your whereabouts were known so I Apparated to London just a few minutes after you. Slipped a few galleons to Tom to find out you were upstairs."

"I am an adult, Rod. Eighteen years old, _almost_ nineteen. If I want to invite a man into my bed, I have every right."

He held up a hand to stop her ranting before it got out of hand.

"I don't care about that," he replied. "Well, no, that's a lie. I _do_ care about the fact that you invited Igor. He's a bloke you flirt with, but not one you get serious with."

"Who said I was interested in getting serious with anyone? I'm not even out of school yet. I am in no rush to settle down."

"I am not here to argue with you about your rights as an independent, modern witch, Hermione. As far as I care, you can go out and shag the entire England National Quidditch team senseless if you want. Just don't tell me about it."

Hermione actually snorted at the remark. Rodolphus granted her a small smile before continuing.

"My concern is that history is about to repeat itself," he continued. "I am not sure I could live with myself if I allowed Father to run you off like Grandfather did Auntie Sia. Even in just the short time you've been here, Hermione, I've come to care about you a great deal."

"And I care about you, Roddy."

"I just wanted to make certain that you were all right after last night."

Without giving it much of a second thought, Hermione slipped her arms around Rodolphus' waist. He returned the embrace with zero hesitation. She could not stand the fact that she knew what a great chunk of his future held. Any time they were together and had a sweet moment like that, all she could remember was the vacant expression on the thickset man with the wild hair in the newspaper announcing his escape from Azkaban. She wished she could save him from the pain and terror he would be experiencing in only a few short years.

"Yes, I'm fine," she assured him, stepping back from him at the same time. Hermione shook her head as if the physical motion would remove the discouraging thoughts and memories rattling around in her head. "I promise you, Roddy, that I will never walk away from you."

Hermione knew enough about history to know that it was often changed by victors when it was written down. How much of what went on during the First Wizarding War was true and how much of it was legend? During her third year she studied all she could get her hands on regarding time travel. She was almost one hundred percent positive that she could not actually change the future. Time travel was like a loop. When she went back in time it was because she had already been there before. Everything she did in 1971 had already happened. It was such a mind-numbingly difficult subject to wrap her wits around that she often went to bed with a headache from thinking too hard.

Maybe she could not change the past. Maybe the same events that happened years before in _her_ time had already happened and would continue to happen no matter what she did, but maybe she could find some discrepancies in the records she could correct. After all, twelve years passed where the world at large believed that Sirius Black was responsible for the deaths of his best friends and that he was a loyal follower of Voldemort. He had been sent to Azkaban by Barty Crouch without so much as a farce of a trial. Perhaps there was more to Rodolphus' story than she was aware? Could she be able to find evidence vindicating him in the future? Hermione desperately hoped so. Knowing that he was doomed to spend fourteen years amongst the dementors only to be thrown back in after the debacle at the Department of Mysteries was depressing. She could not remember if he was captured after the Battle of Hogwarts. She resolved to gather as much information about her cousin as possible to make certain he wasn't a victim of injustice. While she was at it, she decided she would also check the same for Rabastan. Her feelings on whether or not Rabastan was a loyal Death Eater willing to torture innocent people for information were sadly a great deal different than her feelings about Rodolphus being responsible.

"Well, now that that's settled, you should go inside," Rodolphus said with a smile. "I should go back home and make certain that Father isn't preparing to blast you off the family tapestry. After all, you've only just been added."

* * *

June 19, 1998

 **8:05 am**

His grandmother's words about Hermione lying to him for at least a year echoed through Kingsley's mind. For years he had always assumed there were certain aspects of her life that she was keeping secret from him. He hated that his little witch did not always feel comfortable enough to tell him the truth about everything, but he understood. They were practically on different sides of the same war. While she was certainly not an active participant like he had been with the Order, Hermione had several loved ones that succumbed to the pretty talk of Tom Riddle to have their left arms branded with his Dark Mark. Their perspectives on what was good and right in the world were vastly different in many cases. It was an argument they had more times than he could remember.

He could not believe that Hermione knowingly kept a secret as large as the fact that he had a nephew running around from him. Tommy and Hermione had been close friends from the very beginning, almost from the day she dropped out of the sky into their little slice of the world. Their friendship had been a source of contention more than once, but once Kingsley grew secure enough in his connection with his witch, he never doubted either of them again when they stated clearly that there was nothing untoward between them. Now that his grandmother was accusing Hermione of conspiring with Tommy to keep such a secret, he could feel the old insecurities bubble up inside. What else had she kept from him? When she returned and everything was laid bare, would they be able to move on? Or would his years of waiting for her to return amount to nothing but wasted time?

"I will deal with Hermione when she gets back," Kingsley stated to the other two. "And this discussion about Dean is _not_ over. I will be owling Dad later. The _two_ of you can give me all the excuses you want as to why you never told me the truth. Until then, the three of us have to behave as if nothing is out of the ordinary. We _must_ appear to be helpful in the search for our girl."

Kingsley ended the muffling spell. Not caring that his two companions were over a decade past their century mark, he set his sights for the castle. His long legs would get him there much sooner than they would.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter Fifteen

August 28, 1971

 **7:30 pm**

The summer of 1971 passed by Hermione in a blur. She resorted to keeping herself as busy as humanly possible to prevent the distressing thoughts of what the hell she was expected to do stuck twenty-eight years in the past from taking over her anxieties completely. Several experiments with the time turner she kept around her neck at all times (except of course when she was alone with a certain Russian wizard) resulted in the same conclusion that at least for the present, she could not hope to go back to her time the same way that she came.

She continued to spend a great deal of time with her favorite cousin Rodolphus. Days after the party that they never wanted to discuss again, he came bursting into The Hog's Head in the middle of the afternoon to announce that Bellatrix had finally departed the country for her two years long Grand Tour. Hermione had been almost as excited about the prospect of not seeing that raven curly-haired bitch as her reluctant fiancé. They toasted her exodus with fervent hopes that she would lock herself inside an ancient tomb with no way out. Or at the very least simply fall in love with another of the travelers enough to wish to break their engagement off. Hermione kept a positive countenance when speaking to Roddy even though she knew the truth. Bellatrix most certainly _would_ fall in love on the Grand Tour, but she would _not_ break off their engagement. If Lord Voldemort showed the slightest indication that he was interested in marrying Bellatrix, she would've jilted Rodolphus in a heartbeat. Considering the fact that she was known in the future as Bellatrix _Lestrange_ , she knew that his hopes would prove to be false.

It did not stop her from encouraging him to come to visit Hogsmeade whenever he had a free evening. Relations with the other two Lestranges remained very much on the chilly side. Rabastan was so self-absorbed that he made it clear on more than one occasion that Hermione was not an interesting subject to him. Rodolphus tried to encourage his little brother to form more of a bond with their female cousin, but he was quite simply uninterested. Quidditch and whether or not Solveig Selwyn would one day be his bride took precedence in his limited-capacity brain.

Regnault had not spoken to Hermione since the night she ran off with Igor to London. Their official family mediator continued to try his utmost to bring them both back together with no luck. Hermione stated that she would give him several months to cool down and _Regnault_ would have to be the one to apologize first. Her uncle was still furious about her conduct even six weeks after the fact. He seemed determined to mold Hermione into someone she simply wasn't. Neither party was in much of a hurry to approach the other.

Hermione spent a great deal of time with the Shacklebolts over the course of the summer as well, especially the sons. Kingsley was still quite annoying at times and constantly underfoot, reminding her strongly of a gangly puppy still learning how to use its massive paws. Thomas had become a surprisingly good friend in such a short time. It did not take them long to learn they had a great deal in common with each other. Hermione felt inexplicably close to him from the very beginning. He always reminded her of someone she felt she had known for years. She spent many lovely evenings at the Shafiq home enjoying dinner with the entire family. On nights that Aberforth came with her, she relished them even more. This was how a real family behaved and interacted. She loved every moment with them even despite the fact that none of them could resist the urge to continue to tease her about Kingsley.

Her relationship with Igor had become something of a sore subject. They were only able to exchange letters due to his impossible workload. Hermione found that despite not being interested in anything serious with the wizard, she was lonely for some attention and affection. Neither of them, in fact, wanted anything serious, but she still found her mind drifting to thoughts of him at random times throughout the day. With only two Saturday nights off a month, their time was limited. When his parents announced they were visiting from Russia unexpectedly two weeks after their Leaky Cauldron rendezvous, he had had to cancel their plans much to their mutual disappointment. Knowing that the school year was looming ahead, Hermione knew it was only a matter of time before their heated passion fizzled to a pleasant, blush-inducing memory. She was okay with that thought. It simply did not make her any less lonely.

Aberforth was all too willing to give her additional responsibilities in the like-new pub she had insisted he improve. While perfectly content with how it had always been run, the influx of new business meant that he often had more customers than he knew what to do with. Hermione provided assistance in cleaning up the guest rooms, serving customers, keeping the private areas of their home neat and orderly and even attempting to improve her culinary skills in hopes that he might finally give in to the idea she still had of offering a full menu to their clientele.

"Soups are very easy to keep going all day," she insisted, ignoring the scowl on his face. "They are not hard to make, but just think how much longer customers will stay in the winter if they know they can get a hot meal. Baking fresh bread is not hard either."

"I think you are once again confused by the name on the outside of this building, lass," he retorted. "It is called The _Hog's Head_ , not The Three Broomsticks."

"Okay, well, we can start gradually," Hermione continued, effectively ignoring the annoyed wizard. "I've been experimenting in the kitchen this afternoon for some kind of small snack you could offer to customers. It is going to take some more experimenting while I am back in school, but I think I could get the house-elves to help me since they are likely not going to hate me in this time period."

Aberforth narrowed his eyes at her proclamation. Very few witches or wizards were ever truly _hated_ by the house elves that served them. While many may have wished for better circumstances or perhaps friendlier masters, they were bound to serve. It brought them joy to serve. Hermione could sense his confusion without him even needing to utter a word. With her cheeks gradually heating up, she explained the failure that was SPEW and how it resulted in every single house elf in the castle with the exception of Dobby refusing to serve her out of fear that she would underhandedly try to free them from their welcome bondage.

"You certainly led a very interesting life in the future, my girl," he stated, choking down the laughter Hermione knew he wanted to express.

"Yes, well, I've been working on some cupcakes. They are quite popular in the future with Muggles."

" _Cupcakes_?" He rolled the unfamiliar word around on his tongue as if it was covered in a spice he could not quite describe. "What the devil is a 'cupcake'?"

Hermione rolled her eyes and sighed. There had been many instances over the previous several weeks that she had used a term or spoke about an idea that was completely foreign to either her father or her cousin. Both wizards were usually polite enough to patiently wait for an explanation without laughing or scoffing.

"It's a small cake," she explained.

"Well, then why can't you just call it a small cake?"

She chose not to enter into that particular discussion with Aberforth. He was a difficult man to argue with and he did not play fair. Hermione simply summoned the plate of freshly baked cupcakes she left to cool in the kitchen. The moment they landed on the bar in front of her father, the wizard perked up. He reached for a purple one with sprinkles. Hermione immediately slapped his hand away.

"You don't want to eat that one," she declared. "These are not regular cupcakes."

"I don't even know what a _regular_ cupcake is, lass, but please explain to me what you mean."

"I've spiked the cupcakes with various potions."

Aberforth's eyes widened at the announcement.

"No, nothing illegal, I promise," she assured him. "The purple ones with the sprinkles were made with a simple potion that gives the person who eats it the courage to speak the truth. They aren't compelled like with Veritaserum…"

"But more so than just simple alcohol would loosen their lips."

"Exactly. The ones with the red frosting were made with a self-confidence booster. Not enough that they'll turn into cocky gits, but maybe just enough that they can finally work up the pluck to ask the pretty girl across the pub over for another round."

"Interesting."

To his great credit, Aberforth made it clear that he was not simply humoring her either. He truly seemed fascinated by the different kinds of baked goods. Hermione continued her description of each kind: the green frosted cupcakes had a mild calming potion in them to encourage the consumer to relax, the pink swirled cupcakes were imbued with the tiniest hint of a love potion that only served to enhance the love that was already present, the blue cupcakes with the silver sprinkles gave the eater a strong sense of clarity of the mind, and the orange cupcakes were just for fun. They made whoever ate one burst out into random fits of giggles at inopportune times. Hermione could see an opportunity for hilarity with a potion like that.

"These are an interesting idea," he agreed. "But do you plan on advertising them as being laced with potions or are you planning on dosing people without their knowledge?"

"Of course I will not just give unsuspecting customers a potion without telling them first! What kind of witch do you think I am?"

Before Aberforth had a chance to respond to the question, the tinkling of the bell above the main door caught their attention. A large, laughing party began making their way inside the pub. The first through the door was the welcome and familiar sight of her cousin Rodolphus. He waved at her and gave her a bright smile. Behind him came Rabastan, Lucius Malfoy, Narcissa and Andromeda Black and a smirking Igor Karkaroff. Hermione rushed to the front door to lead them all to an empty table near the front windows.

"This is an unexpected surprise," she said to Igor. The wizard simply smiled and kissed her cheek, his lips lingering far longer than necessary. "I thought from your last letter I wasn't going to be able to see you before term started."

"I begged my master to let me have the night off," he answered, taking her hand in his. "Appealed to his memories of being a young wizard with a pretty witch he hasn't seen in weeks."

"Did that work?"

"No, I had to give up my next free Saturday. Apparently the poor sod is too old to remember being young."

His wink set her laughing. Igor kissed her cheek once more before taking his seat at the table next to Rodolphus. Andromeda sat on the other side of her cousin much to his obvious delight. Or at least he was trying and failing to prevent his pleasure from being too obvious. If Hermione did not already suspect that he was harboring some serious feelings for his fiancée's younger sister, she likely would have missed it.

"Are you joining us this evening, cousin?" Rabastan asked from his seat across the table.

"I can join you all for a drink or two, but I've got to help Dad. We've been really busy lately," she answered.

"Must be all of the changes you have clearly made," said Lucius. "I almost did not recognize this as being the same pub. When Rab invited me to join everyone tonight, I almost said no. I am pleased I did not."

Hermione was more than a little surprised by the almost gracious behavior Lucius was displaying that evening. She was not sure that she trusted he was truly trying to make amends for his abysmal behavior or if there was another reason he was being uncharacteristically polite. Instead of hurting her brain trying to figure out if he was being genuine or not, she chose to let his words slide.

"What can I get everyone?"

Once she took their individual drink orders, all fire whiskey except for the butterbeer ordered by the underage Narcissa, Hermione returned to the bar. Aberforth was not hiding the fact that he was staring at the group assembled by the window. His daughter snorted at his apparent suspicions and began to fill the orders.

"I'm not used to young witches and wizards coming in," he declared.

"If you keep the ladies room clean while I'm at Hogwarts, I promise you will continue to get more desirable clientele."

The moment the tray she filled was levitating in the air, ready to be delivered to her newest customers, Hermione was struck with an idea. It was probably not a good one and likely one she would come to regret, but before she could talk herself out of it, she had the plate of untested cupcakes in her hand. She justified using them as guinea pigs because she wasn't actually going to charge them for the cupcakes. And on the off-chance that one of them had an odd reaction, she had the antidotes for every single potion in the kitchen just waiting for a summoning charm.

"What are these, Hermione? They look delicious!" Andromeda stated when Hermione placed a purple cupcake with sprinkles next to her glass of fire whiskey.

"Just something I made earlier," she replied. "Trying to convince Dad to begin serving food. Thought he might be convinced with some of these."

Rodolphus did not hesitate in biting into his red cupcake. Hermione gave Igor a blue cupcake with silver sprinkles with a smile. She thought a little clarity of mind would not go amiss. Rabastan seemed in desperate need of the calming draught in the green cupcake. She gave a delighted Narcissa the pink swirled cupcake and with no sense of remorse at all, placed the bright orange cupcake in front of Lucius. As she anticipated, he sneered at the offered treat. It wasn't until his fiancée elbowed him that he deigned to try the dessert. One small bite was all the encouragement he required to finish the cake.

"Hermione, would you please come help me for a moment?"

Aberforth's strange tone caught her off guard. His knowing expression made the few feet to the edge of the bar feel much longer. It wasn't until she was standing right in front of him that she could tell his blue eyes were twinkling with undisguised amusement.

"Are you drugging my customers, lass?"

"I have the antidotes in case anything goes wrong."

"You are a devious little thing, aren't you, _Cupcake_?"

The gastronomic term of endearment she had not heard from anyone since her grandmother died made her smile. Aberforth had a cheeky grin she had only seen on him a handful of occasions. She decided it suited him. Hermione loved when he was in a playful mood. Somehow she knew that there were few opportunities in his long life to be completely at ease.

"I suppose I have my moments," she replied, sending a conspiratorial wink in his direction.

His loud laughter followed her all the way back to the table. Every crumb of her experimental cupcakes had been devoured by her unwitting subjects. Hermione was not exactly sure how long it took for the potions to take effect. They were not going to be as potent because they were baked into the small cakes. Likely it would take a bit longer than an unadulterated batch.

"You made those yourself, 'Mione?" asked Rabastan.

She was taken aback by the nickname coming out of his mouth. No one had called her that since she was thrown into the past. It was disconcerting to hear it from him. A cursory examination of his face showed that her cousin was feeling the effects of the potion. An almost dreamy look crossed his features.

"Yes, I did," she replied.

"Brilliant. They are delicious."

"Thank you, Rabastan."

A robust round of giggles erupted out of Lucius' mouth in that moment. Every single person in the pub turned their astonished attention to the embarrassed wizard. Malfoy's pale cheeks were blushing pink. Just as soon as he stopped giggling and realized what had just happened, he giggled again. Soon he was not the only one laughing.

"Oh, Lucy, darling, what has gotten into you?" tittered Narcissa. One of her slim hands began running up and down his back in a soft, soothing manner. She rested her head in her free hand to stare at the giggling wizard. "I think I _love_ this side of you."

Her older sister had to cast a charm in her direction to prevent Narcisssa from climbing into Lucius' lap. Hermione began to worry that she had not thought her actions out thoroughly. The youngest Black daughter was desperately fighting the charm to touch her fiancé.

"You know, I've always been fiercely jealous of the fact that Lucius and Cissy actually adore each other," Andromeda said directly to Rodolphus.

"So have I," he admitted.

Igor rose from the table completely ignoring all of the excitement going on around him. He was muttering to himself as he swept out of the main room in the general direction of the toilets. Hermione caught Aberforth's twinkling eyes. He was enjoying the scene immensely.

"We should run away and get married, Roddy," declared Andromeda. "Just not tell anyone. Run off, get married and make Trixie and Max marry each other instead. What do you think?"

The eldest Lestrange son did not have a verbal response to her suggestion. He dropped the half full glass of fire whiskey onto the top of the table. Both of his hands slid through her light brown hair. Rodolphus pulled a very confused and then very delighted witch directly towards his lips. Hermione gasped at the blatant display of affection between the two. Rabastan turned a lazy gaze towards his older brother, but did not seem bothered in the slightest. Simply continued sipping at his fire whiskey while his older brother kissed the object of his secret affections breathless just inches away.

Aberforth's loud guffaws from behind the bar echoed throughout the entire pub. At least one person found the situation truly amusing. Hermione was at a complete loss of what to do. Other patrons were now completely distracted by the events happening at the front of the pub. When Rodolphus picked up Andromeda and laid her down on top of the table, she knew she had to do something.

Hermione removed her wand from her pocket. No spell was on the tip of her tongue. She pointed her wand in the direction of the table and froze. One by one each test subject froze in place. Sensing she was out of her depth, Aberforth deftly performed several silent petrificus totalus spells on each of those affected. Another spell brought the vials of antidotes hurtling across the room. With Hermione's help they were able to pour a little down each of their throats.

"What do we do about _them_?" Hermione asked, gesturing towards the table where Andromeda was frozen and staring up in Rodolphus' dilated eyes.

"Nothing. Obviously there's something below the surface with those two. Maybe you just helped bring it out a little."

"They're going to be so embarrassed!"

"Yes, that's true, but maybe once they get over it, they'll do something about it."

One by one Aberforth released the freezing spells. When it was Rodolphus' turn, his cheeks flushed a bright red. He took a few steps back from the table and ran out the front door. Andromeda went rushing after him, begging him to stop.

"There's one left," Aberforth said, handing her the final vial of antidote. "Go find the Russian."

Hermione stalked off towards the corridor leading to the loos. Igor was seated on the bottom step of the staircase that led up to the guest rooms balancing a large piece of parchment on his knees. A quill in his hand scratched furiously in a language Hermione could not understand. Not wanting to stop the man in what could have been a moment of brilliance, she was content to just stand in front of him watching.

"What did you spike my cupcake with?" Igor asked not even bothering to look up or stop scribbling.

"It promotes clarity of mind."

"Ahh, I thought it was something like that. I could taste it. Not that the cupcake itself wasn't delicious, but I could tell. I won't make a very good potions master if I can't tell when I'm being slipped a potion without my knowledge."

His matter of fact words made Hermione cringe. When Igor put her actions into such clinical terms it was impossible to pretend like she was not guilty of doing something very wrong. After a few more minutes Igor charmed his parchment to not smudge before rolling it up into his pocket. He rose to his full height and stepped closer to her, effectively pinning her against the wall.

"That was very sneaky of you, Hermione," he chastised gently.

"I have an antidote."

She held up the vial to him. Igor snatched it out of her hands with more force than was necessary. She was afraid he was angry with her. Once a quick sniff of the vial proved to the future Potions Master that she wasn't about to dose him again with something unpleasant, Igor swallowed the contents in one motion. With a few drops of the antidote still on his lips, the Russian covered Hermione's mouth with his. If he was angry with her for slipping him an unauthorized potion, he was going about showing her in a strange way.

"I have been thinking of nothing else but you," he purred directly into her ear. "It is interfering with my potions."

Igor held up his left hand showing a small burn mark on his palm. Hermione wasted no time in kissing the healed wound.

"I can't stand to be so close to you, _charodeyka_ , and not touch you."

"Go out the front door," she ordered. "Come around to the back of the pub. I will meet you there in just a few minutes."

She wasn't sure what kind of reaction she expected from the wizard, but the desire to be alone with her in a more private place was certainly not it. Determined not to ruin the possibility of another memorable evening, Hermione went back into the main room straight to the bar. Aberforth was back to standing in his usual place keeping a closer eye on the table out front.

"I need some fresh air," Hermione stated. "I'm going to go out and feed the girls."

"Thank you. It's been so busy I have not had time to check on them."

Igor was already outside waiting for her behind the large goat pen. As soon as she was close enough for him to grab, she was in his arms. Passionate kisses rained down on her face and neck.

"The damned potion you gave me made one thing very clear in my mind," he hissed. "I cannot bear to go this long without being inside of you again."

The crassness of his words coupled with the harshness of his hands pulling up her skirt excited Hermione. Their first time in The Leaky Cauldron had been patient and tender and even a bit sweet. This moment was the antithesis. The bare minimum of clothes were removed. All Igor did was unzip his trousers, push her skirt up and rip her knickers off with one harsh tug. He lifted her body up in his strong arms, pushed her back against the goat pen and roughly invaded her body. Hermione had to bite down on his shoulder to prevent from screaming out. She encouraged his movements with a tightening of her inner walls. The sensation made the wizard growl and hasten his frenetic pace. She was biting so hard on her bottom lip to keep from moaning out loud that she was almost drawing blood. Igor hungrily covered her mouth with his to swallow her screams.

Such a zealous coupling was not destined to last very long. Unlike their first time together, they only lasted a few minutes of frantic thrusting and squeezing. Her orgasm came first rapidly bringing about his. When he groaned in her hair and spilled his seed inside her body, Igor carefully set the witch back on her feet. Neither of them said a word as they attempted to bring their breathing back under control.

"Up against a goat pen has to be the least romantic venue for this sort of activity," Igor quipped making them both laugh.

"I could not agree more," she replied, leaning up to brush her lips against his softly. "You should go back inside before anyone gets suspicious. I'll follow in a few minutes."

Igor kissed her one final time and headed back inside the pub. Hermione opened the gate to the pen. Both Gladys and Agnes were excited to see her enter their space. They set to eating their hay with an eagerness while she refilled their water with a simple spell. She was looking down at the water tank when the girls began to get very agitated. Agnes bleated loudly first, encouraging her sister to join. Hermione thought the behavior odd. They were normally very calm. When the tank was full of water she could no longer ignore the frantic and obnoxious bleating.

"What is your prob…"

The words died on her tongue. Standing only feet away from her on the other side of the short fence was a smirking Fenrir Greyback. She was so frightened at being caught alone and unawares by him that Hermione did not know what to do. Just stood there staring at the vicious werewolf, frozen in fear. Greyback made a dramatic show of loudly sniffing the air.

"I'm pleased to learn that my interruption in the woods that night hasn't diminished Karkaroff's desire for you."

Hermione was even more horrified at his statement but somehow found the courage to speak.

"You can smell him?"

Greyback's smirk was replaced with a full-fledged grin. That expression was even more terrifying than the smirk.

"No, well, yes, but no, I _saw_ you. Heard you too."

She was mortified that of all the people in the world to witness a private moment like that it had to be Greyback. Her mind went back to the worst night of her life. To her it had only been a few months. To everyone else, it hadn't happened yet. When they were captured by Greyback's gang of Snatchers, Hermione was certain that she was being led to her death. Greyback had been extra possessive of her, constantly touching her as if reassuring himself that she was actually there. When she was inside the drawing room before Bellatrix tortured her for information about the Sword of Gryffindor, he leaned in, whispered, "You smell just like your mother" and licked her neck. At the time she was so terrified she couldn't see straight. She was afraid that he had been able to find her Muggle parents somehow.

All at once it made a sick sort of sense. She realized that Greyback knew her well enough in the past to recognize her scent almost thirty years in the future. He assumed that she was the daughter of the witch he used to terrorize back in the seventies. Realizing that he was obviously going to remember her for a reason she did not want to fathom was terrifying.

"I'm not here to hurt you," he stated. "If I was, you'd already be screaming."

"Why are you here?"

"Just to keep an eye on you. A favor for a _friend_."

With one last calculating gaze in her direction, Fenrir Greyback disappeared as swiftly as he had appeared. Hermione ran as fast as she could to the safety of the pub.

* * *

June 19, 1998

 **8:15 am**

Arthur Weasley stopped Kingsley before he was able to step inside the Entrance Hall. The Minister could hear shouting and a rather heated argument coming from inside the castle. The slightly older wizard shook his head at the cacophony before addressing Kingsley.

"We believe that a fugitive Death Eater has likely kidnapped Hermione."

"Is there any proof?" Kingsley asked, always the auror.

"Nothing solid yet, but it's a solid lead. We got a list from the Ministry showing which Death Eaters have yet been caught."

Kingsley accepted the offered parchment from Arthur's hand. A neat column of handwritten names filled the page. Most were crossed out, an indication that they had been captured. He noticed both of the Lestrange brothers were back in Azkaban where they belonged. That gave him at least a little bit of solace. One name at the bottom was circled in red ink.

"What's the significance of this name?" he asked.

"Well, he hasn't been caught yet and we know there's a history there. Maybe he was wanting to finish what he started in the Department of Mysteries. Or maybe he was angry about her altering his memories."

 _Antonin Vadimovich Dolohov_. It was a name that instilled fear in just about every single person that heard it. Not to Kingsley. All seeing that name did was make him angry. He hated that wizard. He had never been afraid of his brother's best mate. But he had been jealous of him. More jealous than even he was willing to admit to himself. If the wizard was still free, he would be the number one suspect.


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter Sixteen

September 1, 1971

 **10:00 am**

Hermione could not remember being as excited and anxious at one time as she was the morning she was set to go back to Hogwarts. In her previous life she always looked forward to the first day of the school year with anticipation and excitement. Everything was familiar and comfortable. The expectation of a brand new year, almost like a fresh start, rejuvenated her each year. Before she exited her parents' car to head into King's Cross, she imagined that everything that year would be different. She would continue to excel in her classes, of course, but she had a naïve expectation that that would be the year when the bullying would stop from the Slytherins and even from some of her fellow Gryffindors. That would be the year that the boys would finally start doing their own homework. Maybe she would make new friends. It had always been a goal of hers to have at least one close female friend. She always hoped that maybe that would also be the year that she could get through the entire year without needing to help Harry defeat or elude some incarnation of Voldemort.

She was pleased with her decision to complete her seventh year in the past. Education had always been important to her. Remembering the conversation she had with Aberforth next to the Black Lake the morning she was sent back in time, she knew that her feelings on how difficult her future would be without good NEWT scores was still valid. She might not technically be Muggleborn in the seventies, but she knew there would still be a great deal of obstacles to face.

"I can't believe I have to go to London just to get on a train to come back," she grumbled to herself as she finished packing the last of her clothes into her trunk.

Aberforth stood in the doorway watching her progress. They had already had more than one heated discussion about Hogwarts policy of all students, regardless of home location, being required to catch the Hogwarts Express in London. She was annoyed because she literally lived close enough to just walk to school. Apparating hundreds of miles to sit in a train for most of the day seemed a ridiculous waste of time. Her father had been doing his best to encourage a more positive attitude out of her. His efforts had not been successful.

"You might actually enjoy the train ride," he stated. "It's all part of the start of school year experience after all."

"I've already done it… _six_ times. This one will feel awkward and unnatural without Harry and Ron. They've been there for all of them."

He stepped across the threshold of her bedroom to hand her a letter that had only arrived a few minutes before. Hermione closed the lid to her trunk before accepting it. Rodolphus' familiar handwriting was scrawled on the front. She sighed, able to guess its contents without breaking the seal. Her cousin had promised that he would be there to escort her to London to catch the train. Of course everyone assumed that she had no knowledge of how the platform worked at the station. She wasn't supposed to know. Only Aberforth knew the truth. When she read Rod's apologetic words stating something unexpected and last minute was going to keep him from accompanying her, she felt her spirits sag.

She knew the real reason was he was simply avoiding Andromeda after their rather heated kiss several days earlier. Her cousin had pointedly refused to tell her what happened after he ran out of the pub. Aberforth lied to the group to protect Hermione. He apologized and explained that a tainted bottle of fire whiskey was to blame for their strange behavior. Igor agreed to go along with the lie. Everyone was annoyed. Lucius went so far as to declare his father would hear about it and fully expected to hear something back from Ogden's.

"Your cousin not coming?" Aberforth asked when he saw the sadness and frustration all over her face.

"No," she sighed. "Probably too afraid to see Andromeda again. Well, it's not as if I don't understand how the platform works. I should be fine on my own."

"You're not going alone. What kind of father would I be if I just let you wander around by yourself? I might be a bloody awful father, but I'm trying."

His self-deprecation brought tears to Hermione's eyes. She was well aware of the fact that one of his greatest regrets in his life was the fact that his daughter was not a part of it. Without giving her actions much thought, she crossed the space to where he was standing in the doorway. She wrapped both of her arms around his waist and laid her head on his chest. It was a kind of embrace she was used to giving her Muggle dad, but the wizard was still at a loss of how to proceed. His entire body tensed for a few moments before he wrapped his arms around her back.

"You are anything but awful," Hermione declared.

Aberforth allowed the hug to continue for a few more moments. Before he released the witch, he gave her a hesitant kiss on the top of her head. It meant the world to Hermione. She had to take a deep breath to keep from crying.

"Let's go to London," he said, levitating her trunk out the door.

Platform 9 ¾ was exactly as it had always been… or _would_ be. If Hermione did not pay close attention to the faces of the students scrambling around her to greet their friends or get their trunks on the train, she might have been able to convince herself that she was back in her own time. Many of the faces were familiar from the party her uncle threw earlier in the summer. Several waved or nodded to her in greeting.

Regnault caught her eye across the platform. He was standing with Rabastan for the last few moments before his youngest son got on the train to begin his final year. After an uncomfortable staring match of just a few seconds, her uncle used his long legs to his advantage to cross the platform in just a few seconds. Rabastan hurried in his wake. Hermione felt awkward for the first few moments. Neither of them had spoken since the morning she ran off to London with Igor. They were both too stubborn to apologize for their behavior. Her uncle extended his hand to Aberforth to shake. After their perfunctory greeting was completed, Regnault grasped Hermione's shoulders and kissed each of her cheeks. Their stilted conversation consisted simply of him wishing her a good year in school and her thanking him before he swept off again.

She waved to the Shacklebolts. Both Dean and Katie were there to see their two sons off. Just as she was about to head to the train to find an empty compartment, Aberforth stopped her with a gentle hand on her arm.

"Bugger the damned rules. If you need something, you come get me."

Hermione promised him she would. They shared one final hug that felt, to Hermione at least, to be slightly less awkward than their previous ones. He was slowly coming around. As she headed towards the train she heard a small cluster of people speaking a language she did not understand. Curious as to what she was hearing, she looked up to see Antonin Dolohov conversing with a witch and wizard Hermione assumed were his parents. While his mother spoke to him in a soft motherly tone that needed no interpretation, his dark brown eyes met Hermione's. She forced herself to suppress the shudder that the simple act of him gazing at her caused. Part of her wondered if there would ever be a moment she could spend in his presence without feeling the nervous desire to run in the opposite direction. Though she did not know for certain, she could swear that his stare followed her until she stepped onto the train.

Few students were on the train. Most were still loading their luggage or saying their last goodbyes to family members. Hermione used the lull to find an empty compartment. One seemed to be just a few steps away from the entrance to the train. She pushed open the door and immediately realized she had made a mistake. A skinny sandy haired child sat alone on the large bench. His legs were not long enough, his feet dangled a few inches above the floor. Whoever he was, he was certainly a first year. Too tiny to be anything else. His haunted green eyes looked up from floor he had been intently staring at. With a half-smile in her direction, he seemed pleased to see any sort of company. When she noticed the fresh scratches on his face, Hermione felt her eyes fill up with tears.

She had known that she would see the younger versions of people she had known in the future. She had even prepared herself for weeks for the moment that one of the witches or wizards she admired crossed her path. Seeing a nervous, but friendly baby Remus Lupin was too much. It had only been four months for her since the day he died. Being around him as a child was too much. She quickly apologized to him and rushed out the door straight into a firm chest belonging to a wizard much taller than she was.

"I'm so sorry," she muttered to the wizard as she wiped at her tears.

"Are you all right? Why are you crying?"

Hearing Antonin Dolohov's lightly accented voice shocked Hermione even further. Her eyes shot up to stare into his. Though she did not know him well at all, she could see the concern present in his chocolate colored eyes. All at once the realization that she was staring into the eyes of the man who was responsible for the murder of the young boy just on the other side of the door only made her eyes fill up even more with tears. He reached into his pocket to hand her a clean handkerchief. Hermione simply stared at the scrap of fabric unsure if she should take it or not. Antonin suddenly lurched forward as a solid body pushed into his back.

"What did you do to make her cry, Dolohov?" an irate Kingsley demanded.

Young Shacklebolt grabbed Antonin by his collar to shove him roughly up against the wall of the corridor. Antonin was able to remove his wand in one swift motion, pushing it into Kingsley's throat. He was not deterred by the weapon against his skin. Kingsley's hands tightened on Antonin's collar.

"I didn't make her cry, Shacklebolt," Antonin spat.

Thomas was behind his brother moments later to break up the altercation.

"What the hell are you doing, little brother?" he demanded as he held Kingsley up against the wall in the same manner he had just held Antonin. Thomas seemed more annoyed than angry.

"Your best mate was making Hermione cry," Kingsley declared.

Thomas' concerned chestnut eyes sought Hermione out. One glance at her tear-streaked cheeks caused him to immediately turn to Antonin silently demanding answers.

"She was already crying," Antonin explained.

Kingsley reached for Hermione's hand to lead her away from the area. A small crowd had already gathered around them. She was very embarrassed to be in the middle when she was a brand new student. No doubt they would all be a topic of conversation throughout the trip.

"You can come sit with me and the Prewetts," Kingsley offered.

In that moment she simply wanted to be alone and away from all of those young wizards. Kingsley would fawn all over her and Thomas would make her sit in the same compartment as Antonin. She did not want any of that. Hermione dropped Kingsley's hand. Ignoring all of the pleas for her to stop, she moved further towards the back of the train to an empty compartment.

That one was actually empty to her great relief. Once she was seated comfortably near the window the door opened. Fearing at once that it was one of the wizards she just ran from, she spun her head around. A blond wizard she did not recognize entered. He seemed to be about her age, at least sixth year.

"Do you mind?" he asked with a small smile.

She had no reason to be rude to the stranger. Remembering her manners, she smiled at the new arrival and gestured to the seat across from hers. He held his hand out before he sat down.

"Ted Tonks. Seventh year Hufflepuff. Are you a transfer student?"

"Yes, I'm Hermione Dumbledore."

She was very excited to meet Tonks' father. On several occasions Tonks had spoken fondly of him. Something about him put Hermione immediately at ease. He raised an inquisitive eyebrow at her name.

"The Headmaster?"

"He's my uncle."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Dumbledore."

"Hermione, please."

"I apologize for just barging in here. My best mates are up front with the other prefects. Didn't see anywhere else that didn't have snakes in it."

Hermione understood all too well the problems a Muggleborn faced with prejudice. By all appearances, it seemed a bit worse in 1971. Slytherins in her time were bad enough. She could only imagine how bad people like Lucius Malfoy and Rabastan could be to those they deemed of inferior blood. Hermione opened her mouth to tell him not to worry, it was really not an intrusion, but was interrupted by the door opening abruptly again. Andromeda rushed in with a large smile on her face.

"I've been looking everywhere for you, Hermione. We have so much to talk about," she announced, settling herself down on the bench opposite the other witch. She was only inches away from accidentally seating herself in Ted's lap. When she saw him, she blushed. "Sorry, didn't see you, Tonks."

His only response was to smile broadly at the suddenly rattled witch. Hermione could not resist the opportunity to tease him.

"Looks like you're not free from all of the snakes."

"No, but she doesn't count," he laughed. "Black doesn't have any fangs like the other vipers."

Ted's wink flustered Andromeda even further. Her cheeks flushed bright crimson. She rose from the seat next to him to take the one next to Hermione. The wizard laughed as he pulled a thick book out of his bag.

"Don't mind me, ladies. Just pretend I'm not even here."

Neither witch uttered a single word until Ted had turned a couple of pages. Hermione suspected highly that he was merely putting on a show, but to his great credit, he did not look up once. Convinced that he was harmless, Hermione rotated in place to face her relatively new friend.

"What did you want to talk to me about?" Hermione innocently asked.

Andromeda snorted.

"Oh, yeah, I wonder what major event just happened that we haven't had a chance to discuss yet," she replied, dramatically rolling her eyes. "Roddy won't talk to me after the other night. I tried to floo call him twice. I sent him three owls, but he won't respond to any of them."

"He's been avoiding me too. He was supposed to come with me to see me off this morning, but he sent an owl this morning saying something came up. What exactly happened the other night when he ran out?"

"I chased him all the way to High Street before he turned around. He was so embarrassed. Apologized to me. Said he didn't understand what came over him, but it was inappropriate, especially considering he's engaged to my sister."

Hermione caught the tiniest flicker of Ted's eyes. If she had any doubt that he was eavesdropping on their conversation, the brief moment he cut his eyes to the distraught witch confirmed it. Not wanting to embarrass either of them, Hermione pretended she did not notice. Besides, she knew they would one day be very happily married. What did it matter if he heard the story of her kissing another wizard and being summarily rejected? Maybe it would be all the incentive he needed to ask her out. Patch up her broken heart possibly.

"What did you say to that?" asked Hermione.

"I told him that while I shouldn't have come right out and said what I did to him, I wasn't wrong. He and I make a much better match than he and Trixie. They don't even like each other! I adore Roddy. I've adored him since I was ten and he was seventeen. Their betrothal was decided when he came of age. He was the only one who paid me any attention, made me feel include in what was going on."

"He was just embarrassed. The fire whiskey…"

Andromeda snorted again and rolled her eyes.

"How daft do you think I am, Hermione?" she asked, mirth clear in her tone. "Cissy and Lucius aren't observant enough to have it figured out. Bastan doesn't care. Rodolphus is too trusting to believe that you would do anything devious and Igor and your dad were _clearly_ covering for you. I know you put something in those cupcakes."

"Yes, well…" She did not know what to respond.

"It was an amusing prank and it certainly resulted in the greatest snog of my life…"

Ted did not even try to hide the fact that he was listening at that point.

"… but I knew what you did. You will forgive me if I don't trust anything you ever cook again."

Her wink proved that Andromeda was really not upset with her. Based on the passionate kisses Rodolphus bestowed on the very willing witch, Hermione could understand her reluctance to be angry. Their conversation was stalled momentarily by the train pulling out of the station. The three of them turned their attention out the window. Hermione caught a final glimpse of Aberforth as he watched the train depart. He was standing with Dean and Katie who were happily waving. She wasn't sure if they saw her, but she made certain to wave once more.

"I'm sorry that your parents can't come through the barrier, Tonks," Andromeda said. "That must be disappointing."

Ted smiled and shrugged his shoulders.

"They get uncomfortable with being around so many wizards," he explained. "Going to Diagon Alley is really hard for them. I think they are still half-convinced that they are dreaming. It's easier for them if they can live a little bit in denial."

Hermione gave him an encouraging smile before he disappeared back behind his book. She understood the feelings all too well. While her parents tried to understand her new world, they struggled. Neither of them could really appreciate what she was learning. It hurt her heart to realize that if the war had not come she still would likely begin pulling more and more away from her Muggle roots the longer she was enmeshed in the wizarding world. Andromeda stared at the Hufflepuff wizard for another moment before turning her attention back to Hermione.

"So you never told me what happened when you and Igor snuck outside."

"How did you…"

"Oh, Hermione, I'm not an idiot. When I came back after Roddy went home, I ran into a very _satisfied_ Igor practically strutting back into the pub. Then you came back in all ruffled and your skirt was crooked."

"Oh my, Miss Dumbledore," Ted laughed from his corner. "That certainly does sound like a naughty story. Please do tell."

Hermione spent the rest of the train ride to the castle engaged in delightful conversation with both Andromeda and Ted. From the moment the wizard teased her, his book remained closed. The hours long trip passed back quickly. Almost before she was ready, the train pulled into the Hogsmeade station.

"Even though you are technically a seventh year like us, you will have to go with the first years," Ted explained as he first helped Hermione off of the train and then Andromeda. "We had a transfer student a few years ago. Doesn't happen very often."

"We will see you up at the castle," Andromeda added. "Remember what I said. Try to get Slytherin."

"Nah, you want a good House, you need to be in Hufflepuff."

Hermione watched Ted and Andromeda head towards the thestral driven carriages together. Part of her wondered if she was the one responsible for them getting together in the first place. It was clear they had some interactions with each other before their train ride, but she somehow knew they had never spent so much time together. Inadvertent matchmaking made her happy. While she would prefer her cousin to marry a girl like Andromeda, she knew what the future held. At least one of them would be happy.

Hagrid called out her name over the heads of all of the departing students. She headed straight to where he was helping little first years climb into the boats. It was a bit embarrassing to have to sit with the terrified first years. A tiny blonde witch introduced herself as Marlene McKinnon when she climbed into the same boat as Hermione. Unfortunately, her name was one that Hermione was familiar with. She would be one of the many casualties before the First war was over.

"Budge over," said an impossibly cocky dark haired wizard. Marlene rolled her eyes before scooting over on the small plank to let the kid Hermione instantly recognized as Sirius Black sit down. "Hello, ladies. How are we doing this evening?"

Hermione resisted the urge to hex the pesky little brat. She could see glimpses of the troubled man he would one day become. He had a lifetime of sadness up ahead of him. It was a sobering thought that completely ruined the boat ride up to the castle. While the little first years around her oohed and awed over the majestic castle lit up against the night sky, she could only think about how neither one of the children she was sitting in a boat with would live to a ripe old age. Only her sheer determination that she not cry again prevented another mortifying outburst of emotion.

She waited patiently with all of the other new arrivals in the anteroom off of the Great Hall. Memories of her first Sorting were ever-present. Thinking about the frazzled Muggleborn witch trying to calm herself before being led out into the Great Hall made her smile. At least this time she knew what to expect. After Professor McGonagall gave the exact speech she always gave to first years, she led their group into the massive Great Hall. Hermione could feel eyes all over her from the moment she passed through the door. Her transfer to the school was common knowledge. Many of the students were curious to see how their Headmaster would treat a blood relative under his care.

Waiting for her name to be called was the worst part of the entire Sorting ceremony. She tried to remain patient throughout the Sorting Hat's song, but she had a hard time keeping from shuffling her feet in place. She wanted to get out of everyone's line of sight.

"Dumbledore, Hermione."

She confidently approached the ratty old hat on the stool. It was not as large on her head as it had been when she was younger. The hat seemed to take a long time deciding where he was going to put her. Unlike with Sirius who had been Sorted just a short time before her, it did not immediately shout out the House.

"Very interesting mind you possess, Miss Dumbledore. Certainly have courage though not a thirst to prove yourself."

Hermione's mind wandered to what living a year in Gryffindor Tower without her boys would feel like. She didn't want to experience that and she certainly did not want to be in a position where she would have to interact with the baby Marauders on a daily basis. How difficult would it be to behave normally if she knew the exact date of each one of their deaths? Plus Kingsley was there. She might grow up to one day love the man according to future Kingsley, but in that moment she did not want to be around him. He would invariably follow her around and annoy her to no end.

Though Ted seemed very sweet and she thoroughly enjoyed her conversation with him, she was not a Hufflepuff. Never had been. She _wished_ she possessed many of those traits they prided themselves on, but she simply didn't. Likewise Slytherin was not a viable option. Living with Andromeda would be wonderful, but she knew she would not feel like she belonged in that House. Besides, living in the dungeons seemed depressing. Harry's description of their cold and dark common room made her sad. She really seemed to only have one option available to her…

"RAVENCLAW!"

Cheers erupted at her new House table. Before she stepped down to join her new housemates, she turned towards the Gryffindors. Kingsley was visibly disappointed by the hat's decision. One of the Prewett twins even clapped him on the back in an effort to lend their support. She gave him a half-smile and headed towards the Ravenclaws. Thomas was all smiles. He slid down on the bench enough to allow her to sit next to him. When she swung her legs over the bench, she looked up to see Antonin staring at her with another one of his serious facial expressions she could not quite decipher.

"I knew you were a Ravenclaw!" Thomas declared. "Didn't I tell you she would be one of us, Antonin?"

The Russian nodded his head once without speaking.

"I just knew after all of those nights of you arguing with Dad that you have the right kind of mind for our House."

"Thank you."

The rest of the Sorting Feast passed in a blur. She could hardly remember eating a bite. If Thomas had not been directing several of his questions to her, she might have been content to simply sit there silently.

"Antonin and I will show you how to get to the tower," Thomas announced at the end when the prefects were gathering the first years. "No need to spend any more time with the ickle firsties. We'll make sure we get you where you need to go."

She followed Thomas through the castle towards the Ravenclaw Tower, only slightly paying attention to the other wizard walking next to her. Antonin hardly spoke to her at dinner and made no effort to speak as they walked through the noisy corridors. Hermione wondered if he was always so unnervingly stoic. It was going to be a long year, she decided.

"Girls dorms are up that staircase," Thomas said after he solved the riddle to open the tower. "Afraid we can't escort you any further. Wards in the castle prevent us untrustworthy boys from entering the fragile females' dorms."

It had been an emotionally trying day. She was struggling to believe that she was back in Hogwarts. After thanking both of the boys for their assistance, she rushed up the spiral staircase to the door marked "Seventh". There were already three girls inside the room chatting like the old friends she suspected they were. Hermione introduced herself to those she had not met yet and made a mental promise to herself that she would strive to be friendlier in the morning.

* * *

September 2, 1971

 **6:00 pm**

She had never been more thankful for the first day of classes to be over. It seemed that every time she turned around Antonin Dolohov was right there. Thomas made certain that they ate every meal together. He was literally in every single advanced class she was taking. When she went to the common room for a free period he was already seated in the armchair she wanted in front of the fireplace. Hermione felt like she would never be able to escape the wizard. The only part of their interactions that was bearable was the fact that he did not speak very much at all.

"Survive your first day all right, Hermione?" Thomas asked as he filled his plate at dinner. "Mum and Dad made me promise that I would do everything I could to make certain you had what you needed. Mum especially is concerned that moving to a new school is hard for you."

"That was very sweet," Hermione conceded. "It was all right. Still getting the hang of everything. I'm sure I will get lost a few more times before I'm comfortable."

"You're in all of Antonin's classes, aren't you? Just have him walk you to every class."

Antonin's dropped fork clanged against his plate at Thomas' seemingly innocent suggestion. Dolohov glared at his friend, but did not speak a word. Thomas simply laughed, finding the entire situation very amusing. Hermione resolutely tried to ignore them both.

Halfway through the meal a few owls entered the Great Hall for a rare nighttime delivery. During the first few days of term owls were fairly consistent at every meal as parents rushed items their children forgot to pack. Hermione was very surprised when a small box narrowly missed landing in her soup bowl. She picked it up with shaking hands, well aware of the fact that many of the eyes of her fellow Ravenclaws were focused on her package. She was startled when a large bouquet of red and white stargazer lilies appeared on the table next to her plate.

"Ooh, Hermione! Those are beautiful. Are they from your wizard?" asked Hilary, one of the seventh year girls she shared a room with.

Hermione hated to be the center of attention. She plucked the small card out of the middle of the bouquet to read. Thomas snatched the card out of her hands almost the moment she pulled it out of the envelope. He seemed to be enjoying the spectacle immensely.

"'I've been thinking of nothing else but you. Igor.'"

She wanted to melt into a puddle every moment that Thomas read her card aloud. Several snickers surrounded her. Many of the girls began asking the most inane and personal questions about who this Igor person was. Only one person was not interested. Antonin sneered at the bouquet and then sneered at Hermione before rising from the table and leaving the Great Hall. Thomas' continued teasing only made Hermione's stomach clench. She wanted to get out of there. A quick spell banished the flowers to her dorm. Without an explanation, she rose from the table to make her escape.

One place in the castle had always been her sanctuary. Even when she was in the middle of some of the worst fights with her best friends or when she was being teased endlessly by the other Gryffindors or even when she was being bullied by Draco Malfoy, the library had been her haven. More than one evening of her life had been spent hiding amongst the bookshelves. The past two days had been overwhelming. She just needed a few minutes, maybe an hour alone with her books. The library had not changed much in thirty years. It was easy to convince herself that she wasn't a traveler stuck in the wrong time.

Past the Restricted Section there were several small study rooms that few people knew about. Most of the students kept to the main section of the library with the large open tables. Harry and Ron used to complain that the study rooms were confining and made them feel like the walls were closing in on them. Hermione rushed past the books that whispered and screamed to the door of her usual room.

It was difficult to say who was more surprised by her sudden entrance into the small room: Hermione or Dolohov. If the contest was who was the most _annoyed_ , they would have tied easily. The wizard groaned at the intrusion. Hermione apologize and began to leave.

"Didn't take you long to find a boyfriend, did it, Dumbledore?"

"That's really none of your business."

The tone of jealousy in his voice was unmistakable. Why he cared one tiny bit who she spent her time with was beyond Hermione. Yes, she knew that Thomas liked to make jokes about him being interested in her and possibly even fancying her, but they were just _jokes_. Right?

"Careful you don't give yourself a bad reputation when you just got here."

Any other day she might have been able to simply walk away from the petulant teenager. Something in her that day, however, was not interested in dropping the subject. There was more to the flowers than anyone else knew. Thomas only grabbed the card. He did not see the tersely written note that was slipped in the envelope with it. Hermione was grateful to be spared that embarrassment at least. When she saw his dark eyes narrowed in her direction, she wadded up the parchment and threw it at his head.

"Read that," she ordered. "Then _shut up_ about my personal life. It is none of your business."

Igor had written the note that all too many witches and wizards had received in their lifetimes. In just a few short sentences he managed to convey his desire to remain friends with her, but he did not believe it was fair to her that he be any kind of impediment to her ability to find her own happiness while at Hogwarts. It was an eloquently written letter breaking off any kind of relationship they had with each other and giving her the freedom to pursue other wizards. She was all too aware that the note was really giving Igor the freedom to pursue other witches.

"I'm sorry," Antonin mumbled. "I didn't know."

"No, no one does. It's embarrassing enough that I don't want to tell anyone."

It was obvious that the bulk of the embarrassment in that small study room rested on Dolohov's shoulders. He stared at the small piece of paper bearing the sadly unsurprising words from Igor. After a minute or two he handed it back.

"Now, if you will excuse me it's been a very long day and I would like to get started on some of our Ancient Runes homework," she announced. "Have a good evening, Dolohov."

Hermione did not linger any longer in the library. While she certainly had homework to complete before the next class, what she really wanted was to figure out a way to break into the prefects' bathroom. A long soak in the massive tub sounded just like what she could use. She was halfway to the fifth floor when a familiar person stopped her in the corridor.

"Good evening, Hermione. Did you have a good first day of classes?"

"Yes, I did, Uncle Albus. Thank you."

"I wonder if you would like to join me in my office for some tea? I'd love to hear all about it."

* * *

June 19, 1998

 **8:20 am**

The shouting in the Entrance Hall turned out to be an argument between Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley. Neither of Hermione's best mates could seem to agree on the best course of action for the search. Kingsley entered in the middle of the fray, wishing desperately that he was still tucked up in bed. He had not had nearly enough sleep the previous few days.

"That's enough!" he shouted only moments after arriving. He could not bear the bickering any longer. At once both boys closed their mouths. "This fighting amongst ourselves is not helping anyone. The longer we stand here and argue, the greater danger Hermione is in."

His words seemed to chastise the wizards. They both dropped their eyes to the floor.

"What do you suggest we do, Kingsley?" asked Harry.

 _Shit_ , he thought. He really should've come up with a more solid plan before he opened his mouth.


	17. Chapter 17

_Author's Note: Due to the review issue_ _still_ _going on with the site, I haven't been able to respond to reviews from the last chapter. Please know that I appreciate and love every single one of them! Welcome to all of the new readers! Hope you enjoy!_

Chapter Seventeen

December 15, 1971

 **7:45 pm**

Hermione's seventh year progressed at a rapid rate. It seemed that every time she turned around another week or two had passed. While attending Hogwarts in the seventies was very different from attending school during the nineties as far as the people she studied with, the curriculum and the feel of the routine itself was all familiar. More than once she had been able to convince herself that she was not stuck in the wrong decade. As time passed and she was longer in the past, she was more easily able to forget. Some days it was too hard to think about her past life. Other days it was more difficult to exist _in_ the past.

After her first private meeting with her Uncle Albus in his office for tea, she had become a regular visitor to his ornate and elaborate office. While they were unable to meet every week due to his schedule and her desire to pass all of her classes, they were able to meet over a pot of tea and fresh biscuits at least a couple of times a week. She was intrigued by the side of him she saw when they were alone that she had never had the opportunity to discover before, but she still did not trust the wizard. Every meeting with him over chamomile felt oddly as nerve-wracking as the dance with Lord Voldemort had been.

She was always on guard around the Headmaster. Her Occlumency skills were improving daily. After a couple of discreet requests, Aberforth ordered her a few books on the subject and smuggled them into the school disguised as Beauty Charms manuals. She did not want her uncle to suspect that she was studying the field. There was a prevailing fear she continued to possess of him using her for the Greater Good. She did not want to be used as a tool in his plans. Too many people she had known and loved were dead in her time because of his meddling.

On her nineteenth birthday in September she was surprised by an owl swooping into the Great Hall during breakfast carrying a basket in its mouth. The animal carefully placed the basket on the table next to her porridge bowl, waiting with expectant eyes for some kind of treat. Hermione fed it a bite of bacon she stole off of an irritated Thomas' plate. Intrigued by what could be waiting for her inside the basket, she lifted the lid to find a pure white Kneazle kitten.

"Aww, who's your friend, Hermione?" Thomas asked, temporarily forgetting his previous annoyance at the pilfered bacon.

A note from her cousin Rodolphus was tucked inside. They had not spoken since the night she drugged his cupcake. No doubt he was still reeling from his uncharacteristically bold behavior and was still embarrassed. The note was short, but thoughtful and sweet.

 _Happy Birthday, Cousin. He's not as good as a dog, but he's still pretty cute. – R_

While she was reading the missive, the adventurous feline climbed out of the open lid of the basket. It fell to the top of the table and immediately bounced back up on its oversized paws. Hermione's attention was solely focused on the note. She did not see him rush straight towards an amused Antonin opposite from her seat. The kitten began to rub itself against one of his hands. Antonin carefully plucked the kitten off of the tabletop to snuggle and pet. When Hermione looked up she saw one of the first genuine smiles on the wizard's face she had ever seen. He was crooning to it in soft Russian. The combination of his language and his tender demeanor instantly reminded her of Igor. As if she needed one more reason not to like Dolohov. Antonin handed the kitten over to her across the table at once, but she was well aware of the fact that when she was not around, the little bastard sought out Dolohov for scratches in the common room and even cuddles in the boys' dormitory.

Most of her first term at Hogwarts was spent studying and doing her homework. Being in Ravenclaw meant that she had fellow Housemates who actually seemed to understand the importance of completing their work. She rarely had anyone complain that she wasn't taking enough time to enjoy herself. Immersing herself in her studies kept her from missing Harry and Ron to a certain extent. If she could keep her mind busy learning facts and theories, she did not have enough time to think about anything else. Thomas tried on many occasions to have her join his little group of friends, but beyond sitting across the table from Dolohov at almost every meal, she mostly kept to herself.

Kingsley seemed determined to persist in his embarrassing crush. Hermione naively hoped that being Sorted into a different House would somehow discourage the boy from attempting to start up any kind of relationship with her again. Unfortunately, he chose a rather public venue to ask her to join him on their first Hogsmeade weekend. Despite feeling put on the spot and resenting every moment, she politely declined. The bulk of her Saturdays down in the village were spent in the main room of her father's pub giving Aberforth all of the news. She felt a great comfort just being with the man.

In an effort to either prove that he was over her or more likely to make her jealous, Kingsley began parading a string of witches around Hermione. Mostly Ravenclaws too. She could barely keep from rolling her eyes every time she approached the entrance to the tower to find him in the middle of a rather enthusiastic goodnight kiss with one of the seemingly dozens of girls who were suddenly interested in the wizard. He was rapidly growing into his full height and becoming every bit as handsome as she knew he would one day be. Other girls had noticed.

Nothing of any real interest occurred in that first term which she found extremely odd. Being friends with Harry Potter meant that any quiet school year was met with suspicion and a tiny bit of fear. She could not remember the last time she was able to focus solely on school work. Interacting with Ravenclaws on a closer basis continued to be refreshing. None of them ever asked her to do their homework for them. She discovered early on that she did not miss that chore.

As the first term drew closer to an end with the looming Christmas holidays approaching, Hermione found herself sitting in the front of the library the last Wednesday night finishing up her Arithmancy homework. She had all of her books spread around her at one of the large open tables. When she had only been there about twenty minutes and was nowhere near finished with the work, an extra confident Kingsley practically swaggered to the seat across from hers. Hermione resolutely tried to ignore him. She might have been successful if a sixth year Hufflepuff witch she had seen around the castle had not chosen that exact moment to sit down next to the cocky git. After only a few minutes of being forced to listen to their flirting, Hermione rose from the table in a huff to gather her books.

She had not been inside her favorite study room since the first night of classes when she walked in on Antonin in there stewing in his own broody thoughts. To get away from Kingsley she would have gladly gone just about anywhere. Hermione pushed open the door to the same room. Antonin looked up immediately from the book he was reading and taking notes out of. He seemed surprised that she of all people would be the one to intrude on his solitude, but he gestured for her to enter and take a seat at the table.

"I'm sorry to intrude," she stated as she dropped her books across from the wizard. "I was trying to work up front but Kingsley has some Hufflepuff crawling in his lap. Very distracting."

Antonin made a very dramatic show of looking around the small room.

"No Hufflepuffs in here and certainly none that want to crawl in my lap."

He gave her one of his hesitant smiles that she had only seen on a handful of occasions. The sheer novelty of the expression caused her own smile to appear on her face. Antonin's attention returned to his book as she settled in to work again. Neither of them said anything as they worked in silence for several minutes. For whatever reason Hermione's curiosity got the better of her.

"So just no Hufflepuffs wanting to crawl in your lap in here or full stop?"

Antonin's smile was a great deal more genuine and less hesitant.

"To my knowledge, full stop. Girls in that House don't tend to fancy me."

"Why do you think that is?"

He raised a single eyebrow and paused a moment to examine her features. Perhaps he was trying to tell if she was teasing him or if she was being serious. The scrutiny made Hermione shift uneasily in the hard wooden chair.

"I've been told I'm too serious," he explained. "Hufflepuffs tend to like lighthearted blokes like your mate Tonks."

"So who _does_ like the dark and broody type?"

"Slytherins mostly. Few Ravenclaws who can appreciate a serious mind. A rebellious Gryffindor or two. I do all right."

The confidence in his last statement made Hermione laugh out loud. She could never deny that he was an attractive wizard. There seemed to be an air of mystery about him that intrigued many of the girls in the castle. More than once Hermione's own dormmates had mentioned him. The corner of his mouth twitched up in a half smile. They settled back down to working for a short time. It was Antonin who broke the silence the next time.

"So does Shacklebolt actually have a shot with you or is he delusional?"

Hermione sighed and rolled her eyes at the impertinent question. How on earth could she answer it truthfully? It was not as if she could come right out and admit that she was a time traveler from the future sent back in time to meet up with the Minister for Magic who was still in love with her twenty-eight years in the future. It was a ludicrous story that just happened to be entirely true.

"At this stage in his life? Pure delusion."

Antonin chuckled at the cheeky response. Hermione was surprised to find that for the very first time since the school year began, she was actually enjoying her conversation with the serious wizard. Normally she avoided speaking to him at all cost.

"His family likes to tease me that we will end up together," she continued.

"Why him? I would've assumed you would make a better match with Thomas if I didn't know him any better."

"Not sure really. What do you mean about Thomas?"

Antonin seemed averse to answer her simple question. He dropped his dark brown eyes back to the open book lying on the table in front of him. His reluctance made Hermione curious. Certainly she had never actually seen Thomas around a witch in any sort of romantic context. She wondered if the elder Shacklebolt boy was gay like she had assumed his little brother was. It would make sense if his best friend was protective of his secret. While there were plenty of homosexual wizards and witches in her time that were open, she did not know if the same rules applied to the seventies. Certainly in the Muggle world at the same time in history many were loath to admit their sexual orientation if it did not fall in line perfectly with what was considered 'acceptable'.

"I shouldn't tell you this," Antonin began. "But Thomas has a Muggle girlfriend."

"What?" She was surprised by the admission of Thomas' biggest secret. It was not what she expected.

"Some girl he met a couple of summers ago when he was stuck in London. Crazy about her. Ridiculous if you ask me."

Hermione's feathers were ruffled instantly at the last words that fell out of the wizard's mouth. Did he hate all Muggles? What were his feelings on Muggleborns? Remembering that this was a man who would become one of Lord Voldemort's most trusted acolytes, she came to the conclusion that he must be one of the worst of the blood purists. Why else would he choose to become a Death Eater?

"Are you one of those prejudiced arseholes who think only Purebloods matter?" she demanded.

Antonin seemed confused by her question. His brow was furrowed and he narrowed those intense eyes of his.

"No, of course not. I never said that."

Hermione rose to her feet unwilling to spend any longer with the wizard than absolutely necessary. She would not willingly remain in the same small room with a blatant bigot. With an increasing sense of righteous indignation, she began to throw her books and parchments into her book bag.

"I'm sure you hate Mudbloods and all they represent too."

"I never said that!"

"You didn't have to, Dolohov. I can smell a blood purist when I see one. I'm just a Half-blood. Wouldn't want you to be sullied by my presence any longer."

She slung her bag over her shoulder and headed straight for the door leading to the main room of the library. Antonin was still sputtering behind her, his complexion turning red with his clear frustration.

"Wait, Dumbledore!"

Hermione reached for the doorknob.

"Damn it, Hermione!"

She was only a couple of steps from freedom but could not get her feet to move. They felt like they were stuck in a thick glue on the floor. Hermione twisted her body around to glare at Antonin, his wand clearly still pointed in her direction.

"Release me!" she demanded.

"Not until you listen to me!"

Hermione's wand was out of her pocket in a second. A rather effective silencing charm shot out of the end of the wand to strike the dark haired wizard directly in his open mouth. The moment he realized he was unable to speak he grew even angrier. Every patch of skin visible from his neck up to his forehead was bright red. He tried and failed more than once to remove the spell nonverbally. Hermione felt a great sense of satisfaction with her handiwork that only improved when she recalled the night of the Department of Mysteries when her silencing spell saved her life.

Her smirk only served to anger him even further. He stalked across the small room to emphatically gesture with his arms that she remove the silencing charm. His vehemence only made Hermione laugh.

"I'll remove the spell when you release me."

She could tell that Antonin was thinking about her offer. After a few moments he lifted his head to smirk. Hermione couldn't explain why exactly that that simple facial expression made her nervous. Antonin stepped around her to stand in front of the door. There would be no way for her to leave the room without him either moving or her going _through_ him. When he was firmly blocking the only exit, he released her feet from the glue spell.

"That's not fair!"

He raised an eyebrow. She hated that she made a promise. Reluctantly Hermione removed the spell. Antonin seemed relieved to have his voice back. The calm lasted only a moment.

"Don't _ever_ silence me again, Dumbledore," he stated in a low warning.

"Don't _ever_ trap me again, Dolohov."

"You weren't willing to listen to me!"

"I highly doubt you have anything worth listening to."

She tried to move around him to exit the door. Antonin's reflexes were too quick. Hermione should have known that. They had been partnered more than once in Defense Against the Dark Arts for practice duels. His hand shot out to grab her waist. Hermione felt a jolt at the unexpected contact. She jumped backwards out of his reach. She was further from her exit, but she was also further from the wizard that still made her very nervous.

"Yes, I think it's ridiculous that Thomas is dating a Muggle," he admitted. "But no, I'm not a blood purist."

"Then why do you think it's ridiculous?"

"What could he possibly have in common with a Muggle? I couldn't be with a woman who could not intelligently understand magic. What would they possibly have to talk about?"

"Somehow I get the feeling that _talking_ isn't what is most important in relationships at our age."

Antonin wrinkled his brow again, confused by her meaning. When her words made their mark, his cheeks flushed and he dropped his eyes to the floor. Hermione would have found his reaction endearing if he was not currently blocking her escape and if she did not hate him more than a little bit.

"I'm not a blood purist," he stated, lifting his eyes to stare into hers. "My mum is a Muggleborn and she's the most powerful witch I know."

Hermione remembered the tense discussion she had with her uncle and cousins the first night she visited the Lestrange estate. Regnault had been particularly vocal about Antonin's unfortunate parentage. His statement about his mother made Hermione curious. She knew that in the future he was infamous for his Muggle murders. In fact, she had conveniently chosen to forget over the summer when she was around Igor that there would come a day when they would both engage in the torture and murder of innocent Muggles. How could he hate non-magical people if his own mother was from that background?

"Why do you hate Muggles?" she blurted out. "Your grandparents…"

"My grandparents thought my mum was possessed by a demon," he explained, his voice low and measured. "She had her first burst of unintentional magic when she was five. They thought they could beat it out of her. When she was nine years old they dragged her down to a nearby stream to attempt to drown the magic out. My father was seventeen, home for the summer from Durmstrang. If he hadn't been out walking at the right time, she would not have had a chance. He killed both of my grandparents and took my mother to live with his grandmother."

Hermione could feel tears rolling out of her eyes. It was such a terrible story! She had had no idea that there were people still in the world who were that cold and ignorant. Yes, her parents had been frightened the first time she accidentally blew up a window in their house when she was upset, but she could not even imagine them striking her or attempting to drown her for something she had no control over.

"I will not apologize for hatred and distrust of Muggles," he continued. "They can be very, _very_ dangerous."

"So can blood purists."

She could not explain what made her do it. Maybe it was because he had just shared something so painful and so personal. Maybe she was tired of hiding. Hermione pulled her sleeve up on her left arm revealing the carving left by her cousin Roddy's future wife. Antonin's striking deep brown eyes widened. Without asking for permission he grabbed her arm.

"What the _fuck_ , Hermione?"

His hand gently caressed the carved slur. Goosebumps erupted up and down the length of her arm at the soft touch. She felt incredibly exposed in that single moment. The tips of Antonin's fingers tenderly traced the outline of the still-red cursed scar. Several Healers had examined the wound since the end of the war. Madam Pomfrey, the one she trusted the most, had been the one to give her the devastating news that she would be unable to remove the scar. Bellatrix's cursed blade would leave its lasting legacy in her skin for the rest of her life. She did, however, teach her many effective glamours to hide the hated mark. Hermione employed several when she was unable to hide under long sleeves.

"Who did this to you?"

Antonin's voice was so soft, so pained that she almost did not even recognize the sound. Not that he was much of a talker to begin with, but this was very different. This was almost the same tone he used when Hermione caught him snuggling her kitten Cyrano. It felt strange to know that he would one day grow up into a veritable mad man. Hermione pulled her arm out of his grip.

"It doesn't matter _who_ , they're dead now." Or they _would_ be dead when she returned to her own time. Watching Molly Weasley take out the fearsome Death Eater cunt had been one of the proudest moments in Hermione's existence. "Needless to say they were not in complete control of their sanity."

"Why would anyone do this to you, Hermione?"

"Surely you know people who think you are nothing more than a Mudblood too."

The floor seemed suddenly to be of great interest to the wizard. While it was infinitely worse being a Muggleborn as Hermione had learned on numerous occasions, she knew there was still a stigma attached to the children of Muggleborns. Hadn't her uncle even stated he was shocked that the Selwyn patriarch was actually considering honoring a marriage contract with one of his daughters and the son of a filthy Mudblood? A comprehensive study into the history of blood relations in that country had given Hermione all of the information she needed. There was a time when a Half-blood was considered only _slightly_ better than a Muggleborn.

"I was engaged to be married," he stated in little more than a whisper. "My father arranged a marriage for me this past summer. I didn't really want it. First of all, I'm too young to get married. But also, I've seen my parents. They are very much in love. Almost disgusting really. Parents shouldn't act like that."

She laughed softly at his remark. Her Muggle parents had been the same way. It would have been embarrassing if she was not also just a little bit envious of what they had found together. She could understand Antonin's reluctance to marry a complete stranger when he had such a warm and happy example of a marriage at home.

"I want to find what they have. I don't care one bit to marry into a Sacred Twenty-Eight family, but it's a big deal to my father. Once St John Selwyn found out about my mum, he ripped up the contract. Did not want his grandchildren to suffer the indecency of having a Mudblood for a grandmother."

"Well, as a member of a blasted Sacred Twenty-Eight family, it's not all that it is purported to be. Lots of rules and ridiculous notions of blood and family lineage superiority. I hate it."

"Maybe I should marry you. That would probably make my father happy."

Hermione was embarrassed to admit even to herself that it took her several moments to realize he was simply teasing her. A cheeky grin crossed his face when the realization dawned. She reached over to playfully swat his arm to his great amusement.

"I think I'm going to head back to the tower now," she declared. "I get the feeling I won't be able to get any more work done tonight."

Antonin summoned all of his books with a single flick of his wrist. All of his study materials floated in the air to rearrange themselves and drop into his satchel. Hermione was impressed by the spell and told him so. He nodded once, only his reddened ears showing any hint that he was unnerved by the praise.

"I will walk with you. Thomas seems to think that tonight will be the night he finally beats me in wizard chess."

"Oh, I highly doubt that. He rushes his moves."

"He doesn't like to think ten steps ahead, but sometimes that is what you have to do to survive."

They stopped talking to make their way past the thousands of books in the library stacks. When they emerged to the front of the massive room where Hermione had earlier been scared off by an overenthusiastic Hufflepuff's affections towards Kingsley, the wizard in question was almost too preoccupied with said Hufflepuff to notice their approach. Antonin leaned down to whisper directly in Hermione's ear.

"Want to mess with Shacklebolt?"

She nodded her head enthusiastically. Before she had the chance to ask what his plan was, Antonin slipped his hand in hers, intertwining their fingers. She laughed when he brought her hand up to his lips to kiss. A loud crash of a chair falling to the ground and a shriek from a dislodged Hufflepuff made them both grin.

"If you are unable to keep quiet, Shacklebolt, you may remove yourself from my library!" roared Madam Pince.

Kingsley was fuming when they passed the table where the librarian was supervising him gathering his study materials. Once outside in the corridor, Antonin and Hermione both burst out into loud laughter. He made to drop her hand, but she kept it in her grip.

"He'll be out in just a moment," she explained. "Let's continue to annoy him."

"Hermione! What is the meaning of this?" Kingsley demanded as if on cue.

Completely ignoring the flustered Hufflepuff that followed him out of the library, he rushed over to the two Ravenclaws to sneer down at their clasped hands. A vein in his neck Hermione could remember seeing when he was older and angrier popped into view. Kingsley was struggling to keep his breathing under control in the midst of his clear rage.

"Oh, this?" she asked, referring to her hand still held by Antonin. "Well, when you and your witch-of-the-moment interrupted my studying, I went to the back to a private study room where Antonin was working. We got to talking and one thing led to another…"

She grinned, dropped her eyes to the floor and forced herself to blush slightly. Antonin chuckled. Kingsley scoffed. The Hufflepuff stormed off affronted.

"… and I've agreed to go with Antonin to the next Hogsmeade weekend."

"But you told me that you didn't want to go with anyone because you wanted to spend that time with your dad!"

"Merlin, Shacklebolt! You never heard of a witch turning you down easy?" asked Antonin.

Kingsley sputtered in indignation. Obviously it had not occurred to him that Hermione was simply trying to spare his feelings the day he asked her out in the middle of the Entrance Hall before dinner. Hermione found it amusing and a tad bit sweet that he appeared to be holding out some hope that she would give in to his attentions sooner rather than later.

"Come on, Antonin. Let's get back to our tower. There's an armchair by the fire with our names on it."

They walked all the way to the Ravenclaw Tower without releasing their hands. It wasn't until Antonin answered the riddle required to open the door that he removed his hand from hers. Hermione could sense he was reluctant to do so. She found that realization thrilling.

* * *

June 19, 1998

 **8:35 am**

Kingsley was saved from coming up with any blatant lie by the abrupt arrival of a team of aurors. Ignoring the two best mates of his little witch, he turned all of his attention to the reports of the wizards and witches qualified and skilled enough to undertake a full investigation into Hermione's disappearance. According to Gawain Robards, the current Head of the Auror Office, a lead had been uncovered regarding the whereabouts of one Antonin Vadimovich Dolohov. He was believed to have been spotted only miles from the castle the night before.

"Are we under the impression that Miss Granger has been kidnapped by Dolohov?" he asked.

"We have not ruled out the possibility, sir," Robards responded. "We have teams searching all of the areas where we believe Miss Granger might have disappeared. It won't officially be considered a disappearance until at least seventy-two hours."

"She could be dead by then!" shouted Harry.

"Mr. Potter, I assure you, we are doing everything we can," replied to the auror. "Will you be remaining long at the castle, sir? We would like to provide you with hourly reports."

Kingsley opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off by the abrupt arrival of an esteemed member of the Wizengamot entering the gigantic front doors to the Hall. The Minister took a deep breath and exhaled before closing the distance to the new arrival in just moments. He stared at the man who with the exception of the hair that was beginning to gray looked exactly like him.

"Received your grandmother's patronus a few minutes ago, son. I understand you have some questions for the both of us?"


	18. Chapter 18

_Author's Note: Saturday morning I will be heading back to my part of the country (1200 miles!). Not sure when the next update will happen, but it likely won't happen this weekend. My vacation has been a wonderful chance for me to get more updates out than I planned. Next week we will go back to just 1-2 updates a week._

* * *

Chapter Eighteen

December 25, 1971

 **8:45 am**

Thick, heavy snowflakes were falling at a rapid rate just outside of Hermione's bedroom window. She lay on her side staring, allowing herself to be almost hypnotized by the weather. Her mood that morning was not as bright and cheerful as one might expect on Christmas morning. Many times in her past when she lived another life with another family and another name she had joyful holidays. She remembered waking her parents up at five in the morning because Father Christmas had obviously been by to visit and she longed for them to see her presents. They had been days filled with so much laughter and hope that just thinking about them made her stomach twist itself into painful knots.

The previous Christmas Eve she experienced had been fraught with fear and deprivation. On the run from Lord Voldemort and his Death Eaters, she and Harry were all alone. They spent the night before the holiday in Godric's Hollow narrowly escaping being murdered by Voldemort's snake Nagini stuffed inside the reanimated corpse of the famed magical historian Bathilda Bagshot. It was a story that could not be believed if she had not experienced it firsthand. Truth often was, indeed, stranger than fiction. The only consolation of that Christmas Eve was the realization that no holidays to come would likely ever be as terrifying as that one had been. It was a small comfort.

She was missing her boys. Missing her parents. Missing her life before she was chucked back in time. Missing her life before the world went mad with the Second Wizarding War. Hermione was grateful for the relationships she had been able to develop in 1971. Aberforth was wonderful in his own gruff manner. She counted Thomas, Andromeda and Ted amongst her closest friends and even seemed to making headway into developing some kind of strange friendship with the boy who would one day be the man that tried to kill her in the Department of Mysteries. Her cousin Rodolphus alone was worth the trip to the past. And Kingsley, well, Kingsley showed promise of one day not annoying her quite as much. Despite all of the close friendships and relationships she had been able to find, she was still feeling down. It was easy to feel sorry for herself in the dimness of her bedroom.

A gentle knock at her door startled her out of her increasingly depressing thoughts. Knowing it had to be Aberforth, she called out to invite him in. The bearded wizard she had grown to love dearly crossed the space of her small bedroom with only a few strides of his long legs. Hermione looked up long enough to watch him but she did not move to get out of bed. Aberforth sat on the edge of her bed in much the same place he sat the night she woke up in 1971.

"Are you feeling all right, lass? It's almost nine."

Hermione sighed at his simple question. Aberforth smiled a sort of sad smile.

"Christmas isn't always a happy day, is it? We remember the ones we've lost today. Makes me a bit sad too."

Hermione reached for his hand. They remained silent for a few minutes just drawing strength from each other. She knew parts of his story. Knew that there was a great deal of pain behind those twinkling blue eyes.

"Margie invited us over for her annual Christmas brunch," Aberforth announced. He rolled his eyes making Hermione laugh for the first time that morning.

"That was thoughtful of her."

"She invites me every year."

"Do you ever go?"

Aberforth shrugged his shoulders.

"Sometimes. She also invites me to go with her to her son's house for Christmas dinner but I always decline."

"Why?"

She had heard a few stories about Katie's younger brother from Thomas. None of them had been very kind. His uncle was apparently a bit of a joke in the family.

"Two reasons," Aberforth continued. "One, her son is an idiot and his wife is even worse. Two, this is one of the busiest nights for the pub all year long. Lots of poor sods need a break from their relatives."

Hermione laughed again at his explanation. She gently squeezed his hand before releasing it. If she was expected to be at Margie's, she needed to get up.

"What time are we supposed to be there?"

Aberforth rose from the edge of the bed. Hermione threw off the bedcovers.

"In about an hour, but take your time."

Just a few minutes before ten, Aberforth and Hermione walked up the stone pathway to Margie's front door. The snow had been relentless. It was likely to snow all day at that rate. Hermione was thankful when Dean opened the front door with a bright smile. He was obviously happy to see his guests. Thomas and Kingsley's dad wasted no time pulling Hermione close to him for a warm hug. They had not seen each other since the day on Platform 9 ¾. It was easy for her to remember how much she loved the man. He always made her feel safe and secure, exactly how dads are supposed to feel.

Once inside the door, the new arrivals found Katie mixing up a rather large pitcher of mimosas. The sharp tang of orange juice mixed with the sweetness of the champagne filled Hermione's nose. Following a greeting from the witch, she was more than willing to accept her first glass. Dean removed her cloak while Katie made Hermione be the test subject to make certain she had gotten the proper balance in the cocktail. Hermione loved this family dearly.

"Well, it's about time. I was just about to send the lads over to drag you both here," Marjorie declared.

She hugged both Hermione and her longtime friend before leading them into the dining room. Thomas and Antonin were setting the table. Hermione was surprised to see the other Ravenclaw there. She had not expected him to be there with the Shacklebolts regardless of his friendship. Thomas greeted her warmly, wishing her a Happy Christmas and kissing her cheek. Antonin's greeting was a bit shyer and a little more awkward. He smiled, but did not approach her for an embrace like Thomas felt confident enough to do.

"Antonin's parents had to go to Russia unexpectedly," Thomas explained. "His grandmother is sick."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Hermione responded.

Antonin smiled his nervous, half-smile before dropping his gaze back to the plates. He spent several moments adjusting the crockery to give something for his hands to do. All of the attention from the others seemed to make him uncomfortable.

"He was just going to spend the hols up at the castle, but I made him come with me. No one should be alone this time of year."

"Also has the added benefit of driving Kingsley mad, right?" teased Hermione.

Antonin snorted and Thomas threw back his head to laugh a deep belly laugh so much like his father's.

"He's been an even bigger pest than usual," Thomas agreed.

Hermione and Antonin caught each other's eyes for just a moment before laughing again. Thomas seemed confused by their behavior.

"Did something happen I'm not aware of?"

Before either of them could respond, Kingsley entered the room. He immediately sneered at an amused Antonin when he saw him laughing. His gaze landed on Hermione. Instead of lighting up like he usually did, Kingsley remained as stoic as possible. He was obviously still sore about the night of the library.

"Happy Christmas, Hermione," he said in an oddly formal tone. "Happy Christmas, Ab."

Aberforth narrowed his eyes at Hermione. The unspoken question of just what the hell was wrong with the boy remained unasked. She just shook her head with silent promises that she would explain later.

"Before any of you numpties get any ideas, you three will sit on _that_ side of the table and the lass will sit on this side with Katie and me," Marjorie announced. "Abbie, you and Dean will sit on the ends."

Kingsley scowled at his grandmother's seating arrangement. Everyone else laughed at his expression except for Antonin. He seemed a bit embarrassed. Hermione sat between her father and Katie. Like she always did at mealtimes at Hogwarts, she also sat across from Antonin.

As had every other meal she had been fortunate to have at the Shafiq/Shacklebolt home, Hermione found Christmas brunch to be very pleasant and enjoyable. The conversation was never stilted. It seemed that everyone had at least something to contribute to the discussion. In the spirit of Christmas, she and Dean kept their friendly debates to a minimum. Antonin was the only one who hardly spoke at all. A few times Hermione caught him looking in her direction. Each time he would shift his attention back to his plate immediately. Once Aberforth caught the boy staring and after a single glower from the girl's father, the young wizard stopped looking at her completely.

"Will you be coming with us to Masud's house tonight, Abbie?" asked Marjorie.

"No, thank you. Hermione is having dinner with her uncle and cousins and this is always a busy night at the pub."

"I can understand," replied Dean with an exaggerated shudder. "Rowena knows I'd rather be there with you, Ab, than stuck in Masud's house."

Marjorie reached over to smack her son-in-law in the arm. Everyone gathered at the table laughed. The rest of the meal passed in more interesting conversations. Hermione knew that that meal would be much more enjoyable than the meal at the Lestrange home. Already she was dreading the event. The day before she received a short note from Regnault asking her to wear dress robes. She hated how formal that family was, but at least thanks to her uncle's funded shopping spree, she had plenty of dresses available to choose from.

Before she and Aberforth were able to head back to the pub after the Christmas meal was over, Thomas cornered her in the front parlor.

"Meet us at the Shrieking Shack at nine tonight."

Thomas refused to give any more details, but trusting the wizard, Hermione agreed. She spent the remainder of the day until she had to start getting ready for the formal dinner she had no desire to attend helping Aberforth out in the pub. There was only a trickle of customers throughout the day. Her father assured her that the real business would start when all of the dinners were done for the night.

Hermione was expected at the manor for pre-dinner cocktails precisely at half-past six. She had already learned the hard lesson of not being late. Regnault believed tardiness to be the worst breach of social protocol that existed. She excused herself to escape to the private part of the pub with plenty of time to spare to get herself ready. One of her most formal dresses was a deep emerald green. It had a full skirt and a daringly plunging neckline. The color complemented her complexion nicely. It was also both Christmassy and likely to appeal to her uncle's Slytherin nature.

Dressing in the gown only required a few simple charms to zip up the back on her own. Where she faltered was with the mess of curls she had been either blessed or cursed with. Some days it was one, some days it was the other. The humidity in the air from the still-falling snow outside was doing nothing to aid in the situation. After a few rather loud curses she heard a knock at the door. Aberforth entered at her request.

"Everything all right?" he asked, concern etched across his face.

"Just my bleeding hair!"

Aberforth silently moved across the room to stand behind the stool she was seated on. He removed his wand from his pocket to begin charming her wayward curls into something resembling an acceptable hairstyle. Hermione sat there transfixed watching him through the mirror. It only took him a few minutes to tame and control her hair and only a few charms to magic it into an elegant chignon. She was very impressed.

"You're pretty good at this," she stated.

"Used to help your mother with her hair."

The moment the words slipped out, Aberforth realized his error. Snapping his mouth shut, he lowered his eyes and cleared his throat before speaking again. Hermione smiled at him, but he was too uncomfortable to notice.

"I'm sorry, lass. Sometimes it is easy to forget you aren't really my daughter."

His hand was rested on her shoulder. Hermione reached up to cover it with hers and squeeze it gently. When his eyes snapped back up to look in the mirror in front of them, she could see unshed tears.

"I feel like you have given me a second chance. I've made so many mistakes in my life. It feels nice to try to correct one."

"You really loved her, didn't you?"

"I will _always_ love her. Take an old man's advice. When you are fortunate enough to find love, hold on to it tightly. I will always regret letting Sia walk out that door. I will _always_ regret not knowing my daughter."

His emotions became too much for him and he exited the room. Hermione had already learned in the short time that they lived together that when he was feeling overwhelmed with emotions, he liked to walk away from people and seek solace in his animals. The sound of the back door opening confirmed her suspicions that he would be seeking out his girls.

Hermione finished dressing a short time later. Aberforth returned from outside long enough to wish her a good evening. The moment her feet landed just outside the gates to the Lestrange estate she felt sick to her stomach. She had not been back since the night she ran off in the middle of the night with Igor. That entire night had been one horrible moment after another. If it had not ended the way it did at The Leaky Cauldron, she might have considered it one of the most uncomfortable evenings of her entire life. Yes, she had certainly had some moments in time that had been more dangerous and more terrifying, but the argument she had with her uncle in her bedroom would rank high up on the list of events she would always revile.

Despite the time inching closely to the half past mark of the hour, she took her time traversing the long gravel driveway. Her uncle had offered the previous summer to teach her how to navigate the wards to be able to Apparate closer to the mansion, but it required a blood offering she was not prepared to offer. Somehow even the tiniest drop of her blood mixed in with the Lestrange wards gave her the creeps. She knew that there were archaic magics that allowed families to control its members with their own blood. At all cost she was going to prevent allowing Regnault Lestrange from having even a modicum of magical control over her.

The men of the family were gathered in the study sipping at their pre-dinner drinks when an irritated Rosie escorted her in. She had been trying to get on the house-elf's good side, but it had been an uphill battle. Rosie was very protective of Regnault. He was her first charge when she was an elfling just given her first responsibilities. It cemented her affection for the austere wizard. Anyone that came into her territory with hatred for her Master Reggie was apt to never win her fondness.

"Happy Christmas, Cousin," Rabastan greeted. He was the closest to the door and the first to be able to bestow a kiss on her cheek.

"Happy Christmas, Rabastan."

She accepted a warm hug from her cousin Rodolphus and a rather somber peck on the cheek from her uncle.

"Now that you have finally decided to grace us with your presence, child, we can proceed to the dining room," stated Regnault, walking out into the corridor with his usual imperious air.

Somehow she expected Christmas dinner with the Lestranges to be more involved than just the four of them. Dressing in their finest clothing to sit at the same table with their closest relatives and no one else seemed like a great waste of time. Hermione tried not to think about how different her earlier meal with the Shacklebolts had been. Not a single one of them had been overdressed.

Exactly as she anticipated, dinner was a tense affair. Lively conversation was never on the agenda for any meal that Regnault Lestrange sat at the head of the table presiding over. Christmas dinner was an extravagant affair. Hermione counted more than twelve courses before she gave up counting. Only the bare minimum of dialogue was experienced at the dinner table. Whereas an entire evening with the Shacklebolts could feel like no time had passed at all, two hours with the Lestranges felt like an eternity. Over the pudding course and after several glasses of wine, Regnault finally loosened his tongue.

"So, Hermione, you have said nothing about your Russian," he admonished, his words slurring slightly. "Where is he this evening?"

"Father, stop," Rodolphus pleaded.

"Since he is not here with the family tonight, am I take it that he has not offered you marriage, girl?"

"Father!"

Rodolphus' face was bright red in his anger. He had been Hermione's fiercest supporter from the very beginning. Rabastan slouched in his seat, afraid that if he made himself too large of a target his father would go after him next. Hermione gulped away at the wine that was paired for that course. She needed her mouth to be occupied to prevent herself from saying something truly horrendous to her perceptibly intoxicated uncle.

"Looks fade with time. If you aren't careful, girl, you'll wake up one day and no respectable wizard will want to marry you."

She could stand listening to her uncle no longer. Rising abruptly from her seat, she knocked the antique chair to the hardwood floor with a disconcerting crash. Her cousins both flinched at the harshness of the sound. With a heated glare in her amused uncle's direction, she turned on her heel to exit.

Hermione went no further than the massive gardens just outside the front door. Though she would have liked nothing more to Apparate back to The Hog's Head and spent the rest of the dismal Christmas evening with Aberforth, she was tired of fleeing. Regnault had already caused her to run away from him twice. She did not want to always be running away from her family. Even if they weren't biologically hers, legally she was a part of them thanks to whatever Unspeakable Kingsley had sent back in time to forge the necessary documents. Just as Aberforth had reminded her multiple times, she could use them to her advantage while she was stuck in the past. They were an influential, wealthy family with connections that would only serve to benefit her until she could figure out a way to go home.

Rodolphus approached her side silently. Several minutes passed of them walking silently without speaking. It was reassuring just to have him by her side. Little by little she felt herself calm.

"I'm sorry about Father. The older he gets, the more like Grandfather he becomes."

"It's not your fault."

"I'm sorry about Igor."

"Also not your fault, Roddy. I knew what I was getting myself into."

Thoughts about the last night they were all together made Hermione feel guilty. More than once since that night she had struggled with the overwhelming remorse of what her actions had caused. Andromeda was aware of the truth and had moved on. Igor had known from the very beginning what she had done. She had not had the opportunity to be around Rodolphus since that night, but after the initial awkwardness passed, they became frequent owl correspondents. While she was certainly reluctant to admit the truth to Rodolphus, she hated keeping such a large secret from him.

"So that night at my dad's pub…"

Rodolphus groaned. Obviously he was still embarrassed by the events of that night.

"Have you talked to Andy since that night?" Hermione asked.

"What would I say?" he snapped. His tone was harsher than any other time he had ever spoken to her. She hated it. "I'm sorry that I attacked you and made a fool out of us both?"

"I don't think that's how she felt at all."

In fact, Hermione was positive Andy wasn't bothered by that night. They had discussed it at length more than once. She was desperate to tell Roddy what they had talked about, how Andy had been half in love with him for years, but she could not betray Andy's confidence.

"Has your father had any other problems with tainted fire whiskey?"

Hermione's cheeks heated up the instant his words reached her ears. She dropped her eyes to her feet, unable to make eye contact with the man. Rodolphus became suspicious of her behavior.

"It wasn't the whiskey, Rod."

"What are you telling me, Hermione?"

"I put something in all of the cupcakes."

He was furious. More furious than she had ever seen him before. Rodolphus attempted to speak but anything that left his mouth was nothing but an incoherent sputter. He was too angry to form complete sentences. Finally he exploded.

"What were you trying to do, Hermione?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know?! Because of you I made a fool of myself and Andy. I can't even speak to her, I'm so humiliated."

"I'm sorry, Roddy."

"I need to walk away right now before I do or say something I regret."

Her cousin stormed off towards the back of the formal gardens. Hermione watched him disappear, heavy tears rolling down her cheeks. She hated that he was so angry with her. It was an unnerving feeling that she never wanted to experience again. Regnault and Rabastan approached her moments later for the beginning of their after dinner walk. Both of the men were concerned to see the usually gentle and docile Rodolphus so angry. Hermione could not bear to remain there a minute longer. She wished both her uncle and her cousin a happy Christmas before rushing towards the gates.

She Apparated directly to the Shrieking Shack. It was a place that she felt calmer. Hermione leaned up against the split rail fence to stare at the dilapidated structure. After several minutes alone, she began to cry again. She hated how weak she felt when she was emotional. Would there ever be an evening spent at the Lestrange manor that she did not leave in tears or in anger? Somehow she doubted she would.

"Do you come here a lot to cry?"

Hermione was startled by the voice. She jumped at the wizard's abrupt arrival. Realizing it was Kingsley was a great relief. She half-expected him to be Fenrir Greyback again. Embarrassed at being found yet again crying by the youngest Shacklebolt, she wiped at her eyes.

"No, I don't come here to cry a lot."

"Why do you keep going back if all they do is upset you?"

The gentleness in his tone and the earnestness of his question only made the tears spill out of her eyes at a faster rate.

"They are my family."

"Family or not, no one should make you cry."

She was surprised by how sweet he was being. It was all too easy to forget how kind he could be when he was being obnoxious and overbearing. In that moment she could see glimpses of the man she knew he would one day become. It was a great comfort.

"I'd offer you my handkerchief but last time you made fun of me."

His words embarrassed and shamed Hermione slightly. It wasn't until she looked up into Kingsley's eyes that she could tell he was simply teasing her. He smiled at her as he handed her a clean handkerchief. Just as she took the scrap of linen from his hand, Kingsley lurched forward violently. In a split second, Antonin grabbed Kingsley by his collar and shoved him up against the fence.

"Why is she crying, Shacklebolt?!" Antonin demanded, his voice a shout in the younger boy's face.

"She was already crying when I got here."

Hermione could not resist the urge to roll her eyes. The events unfolding in front of her were an exact replication of the day on the Hogwarts Express. Just as he had on that day, Thomas was the one to break up the fight.

"I would really appreciate it if you two would stop coming to my defense in such a violent manner."

Antonin stepped closer to her and placed his hand on her elbow.

"Are you all right?" he asked, his tone much gentler than it had been only moments before with Kingsley.

"Yes, I'm all right. I had an unpleasant dinner. Kingsley walked up when I was crying."

"What happened?" Thomas inquired, his face sporting an almost identical concerned expression to his younger brother's.

"Just another charming dinner with the Lestranges," she answered before turning to address Antonin directly. "I don't know why your father seems so intent on making you marry into one of those horrible Sacred Twenty-Eight families."

Kingsley and Thomas both laughed. They were members of _two_ Sacred Twenty-Eight families. It was easy for Hermione to forget that they were part of the Pureblood Elite. Every member of their family that she had met so far had been nothing but lovely and welcoming.

"Why was I supposed to meet you here?" she asked, determined to move on from the unpleasantness of the evening.

Thomas held up a full bottle of fire whiskey and winked.

"You invited me to drink in the middle of the snow?"

"Of course not, Little Witch," Kingsley explained. "We're going to break into the Shrieking Shack."

All three boys seemed excited by the prospect of breaking and entering a rundown building known for being one of the most haunted houses in Britain. Thomas and Kingsley hopped over the ancient fence with little difficulty. Antonin followed their lead, but instead of heading off towards the shack, he turned back around to offer a hand to Hermione. Her formal attire made climbing over the fence a bit hard. Once she was over the top, Antonin placed both of his hands on her waist to help her jump down. Both of their cheeks were flaming red when her feet touched the ground. She had not been expecting such a chivalrous gesture.

"Dolohov _claims_ he found an entrance into the shack," Kingsley said when they all reached the structure.

Antonin rolled his eyes. Hermione and Thomas both laughed. It was clear that neither of the wizards would ever be best mates.

"There are loose boards over one of the windows in the cellar," Antonin declared.

He led them over to a boarded up window. Hermione was loath to enter. She had already been inside the building twice in her life and neither of those nights had been good ones. The last time she was inside she witnessed Professor Snape die a terribly painful death. It was enough of an incentive to not want to crawl through the cellar window after Thomas. All three wizards were inside waiting for her before she agreed. Antonin stepped up to catch her again, but at the last moment Kingsley pushed him out of the way to catch her instead.

"I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself, gentlemen."

Antonin and Kingsley glared at each other. Thomas led them up the rickety, dusty cellar steps. Once upstairs in what was supposed to be the parlor, Hermione failed to suppress a shudder. The walls were covered in deep scratches. All of the furniture was in pieces or near enough. She knew what caused the destruction. A tiny eleven year old werewolf spent the full moon in that space during the school year. The boys attempted to speculate what caused the marring and devastation. None of them were even close to guessing right.

"So we're in the Shrieking Shack. What now?" she asked.

"Now we drink," Thomas answered with a wink.

"That's it? We crawled into a dingy, disgusting hovel to just sit around and drink?"

"We could play a game," he suggested. "I can only speak for myself, but I know I'm interested in getting to know some of your deepest secrets, Miss Dumbledore. Certainly Antonin and Kingsie are interested as well."

Based on the expressions on their faces, Thomas was correct. Hermione rolled her eyes and laughed. She pulled her wand out of her pocket to clear off a large circle on the floor of dirt. Following her lead, Antonin conjured up large cushions for them to sit on. The three males were seated on their cushions watching as Hermione removed her heavy cloak. She felt on display when she pulled off the thick velvet. Her neckline was a bit more daring than she remembered and she was most certainly overdressed to spend an evening sitting on the floor in the dust.

"You look beautiful this evening, Hermione," Thomas said with a wink.

"Thank you."

She felt even more self-conscious as she sat down on the cushion between Thomas and Antonin.

"So what kind of secrets do you think I have, Thomas?"

"I'm hoping some good ones. Fairly certain I know all of their secrets already."

They decided on a game that felt like a combination of the Muggle games 'Truth or Dare' and 'Never Have I Ever'. Hermione had experiences playing both games and wondered if she could refuse to play at that point. The leader of the group was the first to pick a contestant to either pick a 'Truth' or a 'Dare'. If they refused their task, they were required to drink, but if they completed it to the satisfaction of everyone gathered, they got to ask a question to the entire group that _had_ to be answered. Any refusal to answer required two drinks from the bottle. Hermione knew that it would only be a matter of time before she was too drunk to crawl out of the cellar window. She had too many secrets that she could not divulge.

"I get to go first because it's my fire whiskey," Thomas announced. "Kingsie, truth or dare?"

Hermione just knew he was going to pick a dare. Part of the problem playing that game with a group of Gryffindors was that it eventually became a game of nothing but dares.

"Dare."

"Lick the floor."

"Gross!" Hermione exclaimed. "Don't do it, Kingsley. You don't know what's on the floor. Just take the drink."

Kingsley smiled at her but completed his dare to the general disgust of the room. He did, however, take a drink out of the offered bottle anyway to clear the taste of the dirt and grime out of his mouth. A mild truth-telling spell was placed on the contents of the liquid before the bottle was passed around to all of the participants.

"I've never had sex inside the castle," Kingsley stated. "Have any of you?"

"No," answered Thomas. "Yes," Hermione and Antonin said at once.

Thomas burst out laughing at their admission. Kingsley scowled. No doubt he was assuming that they had participated in the act together. Hermione felt embarrassed by the scrutiny. She could _feel_ Antonin's eyes boring into her. It was clear he was trying to figure out who she had been with in the few months since she arrived.

"Who?" he asked, his voice a whisper.

"What?"

"Who was it?"

"What do you care?"

"You haven't been there very long."

"If you call me a slag, Dolohov, I swear to Merlin I will curse your eyebrows off of your face."

Their discussion drew the rapt attention of the two brothers

"I'm just curious. I know it wasn't Thomas. He wouldn't have been able to shut up about it. Certainly wasn't me. It wasn't Baby Shacklebolt for obvious reasons. So who? Tonks?"

"No."

"Well what other wizard do you spend time with?"

The truth-telling spell was still present in her system. While not anywhere near as effective as Veritaserum, she was struggling to prevent blurting out the name of a wizard who wasn't even born yet. Thinking quickly on how to trick the spell, an impish grin twitched up the corners of her mouth.

"Who said it was a wizard?"

Antonin's face turned bright red the moment her words hit their mark. Both of the Shacklebolt boys burst out in similar, loud, booming laughter. Thomas thrust the bottle of whiskey into Antonin's hand who gladly gulped down a mouthful.

"All right, Kingsley, your turn to pick," Thomas said.

"Hermione. Truth or dare?"

She should've known that Kingsley would have picked on her immediately. No doubt he was curious to know the identity of the person she had been with in the castle. Dare was the only option available.

"Dare."

"I dare you to snog the wizard you like best."

She wanted to groan out loud. Of course it would be something like that. Seventeen year old Kingsley lacked finesse. In the corner of her eye she could see Antonin sitting up straighter, obviously very anxious to see what happened next. Kingsley seemed confident that he would be the wizard she picked. Hermione stared at Antonin until the tips of his ears started to flash red and Kingsley began to fidget with impatience. She turned her attention towards the youngest member of the group. Kingsley grinned. To be a pest, she looked back and forth between Antonin and Kingsley several times. Finally when they were both growing impatient, she spun around in the opposite direction to kiss Thomas firmly on the mouth.

They both laughed virtually through the entire awkward kiss. When both Kingsley and Antonin were sputtering behind them in indignation, Hermione broke the kiss. She sat back down on her cushion, laughing so hard tears were running out of her eyes. Thomas was in a similar state.

"Dumbledore, don't ever kiss me again," Thomas laughed.

"Aww, why, Thomas? Was it not any good?" she teased.

"Your technique was adequate, I'm sure, but I felt like I was snogging my sister."

He shuddered dramatically to her great amusement. She agreed of course. There had been a distinctive lack of chemistry between the two. It was exactly how she imagined what kissing Harry would feel like.

They continued to play the game until the last drop of fire whiskey was consumed. All four of them were well and truly pissed by that point. Any attempts at dares were usually dismal failures because no one possessed the right amount of motor skills after drinking so heavily. More than once all three of the boys tried to get Hermione to admit her secret about the mystery witch or wizard. Each time she chose to drink instead, refusing to divulge her secrets. She was thankful that they had been able to focus almost entirely on one single question. It prevented a lot of awkward and uncomfortable questions about aspects of her past she was not ready to divulge to anyone.

After midnight they finally decided it was time to exit the shack. The Shacklebolts were expected to return any moment from their uncle's house and Hermione did not want Aberforth to worry about her returning too late. Climbing _out_ of the cellar window proved to be a great deal more difficult than climbing in. Hermione fell more than once to the dusty floor, giggling as she did so. It finally took Thomas picking her up and shoving her through the window while Kingsley grabbed her hands from outside. When she was finally able to stand to her wobbly legs, she formed the bittersweet thought that at least she had a positive memory related to the horrible Shrieking Shack.

Their small group was almost to the path leading up to the castle when they heard voices. Hermione's first instinct was to hide. Twice was too many times for Greyback to sneak up on her. She stopped the boys from leaving the cover of the trees until whomever was passing by was gone.

"I didn't really need an escort back to the castle," a slightly tipsy Pomona Sprout slurred.

"Nonsense, Mona. I could not in good conscience let you walk back alone."

Hermione was astounded to realize that the familiar tenor she was hearing belonged to Aberforth. She cautiously peered around one of the trees to make certain that the alcohol coursing through her veins was not clouding her judgment. Sure enough, a tall, thin wizard bearing a striking resemblance to her father was walking the friendly Herbology professor alone on the path. Her arm was securely tucked underneath his.

"It's really not that far," she insisted.

"There are beasts in these woods."

"I seem to recall there are beasts on this path as well."

All three of the boys snorted at the obvious innuendo from their professor. Hermione rotated around to glare at all of them. She hated that they were intruding on what was obviously a private moment. Gripping Antonin's and Kingsley's arms, she dragged them back through the trees towards the village. Thomas followed close behind. Her escorts dropped her off at the locked front door of the pub. She slipped in pleased that it seemed like, for once, _she_ would be the one waiting up for Aberforth.

* * *

June 19, 1998

 **8:40 am**

"Minerva, darling, how lovely to see you!" exclaimed Dean Shacklebolt when the Headmistress entered the Entrance Hall only moments after he did. "It has been a long time."

"Indeed it has, Dean. What brings you to the castle?"

Dean leaned down to place a chaste kiss on Professor McGonagall's cheek. Kingsley knew they had known each other for many years. While Sorted into different Houses, they both attended Hogwarts for many years at the same time.

"Family conference with the Minister and my mother-in-law, I'm afraid," he stated, winking in his son's exasperated direction. "Is there somewhere private we might be able to meet?"

Minutes later Kingsley found himself seated in an empty classroom on the ground floor that had once been the Divination classroom for the only centaur professor Hogwarts had ever employed. He settled down on one of the desk chairs waiting for his grandmother and father to do the same.

"So what's all the excitement around the castle?" Dean asked.

"The Granger girl is missing," answered Marjorie.

"Ahh, I see. You involved in the search, son?"

"I'm receiving hourly reports from the Auror Office."

Dean nodded his head in approval.

"Good. I know it hurt you when her mother left you, Kingsie, but it's important you don't let your personal feelings cloud your judgment. Even if she is likely Antonin's daughter, you should do all you can to make certain she is found."

Kingsley could feel his blood pressure rising. The first time his father ever heard the name 'Hermione Granger' and saw a photo of her in The Daily Prophet following the debacle at the Department of Mysteries, he had been convinced that she was actually _his_ Hermione's daughter. Several people in his life who remembered Hermione from back in the seventies assumed that the Muggleborn witch was actually the illegitimate child of his former girlfriend. Dean had been of the opinion that Hermione Dumbledore disappeared because she was pregnant with a child that was obviously not Kingsley's. Unfortunately, Antonin Dolohov was considered the most likely suspect for the paternity. It sickened Kingsley that he wasn't able to correct his father. No one else needed to know what he had done.

"The witch is not why I want to talk to you, Dad," he stated, his teeth clenched. "I want to know why you and Granny kept Tommy's son a secret from me for so long."


	19. Chapter 19

_Author's Note: It occurred to me while I was on vacation that I have about a million different ideas for this story that I will be unable to put into the story without making it like a billion words long. Also, there is the problem that this story is told exclusively from Hermione's point of view. There are certain scenes I would love to write and include that just frankly couldn't happen because she wasn't a part of them._

 _So… I've decided to have a little fun and to thank you all for being awesome reviewers. As little bonuses to show my extreme gratitude for everyone who takes the time out to let me know what you think about the story, I am writing one-shots featuring scenes and POVs you won't see in the main story. The first one will be posted within minutes of this chapter being updated. It is dedicated to reviewer #250_ _ **animelover5107**_ _!_

 _I have so many ideas for one-shots but would love to get my readers' opinions. Are there certain scenes that you would like to see? For example, the first one is from Kingsley's perspective the moment he saw Hermione for the first time in Number Twelve and the events immediately following when he stormed out. I plan on writing the Battle of the Seven Potters from Kingsley's perspective as well. I have more planned with Aberforth's POV as well. Many of you have expressed interest in what Antonin was thinking when he saw Hermione in the DoM. Maybe? Let me know what you want to see in a PM or review. Review #500 is coming up quickly!_

* * *

Chapter Nineteen

December 26, 1971

 **10:15 am**

Neither of the inhabitants of the Dumbledore home was up very early for Boxing Day. Hermione's head was pounding following the unwise amount of alcohol she consumed the night before. Between the terrible dinner with the Lestranges and the quarter of a bottle of fire whiskey she helped drink, she was of the opinion that she never wanted to drink again. Aberforth had not returned until many hours after Hermione was dropped off at the front door. Though she really, _really_ didn't want to think about her eighty-seven year old father having any sort of _adult_ life, she was pleased that he was doing what he could to find some happiness in their otherwise dreary world.

Hermione's stomach was the final deciding factor in getting out of the sanctuary of her sheets and blankets. Dressing quickly and not even pausing a moment to worry about the frightening state of her hair, she headed to the kitchen to find something big and greasy to make her queasy stomach feel better. Cooking had never been a specialty of hers, but with a great deal of patience and encouragement, Aberforth had been able to teach her some basic recipes that would likely serve her well the rest of her life.

Her omelet was almost finished when Aberforth emerged from his own bedroom looking a little worse for wear himself. Hermione suppressed a snort at his curses at the bright sun shining through the kitchen window.

"Fourteen months of wet, dark winter every year in this part of the world and the _one_ day I'd like to have a bit of a lie-in the bloody sun shines in all over my face."

He disappeared into the main room of the inn for a few minutes. Hermione heard a few crashes and even more muttered curses before he returned carrying two large, smoking glasses filled with a concoction she did not even want to imagine. The smell alone was overpowering her delicate sensibilities that morning. Without preface he slammed one down in front of her.

"Hair of the dog that bit you?" Hermione asked, wary of the half-liquid, half-solid that was quite literally bubbling in its glass like tar.

"Just open your mouth and pour it down, lass," he instructed. "Best not to get too much on your tongue if you can avoid it."

"No, I think I'm all right, really."

"You don't think I know a lass suffering a hangover when I see one? Drink."

The texture of his hangover potion alone was enough to turn Hermione off from ever drinking alcohol for the rest of her life. She watched Aberforth pour the sludge down his throat in one go like an old pro. Barring the sudden coloring of his skin bright green for a few seconds, he seemed the very picture of health when it was over. Determined not to embarrass herself any further than she already had, Hermione chugged the horrendous mixture in three big gulps. To describe the taste required descriptive words that she did not possess. When her glass was empty, she was surprised that she had not thrown every drop up. Despite her reservations, almost immediately she felt better. The wizard knew his hangover potions.

"Want some breakfast?" she asked.

Aberforth nodded and sat down at their small table. Only a few minutes later they were both tucking in to their own plate full of eggs and bacon. It was the only proper meal after a night of hard drinking. Neither one of them spoke for several long minutes. Hermione had a few questions that she wasn't certain he would appreciate her asking. Finally, she could bear it no longer.

"You were out fairly late last night."

The small patches of skin not covered by his thick, raven beard flushed bright red. Aberforth dropped his eyes back to his plate, determined to not speak a single word. Hermione felt a giggle bubble up inside, but tried her hardest to keep her laughter contained. The last thing she ever wanted to do was to embarrass the man. He cleared his throat and wiped his mouth.

"Christmas is not always a very good day for me. I went on a long walk to clear my head. Lost track of time."

"Oh, well, that makes sense. I, too, like to go on long walks. Took one last night to the Shrieking Shack."

His twinkling blue eyes narrowed in her direction. Hermione had to increase her resistance to keep her laughter from spilling out of her mouth. The man was suspicious, likely figuring out what she was trying to say without needing to hear the words.

"Beautiful night last night," Hermione continued. "Once the snow stopped anyway. Beautiful, _romantic_ night."

Aberforth's fork hit his plate with a disconcerting clang.

"Spit it out, lass. What are you tiptoeing around?"

"I saw you with Professor Sprout last night."

"Yes, well…" He cleared his throat, obviously searching for anything to stall his response. "She was in the pub last night. Couldn't make it home for Christmas, poor dear. Her mother's passed and her father is in St. Mungos' long-term care ward. Can't even remember her name. Keeps confusing her for her mum. Mona might have had a bit too much to drink. Wouldn't have felt right about letting her walk back to the castle on her own."

He rose abruptly from the table to fix a pot of tea. Hermione thought he was adorable whether he meant to be or not.

"I didn't even hear you come in last night. Must have been a _really_ long walk."

"When we got to the castle grounds she took me into one of her greenhouses. We had been discussing a certain type of magical cabbage she had been working on trying to get crossed with another type. She had a bit of a breakthrough. I was curious to see."

"So you walked a lady home after midnight and then spent hours examining her cabbages?"

"I'm the adult here! I don't have to answer any more of your impertinent questions."

He stormed out of the small kitchen without another word. Hermione had enough self-preservation instincts to keep her chuckles as quiet as possible. He was correct. At eighty-seven years old he was certainly adult enough to make his own decisions. If he was able to find even a small bit of happiness with the Herbology professor, well, that wasn't really any of her business, was it?

* * *

December 31, 1971

 **9:30 pm**

The holiday season had never been a time of year that Hermione particularly cherished. There always seemed to be too much going on. Her mother threw a massive Christmas party every year that she was required to attend if she had not somehow managed to finagle herself an invite to spend the break with the Weasleys. It was an event that never failed to stress her mother out to the point that she would always declare she would never have another party again… only to throw the exact same party a year later. Holidays were too stressful to be enjoyable.

Which was why she absolutely loathed and detested the fact that Aberforth was forcing her to attend Marjorie's Hogmanay festivities when all she wanted to do was soak in a hot bath and catch up on her Ancient Runes reading. He had assured her repeatedly that she would not want to miss one of Margie's famous parties. It was to be such a large event that he felt no compunction closing up the pub for the night. Almost every resident in the village would be in attendance. Only out-of-towners were apt to drop in for a drink and it was the one night a year that he was perfectly satisfied with telling his customers to go somewhere else.

"Will we see Professor Sprout there?" Hermione teased as Aberforth locked up the front door.

Instead of his cheeks flushing like she hoped they would, Aberforth merely glared in her direction. They had not brought up the subject of his late night rendezvous with the sweet professor since the morning of Boxing Day over eggs. Hermione was certain that a small part of him was clinging to the hope that she had forgotten what she witnessed that night and the mild teasing she gave him the next morning.

"Many of the Hogwarts professors still in residence during the holidays will likely be there," he answered, carefully not divulging any further details with which she could harass him about. "You may see a few of your teachers there, so be on your best behavior."

"Yes, sir, _dad._ "

Her response earned her a snort from the wizard. Aberforth offered Hermione his arm. Heavy snow had been falling all day and in some parts of the street it was quite a slog to get through the drifts. She was grateful for the extra support. Her faux father had a manner about him that always made her feel comfortable and secure. Unlike the moments she spent with his elder brother, she never felt like he was being disingenuous. Never felt like he was not being completely honest with her. Though she certainly was aware the he had secrets, she never felt like he was lying directly to her face.

"So what's so special about this party anyway? I've been to Margie's house plenty of times before."

"We take Hogmanay seriously in Scotland, my dear. I know I'm not a native, but I've been here long enough I've been adopted as one. You will enjoy it."

"Do I have to worry about Kingsley trying to accost me at midnight?"

Aberforth's loud laughter echoed through the practically empty street. They were running a bit behind schedule if their surroundings were any indication. Most of the partygoers were likely already there.

"I'm afraid to say that you likely will," he continued to laugh. "The boy still being overeager?"

"Yes. He tried to trick me into kissing him the other night."

"Clever boy. Did it work?"

Hermione snorted.

"No, I kissed his brother instead."

His laughter was infectious. They were both wiping tears from their eyes when they finally arrived at Marjorie's. Just as Aberforth said it would be, the entire house was lit up and filled to bursting with just about every single person Hermione had already met in their small village. The door was yanked open at their arrival by Thomas. He was all smiles, quick to shake Aberforth's hand and place a chaste kiss on Hermione's cheek.

"Come inside. It's blooding freezing out here," he urged. "Granny was looking for you, Ab. Said she was going to come get you herself if you two weren't here in the next twenty minutes."

"Then I suppose I must go greet the lady of the house before she does something rash to my bollocks," Aberforth groaned.

Thomas laughed at his crude remark, but Hermione scowled. She allowed the younger wizard to take her cloak and banish it to the magically expanded coat rack. When she stepped fully into the front parlor of the house, she was even more surprised by the sheer number of guests. Ordinarily it would feel stifling, but somehow Marjorie made her house feel comfortable and even a bit cozy despite the large number of visitors.

"Where is your brother?" Hermione asked as she scanned the room for the boy who was already head and shoulders above most. "I'd rather not be attacked by him at midnight, if at possible."

"Mum's got him helping in the kitchen. He was being a pest earlier so she put him to work finishing up the loaves for the First Footing."

"The what?"

Thomas laughed. Hermione had heard of the term before, but had never paid it much mind. There were a lot of different New Year's traditions scattered throughout their country. Region by region they changed.

"Just another old superstition," he explained. "The first person across your threshold after midnight should ideally be tall and dark to ensure your household's fortunes for the coming year. Granny always makes Dad do it. I think she thinks it's funny to make him wait out in the snow for midnight. Anyway, the first-footer should bring gifts of coal or food. Granny's family has always been superstitious. They have always insisted on bringing _both_ and a bit of coin. Antonin and I were put to work earlier filling dozens of small bags with coal earlier."

"So your Dad goes around to all of these people's houses to give them gifts?"

"In the past, he and Granddad went to most. But now that Kingsley and I are old enough and tall enough, we help too. Make sure you rush home just after midnight for your visitor."

"It better be you, Thomas. If you send your little brother over, I'm going to make you regret it."

The wizard laughed at her vehemence. He led her over to the bar where Dean was playing bartender.

"What can I get you, Hermione?" Dean asked. "Fire whiskey?"

"Oh, Merlin, no!"

Dean's laughter made her laugh too. Thomas' shifted uneasily next to her at his dad's remark.

"You spend Boxing Day in the same state as the boys, Hermione?" Dean teased. "I thought they weren't ever going to get out of bed."

"Dad made me a potion," she admitted. "Otherwise, yeah, I would've probably died."

"Well, here, have a butterbeer. You'll have to drink a glass of champagne at midnight. No exceptions."

"Yes, sir."

Thomas gently grasped Hermione's elbow to guide her through the crowd. He kept a running commentary as he led her to the back garden of all of the guests she had not yet met. Several of his family members were present. On the way out they passed his Uncle Masud being gently chastised by his elder sister Katie for any number of possible infractions. Thomas explained that Masud was generally in trouble with either his mother or his sister. Hermione was unsurprised to find his uncle was every bit as attractive as Katie. The Shafiq family was a handsome group.

"Antonin was getting annoyed by my younger cousin Sada. Have you met her yet?"

"No, I don't think so."

"She's a fourth year in Slytherin. Fancies Antonin something awful. Anyway, he's hiding out in the garden. We started a fire out there and set up a perimeter of warming spells."

Marjorie Shafiq's back garden was small, but infinitely more welcoming than any of the various gardens Hermione could find on the Lestrange estate. Just a few steps out of the back door was a large white gazebo. Set up in the middle of the intricately carved structure was a small fire pit that Antonin was carefully feeding more firewood. When he caught sight of her arrival, he brushed his hands off on his trousers and rose to his full height. A nervous, half-smile crossed his face. Thomas smoothly pushed her towards his best friend.

"I have to go check with Mum to make certain she doesn't need anything," Thomas explained. "I will be back in a little while."

And then just like that Hermione found herself alone with the future fearsome Death Eater for the first time since the emotional conversation they had in the study room of the library. Every time they had been around each other since there had been a buffer, usually in the form of Thomas. When she climbed the steps to the top of the gazebo, she felt atypically nervous. Determined not to make their evening any more awkward than it was apt to be, Hermione thought of something clever to say to break the initial tension.

"So you've been running away from fourteen year old girls?"

"Wouldn't you?" he asked, a hint of mischief present in his deep brown eyes. "They're bloody terrifying."

She laughed and took a seat across the fire from him. Yes, there were certainly times in her life when she found fourteen year old girls incredibly intimidating. During that time she was roommates with Parvati and Lavender. Both girls were daunting and even a bit frightening. Many times she felt like she was speaking an entirely different language than her roommates. Even the other girls in her House were not always very approachable. There was a reason she also felt more at ease around boys.

"Thomas said his fourteen year old Slytherin cousin fancies you?" she teased. "I guess you did tell me that Slytherins tended to be intrigued by your serious, broody nature."

Antonin's entire face split into a wide smile. Hermione's stomach fluttered nervously at the sight. So often he was guarded in his expressions. It was nice to see a bit of the intense, somber persona he'd created chip just a bit. She almost felt like she was seeing a side of him that he did not show to very many people.

"Shafiq and her little mate are relentless," he explained. "There's a reason I hide in the study room behind the Restricted Section. It's not just because a certain witch sometimes drops in uninvited."

His uncharacteristic wink threw Hermione completely off guard. What had gotten into the wizard? He usually was too shy and awkward to speak more than a few words at a time to her. Hermione wondered if he had been sipping the champagne before she arrived.

"Which one is her friend? I don't think I know the girls you are talking about."

"Carrow. She's been bothering me since the first week of her first year."

Hermione had only been around Alecto Carrow one time in the future that she was certain of. She was a frightening woman, and one that was also strikingly unattractive. One of the most feared Death Eaters, she was in charge of teaching Muggle Studies to the students at Hogwarts during the last year of the war. Not once had she ever heard anything positive about the woman. To know that she was an avid admirer of Antonin's at fourteen years old struck Hermione as being hilarious. Part of her wished she could see what happened between them in the future. Would Alecto still be carrying a torch for him after his years in Azkaban? Would she be one of the first loyal Death Eaters excited to welcome him back after his escape from the feared wizard prison?

"What is so funny?" inquired Antonin, his smile replaced with a much smaller smirk.

"Nothing, I'm sorry. I was just thinking about someone I used to know. Carrow reminds me of her."

"That's a shame. I don't know why she persists. Nothing is _ever_ going to happen between us. She's… well, she's bloody frightening! Even at fourteen I never know what to expect from the girl. If I woke up one morning with every single person who ever looked at me with the slightest sneer dead on the floor by her hand, well, I wouldn't be surprised."

His ranting against the witch only made Hermione laugh harder. She was highly surprised that she was able to spend time alone with the wizard and actually enjoy herself. What had changed since the start of the school year? Was it just a matter of close proximity? Or did she genuinely have a poor first impression? If she put aside every single thing she knew about the wizard from the future, there really was no reason for her to have such a grudge against him. Was it fair of Hermione to punish him for something he hadn't even done yet? She knew he wasn't a follower of Lord Voldemort. His unmarked left arm was proof enough that he had yet to make the final decision to commit his life to the wizard who would one day wreak havoc throughout the entire country. Determined not to make the young man suffer for something he hadn't even done yet, Hermione turned her brightest smile in his direction. Antonin was visibly surprised by the gesture. He shifted in his chair, uncomfortable by the attention.

"Are you disappointed that you aren't in Russia with your parents right now?"

It seemed a neutral topic that could break some of the tension plaguing them. Antonin's shoulders sagged with perceptible relief at the query about his family.

"New Year's in Russia is usually quite enjoyable. I'm disappointed that I wasn't able to spend the holidays with them, but no, I'm not disappointed that I'm not in Russia."

"So how is New Year's different in Russia? Do you have different traditions or customs that I don't know about?"

Antonin was very knowledgeable about the customs of his people. Hermione found his explanations of the various differences in celebrating New Years that existed between the Russian people and those in the United Kingdom fascinating. Because he seemed more at ease when he was talking, Hermione continued to encourage him with explanations.

"And then you are supposed to write your wish for the year on a small piece of parchment. When the clock strikes midnight, you set the parchment on fire and then mix the ashes in your glass of champagne that you use to toast the New Year. It is believed that any wish you make on New Year's must come true. There is believed to be a sort of magic to this time of year."

"Have all of your New Year's wishes come true?"

He chuckled softly at the innocent question.

"I can't honestly say that I've ever made any special wish before. Never really needed to. Usually it was something silly like, 'I wish I will pass all of my exams' or 'I wish I didn't have to go Russia for the entire summer'."

"Maybe this year you should wish that Alecto Carrow finds herself a boyfriend."

"I like the way you think, Dumbledore."

Thomas joined them soon after to drag them both inside. Apparently they were both missed by some of the adults and a search party was being formed at that very moment. Hermione simply rolled her eyes before following. All she would need was Kingsley rushing to her 'rescue', claiming that Antonin had nefarious designs on her. The three teenagers reentered the house to be separated into different directions.

Close to midnight, Hermione was finally able to break away from the inane conversation she had been stuck having with the proprietor of Dogweed and Deathcap. She had innocently asked a question about bouncing bulbs and been subjected to at least a thirty minute lecture on the various kinds of mooncalf dung that could be procured for use. Though she was preparing to take her Herbology NEWT in June, she was not quite prepared to spend her evening with the herbologist discussing fertilizers.

She was able to find Thomas and Antonin standing over by the parlor fireplace. Once she joined them near the roaring fire, Kingsley arrived soon after. Somehow she had been able to avoid the wizard all evening and cursed her sudden change in luck.

"We were just about to write our wishes down," Thomas declared. "Antonin told me about that tradition a few days ago and I liked the sound of it."

"Sounds like a waste of time," Kingsley added.

"Then you can just bugger off, Shacklebolt," retorted Antonin. "No one said you had to participate."

Kingsley was not easily deterred. Hermione rolled her eyes. Would there ever be a single moment that the two of them could be in the same room without there being an argument? Somehow she doubted it would ever happen. Thomas handed Hermione a small slip of parchment and Antonin gave her his quill when he was finished.

She was at a loss for what to wish for. While she was more inclined to agree with Kingsley about the veracity of the wish-making, she did not want Antonin to feel ill at ease. He was sharing a part of his country's traditions with them. It was a thoughtful gesture to indulge with him. Finally, she decided on the most generic wish she could think of. At least she wouldn't have to worry about it likely not coming true.

 _I wish for happiness in the coming year._

It seemed simple enough. Once she was finished writing the simple wish, she gave Kingsley the quill to write his own. He politely declined, but wasted no time asking her what she was wishing for. Antonin explained that announcing what she wished for would make it certain that her wish would not come true. He too, was tight lipped about the words written on his own scrap of parchment.

The countdown to the New Year began in earnest several seconds before midnight. Marjorie shooed everyone outdoors to ring in the New Year. When the massive grandfather clock that took up an entire corner of Marjorie's parlor began its resounding chime through the open window and the cries of 'Happy New Year' and more phrases in a language she did not understand, Hermione set her parchment on fire with the end of her wand. The minute amount of ashes that the incineration provided drifted harmlessly down into her champagne flute. Antonin and Thomas both repeated her actions. Before the clock finished its twelfth chime, all three had clinked their glasses and swallowed the champagne, ashes of their wishes and all.

"Now you have to hurry home, Hermione," Thomas ordered. "Rush home and wait. For Rowena's sake, don't let a ginger or a woman in your house first! You don't want to jinx your entire year. And don't forget to offer your guest a glass of whiskey! It's bad luck not to."

Aberforth waved to her as women from all over the village rushed out of Marjorie's house at the same time to await their first visitor of the year. It seemed a funny tradition, but Hermione found herself getting into the spirit as she trudged through the snow laughing with the other village women. She entered the empty pub and closed the door behind her.

She was surprised that she did not have to wait long at all for her visitor. Somehow she assumed that she would be one of the last. They lived on a side street after all and Dean had a great number of houses to visit first. With a bright smile of greeting on her face, Hermione pulled open the front door. Antonin stood on the threshold carrying a small bag of coal and a loaf of fresh bread.

"Madam Shafiq was of the opinion that I was dark enough to be a lucky first-footer," he explained, his cheeks red from cold, embarrassment or perhaps a combination of the two.

Hermione stepped back to allow the young wizard inside. Antonin rushed inside. Once the witch closed the door behind them, he handed over the traditional gifts he was holding plus a silver sickle. She thanked him, set the gifts down on a table and crossed the room to grab a whiskey bottle. She poured them both glasses. After another clinking of their glasses, both parties drank their fire whiskey down in one gulp.

"In Russia, one of the things that you say to everyone on New Year's is 'Kak Novyy god vstretish', tak yego i provedesh'. It means 'the way you meet the new year is the way you will spend it'."

"That's lovely."

Antonin stepped closer to Hermione, closing the small gap between them.

"I wish to meet the new year with boldness and confidence and courage."

"Very admirable."

"And happiness. I very much want happiness this next year."

He placed his empty glass on the table they were standing next to holding all of the traditional gifts he had just brought. The sound of his empty glass striking the tabletop seemed to ring in Hermione's ears. She allowed him to take her empty glass as well.

"I want happiness too," she replied.

Antonin's slightly shaking left hand found its way into her thick curls. Hermione was too startled by the gesture to move or react in any way. His other shaking hand landed on the outside of her shoulder, just above her bicep. She held her breath, too nervous about what she knew was likely about to happen to do anything other than just stare into his intense eyes. Antonin lowered his head to brush his lips against hers and give Hermione the first kiss at midnight she had ever had.

* * *

June 19, 1998

 **8:45 am**

Dean Shacklebolt was still an intimidating man no matter the fact that he was pushing seventy years old. His years as an esteemed member of the Wizengamot meant that he was confident in debating and rarely intimidated. Even if the Minister for Magic was not his own son, he would not have been nervous in his presence. He simply fastened his usual grin across his still quite handsome features.

"If you had found out about your nephew right after Tommy died, what would you have done, Kingsie?" Dean asked, his tone calm and measured.

"I would have searched until I found him! I would not have let him grow up without even knowing his father's family."

"And why was your brother murdered?"

Kingsley detested when his father spoke to him in that manner. He was neither a child nor a recalcitrant witness on the stand. Sighing loudly to announce his displeasure to the room, the Minister answered.

"Tommy was murdered because he refused to become a Death Eater."

"Exactly. I am proud he is my son, Kingsie. Every bit as proud as I am that _you_ are my son. Tommy died because he was not willing to sell his soul to a madman. That is something that we should all be very proud of."

"Of course I'm proud of that, Dad! I just don't understand why you or Granny did not reach out to Dean when you found out about him. He has every right to know where he comes from."

"Dean has been in danger since he was born, son. His father was a marked man to begin with and to add in the fact that a son of two Sacred Twenty-Eight families married a Muggle woman in secret? Do you know that the reason Tommy didn't tell anyone in our family about his little family was because he was terrified that Death Eaters would break down their door in the middle of the night and slaughter his family in the name of keeping magical bloodlines pure?"

His father was growing emotional with every word spoken. Kingsley felt chastised. Naturally he was correct. Tommy's wife and likely his son would have been killed in retribution.

"Tommy did what he thought was best to keep those he loved safe. He did not expect the war to last forever. When he realized that they would be safer if no one could link them together, he walked away. He _sacrificed_ himself to keep the woman he loved and their child protected. Your brother was a very brave man."

"Yes, he was brave, but why not after the war was over did you not find him then?"

His granny was the one to answer.

"We did not know about him. Not until he was almost four years old. Tommy was very thorough in his secrets. He also, unfortunately, put his secret in the hands of two people who would prove to be unhelpful very soon after his death."

"What are you saying, Granny?"

"Hermione and the Dolohov boy knew. Tommy confided in them. They were little Dean's godparents after all. Hermione disappeared at the same time Tommy was killed and Antonin went mad with his grief. You remember."

Kingsley's hatred for the wizard had never gone away completely. He assumed that there would be a part of him that would always hate Antonin Dolohov. Even saying his name left a bitter taste in his mouth.

"Yes, I recall very well how he went _mad_ after that," Kingsley spat. "He was convinced that Gideon and Fabian knew what happened to Hermione. Thought they were complicit in some elaborate plan created by her uncle to keep her hidden. He brought a bunch of his Death Eater mates to murder _my_ best mates. But they didn't know anything! He killed them out of some sort of sick, demented pleasure."

"That's enough, Kingsie," Dean gently chastised his son. "I know it's still a sore subject. I know Antonin will likely always be difficult for you to discuss."

"Bit of an understatement, Dad."

"Yes, well, regardless, by the time your grandmother and I were able to track down Dean and his mother, she had already remarried. Your granny says that his stepfather is a wonderful man. She's had the opportunity to meet him and speak with him on many occasions. We thought it cruel to try to take him away from his Muggle family at such a young age. We've both kept an eye on him over the years. Made certain he was safe and well cared for."

"Were you ever planning on telling him?"

Dean nodded his head.

"As soon as we were certain the threat of war was over, we were going to tell him. _Are_ going to tell him. His being considered a Muggleborn was a difficult enough target placed on his back without the additional one of being the son of a known dissenter. Dean would have been tracked down and killed if the identity of his biological father was ever discovered."

"Did Mum know?"

Dean's entire body tensed up in the same manner it always did whenever Kingsley's mother was mentioned. Kingsley understood all too well. Some hurts never quite healed. One just learned to live and exist with a hole in their heart.

"No, son. I'm afraid she passed before we learned about her grandson."


	20. Chapter 20

_Author's Note: Thanks for all of the wonderful suggestions for upcoming additional scenes. I have more ideas than I know what to do with! The next installation will be posted tonight. It is dedicated to Reviewer #500_ _ **PhoenixsMirage**_ _._

* * *

Chapter Twenty

January 1, 1972

 **12:15 am**

Her first kiss with Antonin Dolohov could be described as nothing other than perfectly sweet. The wizard might have overcome his characteristic shyness to embrace a bit of boldness and courage as he planned, but he was still hesitant in his affection. In the back of Hermione's mind she decided that they would need lots of practice to get him to the point where he was no longer nervous in her presence.

As their lips moved over each other's, Hermione found that just like normal, she could not shut down her rapid thoughts running through her overactive mind. Despite the fact that she was presently engaged in a heated kiss with the wizard, she was still surprised by how teenager Antonin made her feel. For years she had been terrified of the man that he would one day become. She did not understand how the serious, awkward boy could become such a dangerous Death Eater. What happened between Hogwarts and when he was arrested for brutally torturing and murdering Muggles?

Antonin was the one to break their kiss. As soon as their lips were apart, he dropped his hands off of her body. He was still a bit uncomfortable if his slightly reddened cheeks were any indication. Hermione smiled at him in an effort to make him feel more at ease. They were expected back at the party at the Shafiq home. Antonin reached for her hand and asked her to walk back with him.

Their walk through the snow was quiet and peaceful. It was obvious that there had been a shift in their relationship. Hermione was determined not to dwell too much on the ramifications of their actions back in her father's pub until later. There would be plenty of time to dissect every single second, every single word. In that moment she just wanted to enjoy the feeling of the butterflies in her stomach and the excitement of something new. They were some of the last to return to Marjorie's house following the custom of the First-Footing. Thomas, obviously a recipient of many glasses of fire whiskey from the homes he visited, laughed a loud, boisterous laugh when he saw them holding hands.

"It's about bloody time, mate!"

Hermione felt a bit embarrassed by the sudden attention of most of the guests gathered around the front parlor. Her eyes met Kingsley's across the sea of people. The young wizard was visibly upset by her arriving hand-in-hand with his most hated rival. She resisted the urge to rush towards him to give him some kind of explanation. It really was not his business who she chose to spend her time with, after all. Kingsley ran up the stairs. Some of the joy that she had been feeling only moments earlier began to dissipate.

* * *

January 8, 1972

 **6:30 pm**

For Hermione, at least, the rest of the Christmas holidays passed by uneventfully. Unfortunately for Antonin, he received an urgent message on New Year's Day that his grandmother's condition had taken a turn for the worse. His parents requested he come to Russia as soon as possible. Dean Shacklebolt used his influence as an esteemed member of the Wizengamot to secure an emergency international portkey.

Hermione continued to spend time with Thomas during the last few days of the holidays. He was a trusted friend. Kingsley assiduously avoided her from the remainder of the holidays. When she would come over to their grandmother's house for a quick visit for tea or even once for dinner, he would disappear into another part of the house until she left. Hermione knew that he was still upset from the events of New Year's. She hated that he was hurt by her actions. That had never been her intention.

She did not even catch more than a glimpse of him until the Saturday before classes began again for the next term. The Hogwarts Express brought all of the students back to the castle that evening. Thankfully she was not required to Apparate to London just to take the train back. She and Thomas walked together from the village before dinner. Kingsley had not waited for them. He was back at Hogwarts hours before they left. Even at dinner Hermione noticed that Kingsley changed places at the Gryffindor table with Gideon Prewett so his back was facing the Ravenclaw table. While she would not admit so to anyone, she felt hurt by his actions.

"You just injured his pride," Thomas explained. He was perceptive enough to understand what she was staring at and why she was quiet. "He really fancies you, Hermione, and he and Antonin have always had a weird rivalry thing going."

"What is that about?"

Thomas shrugged his shoulders.

"No idea, really. Dad has known Antonin's dad since he moved to the country. Mum's tried to make friends with his mum, but she's almost as shy as Antonin. Very sweet, but doesn't speak much English. I think that embarrasses her.

"We've all literally been playing together since we were toddlers. They used to throw blocks at each other. Then it was punches. Now it's the occasional hex or two. Some people are just destined to hate each other."

They returned to their meal. Antonin was expected at some point back to the castle that day, but they did not see him until they were walking out of the Great Hall. Without giving any thought to the hundreds of other students filing out of the Great Hall behind her, Hermione rushed to the wizard. He looked exhausted. She hugged him in front of the crowd and offered him her condolences. According to Thomas, Antonin was very close with his grandmother and he anticipated her loss to be particularly painful for him.

"Thank you," he whispered, uncomfortable by the whispers of the students around them. He was always content to just sit unnoticed in the background.

"Dinner is over now, but we can go to the kitchen if you're hungry," she suggested.

"No, thank you. I just want to go back to the Tower."

Antonin reached for her hand. Despite all of the conversations going on around them, neither of them said a word as they walked to the Ravenclaw Tower. Hermione was learning to simply enjoy the silences when she was with him. It was a trait that she certainly did not possess, but one she admired. Halfway to the Tower they were stopped by Alecto Carrow.

"What do you want, Carrow?" Antonin demanded, obviously not in the mood to deal with the fourth year Slytherin.

"I didn't see you at dinner. Where were you? I was worried."

"Not really any of your business," Hermione answered on his behalf.

"No one was speaking to _you_ , Dumbledore."

Alecto glared at the older witch with an expression that might one day actually frighten the children she was in charge of teaching. In that time, however, Hermione only found it amusing. When she chuckled, Alecto's eyes narrowed. The moment the Slytherin saw Hermione's fingers intertwined with Antonin's, she got flustered. After an attempt to form a coherent response to the blossoming relationship between the object of her affection and the Headmaster's niece, Alecto was cut off by Hermione. She was not in the mood.

"I'm going to go on ahead now," she announced to Antonin. "I'll see you after you've said goodnight to your little friend."

To his great surprise, Hermione leaned up on her tiptoes to kiss Antonin full on the mouth. Alecto's fury was palpable at the affectionate gesture. Antonin's cheeks flushed, but the smile that tugged at his lips proved he was anything but disgusted. He promised her that he would meet her in the tower in just a few minutes. She knew she should have been the bigger person considering her age and experience. However, she could not resist winking at the red-faced Carrow girl before walking off.

" _Feed me and I live. Give me water and I die."_

Answering a riddle every time she wanted to enter her Common Room had taken some getting used to. Hermione had six years of just needing a password. Asking Gryffindors to think critically multiple times a day would have been too much to ask. She could imagine Cormac McLaggen punching a hole in the Fat Lady's portrait in frustration if she kept him outside because he could not figure out her difficult riddle.

"Fire," she answered.

The bronze eagle knocker was satisfied with her response enough to allow her to enter the Common Room. Most of the Ravenclaws were still milling about downstairs catching up with friends they missed over the holidays. Hermione sat down at one of the empty tables covered in blank parchment. While she waited for Antonin to return, she struggled with composing another letter to Rodolphus. They had not spoken since he stormed off on Christmas Day. She had already sent him at least three letters. None of them had received a reply. She was cursing softly and scratching out several phrases she was not pleased with when Antonin returned to sit down in the chair next to hers.

"You made an impression on Carrow," he declared.

Hermione snorted, thankful for the temporary distraction from her ever-increasingly depressing missive to her favorite cousin.

"That was the point. Maybe she will start leaving you alone."

"Is that what you want? Other girls to leave me alone?"

The raw vulnerability in Antonin's voice surprised Hermione. Despite knowing he would be absolutely horrified to know her true feelings, she thought him even more adorable in that moment than he usually was. She stopped to ponder exactly what he was asking. _Did_ she want to actually date him? She was attracted to him, of course. That was not a secret. She had thought him handsome and adorable almost from the first moment they met in The Hog's Head. That was part of the reason she was thrown by his sudden reappearance into her life. So many years had been spent being afraid of the wizard fresh out of Azkaban cursing her in the Department of Mysteries that to see him as a seventeen year old wizard free from the blemishes of his future had been jarring.

Imagining a world where she was openly _dating_ Antonin Dolohov was almost too bizarre to consider. It all seemed so weird considering what would happen in their futures. The optimist in her wondered if she could help keep him from going bad. As she understood time travel, everything that she was experiencing in the present in 1972 had already happened when she was back in the nineties. Even though she knew the exact date and time when Harry's parents were going to be murdered by Lord Voldemort, she couldn't save them because that event had _already_ happened. If she had been able to change the outcome of the future, they would have already been alive before she was ever sent back in time. Time travel was a messy business that was almost impossible to understand. Because time was a loop, Hermione knew that she could not _stop_ Antonin from becoming a Death Eater. It was his destiny. He had already made that choice. Maybe she could delay him becoming a follower of the Dark Lord.

After what must have been a very awkward stretch of time for the expectant wizard staring at her and waiting for a response, Hermione finally decided not to worry about the future. Antonin was not the man he would become _yet_. Could she really punish him for choices he hadn't even made? For actions that hadn't come to be? She leaned over to kiss him for the second time that night.

"Yes, I want all of the other girls to leave you alone."

* * *

March 3, 1972

 **3:50 pm**

Hermione's Seventh year continued to fly by. She was still having a bit of trouble adjusting to a school year not fraught with any kind of physical danger. Reports were continuously coming in from outside the security of the castle walls that the First Wizarding War was beginning slowly. Though she knew that Lord Voldemort was safely out of the country on the Grand Tour with several of his closest followers, Hermione knew that there were still those residing within the borders that were carrying out his orders. Thoughts of Fenrir Greyback being sent to keep an eye on her never failed to illicit a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.

She was also learning that having a boyfriend while attending school was a different experience than any she had had before. Her relationship with Ron had only taken place after they were gone from the rigors of study schedules and class timetables. Cormac wasn't exactly a boyfriend. She found herself unsure how to act, but was grateful that Antonin studied just as much as she did. He never seemed to feel neglected when she had to rush off to the library to check her essays because he was often doing the same thing.

Kingsley continued to do his best to ignore her. They had not spoken since the night of his grandmother's Hogmanay celebration. It hurt Hermione's feelings just a little bit. He distracted himself by dating the same Hufflepuff from the infamous night in the library. Amelia Bones would one day grow up to be a serious woman with a powerful position within the Ministry as the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. As a sixth year schoolgirl, however, she was just the right amount of fun to distract Kingsley from being too maudlin over the loss of Hermione's affections to his lifelong nemesis. Hermione was both glad that he wasn't alone and that he wasn't constantly bothering her anymore.

Rodolphus was still not speaking to her by March. Every time she spared a moment to think about her older cousin she usually ended up in tears. The only word she had heard from him was the night back in January when she wrote him a letter. Hours after she had accepted Antonin's offer to be exclusive she was woken up from a fitful sleep by an owl tapping on her window. A terse note was attached to its leg.

 _Though I am still mad at you, Cousin, I still love you. I will be leaving the country for the next six months to meet Bellatrix on her tour in Africa. I need a fresh perspective. I hope that when I return we can put the past behind us. –R_

She burst into tears at the message. Thoughts of Rodolphus, her sweet Rodolphus, rushing off to spend six months in the company of Bellatrix Black _and_ Lord Voldemort frightened her to her very core. Was this when he was going to be seduced to the side of the Dark Lord? She knew it was going to happen at some point, but she never would have guessed that he would rush off because of something she did. Was _she_ the reason that her cousin became a Death Eater? Just how angry was he after what she assumed would be a harmless prank?

Before she was even aware of what she was doing, Hermione pulled a robe over her pajamas. She did not want to be alone. No one was in the Common Room when she descended the stairs that led to the girls' dormitory. Considering the time was well after two in the morning that was not surprising. She was up the spiral staircase on the boys' side of the dormitory in moments. A plaque on the outside of one of the doors indicated which one belonged to the Seventh Years.

Almost as soon as she carefully pushed the door open she regretted her rash move. What would he think to find her coming to his bed in the middle of the night in tears? He probably would not appreciate the visit disturbing his sleep. She was just about to turn back around when she heard her voice whispered. Antonin was sitting up in his bed. None of his roommates were awake. When it was obvious that she was about to leave, he threw the bedcovers off and leapt almost silently out of bed.

"What's wrong?" he asked softly when he saw the tears still sliding out of her eyes.

"I'm sorry," she replied. "I shouldn't have come. It's silly."

Antonin grasped her hand before she made it out of the door. He was resolute in keeping her where she was until he had a proper answer. She thrust the letter still clutched in her fist into his free hand.

"My cousin and I quarreled and he's still upset with me."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"It's the middle of the night. I shouldn't have disturbed you."

"I was awake."

He stepped closer to her, closing the gap in distance between them. Hermione could feel her heartrate speed up. What was she thinking coming to a man's bedroom in the middle of the night? She was certain Antonin had the wrong impression.

"I've had a lot on my mind lately," he continued. "Not least of all a certain witch that just wandered in my bedroom at two in the morning."

"I'm sorry. I should go."

"Stay, Hermione. You're still upset. I promise I'll be the perfect gentleman."

Antonin brushed his lips on the top of her head. She allowed him to lead her across the room to his four poster bed. He climbed in first and held his right arm open for her to snuggle in. As she was crawling into bed, they were both startled by a voice from the bed next to Antonin's.

"Tony, mate," mumbled Thomas. "Close the curtains and use a silencing spell. Protect our innocent eyes and ears please."

Snorts from at least two other occupants in the room only served to further embarrass Hermione. She had been under the false impression that everyone was asleep. With a soft chuckle, Antonin pointed his wand at the curtains to close them and ward against sound. Just as he promised, Antonin only wished to talk and calm his distraught witch down. Once she was snuggled against his chest Hermione was at ease. They both feel asleep only a short time later.

There had been no other late-night visits to the boys' dormitory. She could not bear the knowing glances that she got from all of the Seventh Year Ravenclaws for days following. Antonin understood her reluctance, though he seemed to not be bother by the increased attention in the slightest. It seemed that no matter what the year, all teenaged boys were the same.

As the cool Scottish weather began to warm up, Hermione started to spend more of her time outside. She used to enjoy studying for her classes outside of the confines of the castle. Though early March was still a bit chilly, she gladly wrapped herself in her cloak to enjoy the sunshine with dozens of other students in the quad. She was halfway through her Charms assigned reading when a buoyant Andy sat down on the bench next to her.

"Ugh, you know if I'd known that having a Ravenclaw for a best friend meant that I would always be competing for her attention with a book, I would've picked a Hufflepuff instead."

Hermione laughed as she put the book away. Her experiences with the last year of the war in her own time taught her the valuable lesson that there were more important things in life than being the top student in every single subject and constantly being weeks ahead in her work. She was no longer afraid to put a book down to just enjoy being a student with few cares. Andy was practically bouncing in her seat with excitement. Hermione's curiosity was piqued.

"What's going on, Andy?"

"Ted kissed me last night."

Her friend's exuberance only increased as she shared her news. Obviously Andromeda had been anxious to spill her secret for a long time. At least since the night before. Hermione understood the need to share excellent gossip.

"Where?" Hermione asked.

"On the mouth, but I'm sure if I play my gobstones right he will be kissing me other places soon enough," Andy replied, waggling her eyebrows.

Her subsequent wink made Hermione snort and roll her eyes.

"I meant where in the castle?'

"Trophy Room. We were talking and Max showed up at the end of the corridor. Ted dragged me in there to hide and well, he kissed me!"

Hermione was very happy for her friend. She had the benefit of being a time traveler to know that Andromeda and Ted would end up together in a very happy marriage. Though she knew they were destined to be together, Hermione wondered how she planned on getting rid of her pesky fiancé first. She tried to remember Tonks' birthday. She thought she remembered the clumsy auror telling her that it was sometime in May and if she was in school at the same time as Charlie Weasley… well, she was fairly certain that she would be born sometime the next year.

"So what does this mean?" Hermione asked.

Andy sighed. A bit of her cheerful mood relaxed as more serious thoughts plagued the young witch.

"Father would disown me for even _talking_ to a Muggleborn. What should I do?"

"You only have one life to live, Andy. If Ted makes you happy, you should just say 'Fuck the consequences' and go for it. Do you believe that Max will make you happy?"

"No, not at all. I can't stand him."

She had nothing but sympathy for the other girl for the predicament she was in. If it were up to her Uncle Regnault, Hermione would be engaged to a wizard he chose. She might not even like the man. Having someone else plan for her future happiness was so archaic that her heart hurt for Andy. There should have been no place for arranged marriages in their modern society.

"Are you willing to spend the rest of your life with someone you can't stand just because your father tells you to?"

"You're absolutely right." Andy sighed the dramatic sigh of the defeated. "It's painfully obvious that Roddy isn't going to marry me instead of my sister. I guess I _should_ seek out my own happiness. Father has to forgive me, right?"

Hermione did not have the heart to tell Andromeda the truth. She knew that Cygnus Black would never forgive his middle child for running off to marry a Muggleborn wizard. He would die without speaking to her again or meeting his only granddaughter. Her friend did not want to depress her, so Hermione simply smiled.

Any further distressing thoughts were pushed aside by the abrupt arrival of Ted Tonks just a few minutes later. Hermione saw him across the quad and waved him over. He was all smiles when he approached the witches, but it was obvious that he was a bit shy around Andy. Perhaps he was still feeling a little embarrassed about their intimate moment the night before. Andy stood up when he was only inches away and in front of everyone in the quad, kissed Ted firmly on the mouth. All hints of previous shyness disappeared as the wizard enthusiastically returned the affectionate gesture. Hermione averted her eyes to give them at least some privacy despite the fact that half of the students gathered near them were catcalling and whistling. Across the quad there was one set of eyes that belonged to an onlooker who was less than pleased by the spectacle. Maxwell Bole glared in their direction before storming off with anger splashed across his reddened face. Somehow Hermione suddenly got the feeling she knew how Andy's betrothal was going to be broken off.

In the middle of dinner that evening a large eagle owl flew into the Great Hall. Most mail was still delivered over breakfast except in the case of emergency. Hermione stared up at the owl hoping a vain hope that it would be carrying the letter from Rodolphus absolving her of her guilt. Instead the owl hovered over Andy's plate, dropping a familiar red envelope into her mashed potatoes. Even at the distance Hermione could see her friend's hands shake as she grasped the envelope. Not wishing to air her business in front of the entire school, Andromeda ran as fast as she could to the Entrance Hall. Hermione did not hesitate for a second to run after her.

Hermione pushed open the door just in time to hear Cygnus Black's voice echo throughout the massive stone room that Andromeda had brought shame to her entire family. She rushed to Andy, throwing her arms around the sobbing girl as the rest of the hateful howler played for them to hear.

" _… the Boles have called off the engagement! What respectable wizard will want you now?! You allowed a fucking Mudblood to touch you!"_

Knowing that her friend did not need to hear any more hateful speech from her horrible father, Hermione grasped her hand to drag her out the colossal front door. Cygnus' shouts were still echoing behind the girls as they ran out into the night air.

"He's so angry, Hermione," Andy cried. "I didn't think it would be _that_ bad. He's never going to forgive me. I'm sure he's blasting me off the family tapestry as we speak."

Hermione did not know what to say to comfort the distraught woman. There really wasn't anything she _could_ say. Andromeda was right. Cygnus was going to disown her. If not that evening, then certainly at another point in the future. They were joined just a few minutes later by a visibly distressed Ted. He, too, looked on the verge of tears. Hermione had never seen him looking so downtrodden. Even when Lucius and the other Pureblood snobs like her cousin Rabastan were being atrocious to him, he managed to keep a cheerful grin on his handsome face. She knew it was his way of showing defiance, of not letting those who were prejudiced against him see how much they affected him.

"Dromeda, are you okay?"

Andromeda released her grip on Hermione to rush into Ted's waiting arms. Feeling satisfied that her friend had all of the comfort that she would need, Hermione started to walk away. Before she got more than a step or two away, she heard Ted make the suggestion that he would not bother her anymore if that was what she wanted.

"Are all Hufflepuffs as bloody stupid as you are, Tonks? I _never_ want you to leave me alone again."

Hermione smiled and quickened her steps when the sound of enthusiastic kissing became louder.

* * *

April 1, 1972

 **10:32 am**

For the first Hogsmeade weekend of April, Hermione made plans to spend the majority of the day in her father's pub. She found that the more time she spent in the castle, the more she missed Aberforth's dry wit and plain speaking. Her regular teatimes with her Uncle Albus continued as the year progressed, only increasing her desire to spend more time with her favorite member of the Dumbledore family. Not wanting to miss out on the opportunity to spend the day with his girlfriend, Antonin reluctantly agreed to accompany her to visit her father. The wizard grew more nervous as their steps brought them closer and closer to the village.

"Oh, stop. You've met my dad before," Hermione said, torn between being annoyed and amused by his lack of enthusiasm.

"Well, yes, but not since we started seeing each other. He's going to look at me and just imagine all of the dirty things I'm doing to his daughter."

"You aren't doing any dirty things to his daughter… _unfortunately_."

She sighed. In the three months since they first kissed, their activities had not progressed any further than a few heated kisses in private corners throughout the castle. It seemed to Hermione that Antonin was taking his promise of being a perfect gentleman a bit too seriously.

"He doesn't know that."

A terrifying thought popped into Hermione's mind.

"If you try to casually bring up in conversation with my dad that you've never let your hands wander below my waist like a good gentleman, I'll make certain they _never_ make it below my waist."

Antonin seemed to calm down slightly at the threat. By the time they reached the woods on the outskirts of the village, he was almost normal. They witnessed Thomas rush off into a heavily wooded area to Disapparate.

"He's running off to London to see his Muggle," Antonin explained.

"Fine example he's setting as a prefect."

Her boyfriend laughed at her obvious displeasure. She might be more relaxed in the seventies, but rules were still important. Hermione narrowed her eyes at Antonin hoping he would stop laughing. It didn't work. Any further discussions about how Thomas should be setting a better example were cut off by Ted and Andromeda. Hermione had invited them to join them at her father's pub. It was really important to her for Antonin to get along with her friends.

Aberforth's entire face lit up when he watched Hermione enter his pub. She did not waste a moment to rush to him behind the bar. It was encouraging for her to realize that hugs and other displays of affection were getting easier for the wizard. He kissed the top of her head.

"Go sit down, lass. I'll bring you all some butterbeers."

Antonin was nervous about spending the day with two people he did not know very well. Hermione tried to put him at ease, but social anxiety was obviously a problem he struggled with. If it were possible she thought that made him even more adorable. The others sensed his uneasiness and worked hard to include him in their conversation.

Somehow they managed to start a discussion over their third or fourth butterbeer about blood purity. It was a topic that did not make Hermione comfortable. She would have suggested they talk about something else if Antonin did not seem to finally be at ease enough to actually speak. Everyone had a unique perspective. Ted did not care for a remark that Antonin made and casually accused him of being a blood purist.

"No, I'm not," Antonin insisted. "We would've all died out centuries ago if we didn't marry Muggleborns."

"Your little Slytherin mates seem to feel differently. Can you honestly tell me that you don't hate Muggles?" asked a skeptical Ted.

Hermione reached for Antonin's hand under the table. She was worried about what he might say in response.

"My mum's Muggleborn. I certainly don't hate her."

Ted attempted to sputter out an apology stating that he did not know. Antonin was still quite calm. Either he truly was not offended by the Hufflepuff's accusation or he was an even better poker player than Hermione assumed.

"Hermione and I had this discussion months ago. I have no problems with Muggleborns. If they want to assimilate in our society, that is perfectly acceptable to me. They are welcome to. My problem has always been with Muggles. Ignorance is not bliss, no matter who tells you it is. Ignorance is dangerous."

Ted seemed interested in his response. Andy and Hermione shared a secret smile across the table. It seemed that their wizards were getting along just fine.

"So you would have the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy repealed? You would want the Muggles to know we exist?"

"Yes, they should know we exist."

"But that's asking for trouble."

Antonin used that opportunity to tell the story of how his Muggle grandparents tried to kill his mother because they did not understand that magic was real. He was of the opinion that if they had known that magic existed, they would likely not have tried to 'beat the magic out of her'. Hermione kept a firm grip on his hand through the entire telling of the harrowing tale. Both Ted and Andromeda were shocked.

The rest of the day was spent in less serious, but no less enjoyable discussions. Once the two Ravenclaws were left alone on their walk back up to the castle, Antonin leaned down to kiss her on the mouth.

"I like Ted," he declared. "He seems like a good man."

* * *

June 19, 1998

 **9:30 am**

Kingsley did not want to hear anything else from his dad. He was still quite angry about being lied to for years about the existence of his nephew. How his relatives could keep such an important secret from him for so long was unconscionable. After giving his short goodbyes to his granny and his dad, he stepped out of the unused classroom.

Once he travelled down the corridor to step into the Entrance Hall he saw Head Auror Robards enter the castle. Time had flown by quickly when he was in the classroom learning why they thought it was prudent to lie to him for years. He had asked for hourly updates on the search for Hermione.

"We have expanded our search for Dolohov, Minister," Robards reported.

Kingsley knew that Antonin did not have Hermione, but his old grudge against the other wizard made him want to seek him out and find him. Even if he did not have the witch they both loved captured and held hostage, he was still a wanted man. He still deserved to spend the rest of his miserable existence in the bowels of Azkaban. Maybe he could find Dolohov a special cell right on the water that was never fully dry or warm. He might succumb to pneumonia a few years into his incarceration, but the Minister could not find it in his heart to care.

He had an idea of a possible location for Dolohov's hideout. It would be a place that would not show up on any official documents related to the dark wizard. He could not explain how he might know where Dolohov was hiding after so many years. It was just an instinct. Years as an auror taught him to trust his instincts.

Just as he began to leave the castle, Kingsley was approached by Dean Thomas. Now that he was aware of the boy's, _young man's_ , parentage, he was struck by how much he resembled his father. Though his complexion was just a bit darker, it was almost like seeing Tommy looking right back at him again. He could feel a lump form in his throat. How could he have not seen Tommy in this man when they had spoken countless times before?

"Is there anything I can help with, Minister?" Dean asked. "I feel bloody useless right now."

The lump in his throat threatened to choke Kingsley. It broke his heart that the boy was using his formal title to address him. He should have been Uncle Kingsie from the moment he was born. He had to choke down his emotions before he could respond.

"Please call me Kingsley. We fought side by side in battle. You need never be so formal with me."

Dean nodded.

"I know how frustrating it is to be left behind. Come with me. I've got an idea where Dolohov might have taken Hermione."


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter Twenty One

April 18, 1972

 **5:30 pm**

The end of the school was rapidly approaching. It seemed that every time Hermione turned around she was getting even closer to the dreaded NEWTs. She spent the entirety of the Easter holidays stuck in the castle with the rest of the Ravenclaws revising for their final exams. The longer she spent in the library the more she felt like the old Hermione Granger. Her anxieties about the mundanity of school exams after fighting in a war was not lost on her, but there was something familiar about stressing out about tests that she could not resist. It felt that the more she studied, the more she fretted she would fail everything. Anxiety was at peak levels.

Everyone else in Hermione's insulated life within the castle walls seemed to be taking the pressure of the end of the year in stride. Thomas had a secret ally outside of the castle that frequently checked a Muggle post box he set up in a random village. Letters from his Muggle girlfriend were forwarded to him via owl post without the girl in London being any wiser that her secret boyfriend was actually a wizard. When he was feeling particularly lonely or upset, Thomas would pull out the familiar letters to read and reread the words. Hermione had a sneaking suspicion that his ally was none other than his grandmother. She thought she recognized a closet romantic in Marjorie Shafiq.

After Andromeda received her official notice from her father that she had been disowned from the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, she dealt with her grief by clinging to a willing Ted. They had been exploring the castle and its grounds for all of the potential spots to further cement their physical relationship. Hermione suspected that it would not take much longer before their daughter was conceived. While she was certainly happy that her friends had each other, she was becoming increasingly frustrated with her lack of physical intimacy with Antonin. One Wednesday afternoon in the middle of April she vented her frustration to her best friend.

"I'm sure it's the whole Madonna versus the whore thing some men seem to have," Andy sighed.

"What?" Hermione was thoroughly confused.

"Some men can only classify women into two groups. You are either a Madonna, meaning you are pure and perfect and must be kept pristine on a pedestal. Or you are a whore only good for doing physically enjoyable but morally dirty acts. It varies by culture and country, of course. I'm not very knowledgeable about Russian culture, but it could also just mean Antonin's a bit of a mummy's boy."

"So Antonin refuses to touch me inappropriately because he thinks I'm innocent and pure?"

Andromeda snorted at the question. At least one participant of the conversation was enjoying their talk.

"You tell him about the goat pen, yet? Might change his mind about you."

Hermione blushed. Thoughts about that evening with Igor often caused the same reaction. It had been incredibly passionate and then intensely awkward when it was all over.

"Look, Mi, it's clear that wizard's got it bad for you. I won't say he has a terrible reputation, but he's no stranger to the girls in my House. Ona Higgs is always willing to share a diverting story about a trip to the Prefect's Bathroom with him Sixth Year if you're ever interested to hear it."

She scoffed at the very idea that she would want to hear a story about her wizard's past escapades. Her reaction only made Andromeda laugh.

"He respects you," Andromeda continued. "It's not a bad thing."

"No, but it's starting to hurt my feelings, Andy. I don't want him to think I belong on some sort of pedestal. I'm not perfect. I'm very, very flawed."

"You don't have to tell _me_ that, my neurotic friend."

Andy's friendly wink made Hermione laugh. She was very good at breaking tension with a witty word or two. They both looked up to see Antonin and Ted crossing the quad to the bench where their witches were seated.

"We were just talking about you," Andromeda announced in a teasing, sing-song tone.

Ted grimaced. Antonin laughed at his expression.

"That sounds scary," replied Ted.

"Only good things," Hermione assured him. "About _you_ anyway, Ted."

It was the Hufflepuff's turn to laugh as Antonin glowered. He seemed confused by her remark and the unnatural tone she had adopted. The Russian furrowed his brow and stared at Hermione until she was uncomfortable. While they had their own staring match, the other couple were whispering to each other and giggling.

"We'll see you later," Andy said as she hopped up from the bench.

Hermione rolled her eyes. At least one couple was enjoying an active sex life. Antonin sat down next to his girlfriend. She sighed as they both watched Ted and Andy disappear back into the castle.

"Where are they going?" Antonin asked.

"Probably to find another corner of the castle they haven't shagged yet."

"Oh."

Antonin seemed uncomfortable by the direction their conversation moved. Hermione sighed. Sometimes his shyness was less endearing and more annoying. Finally deciding that she should take Andy's advice, Hermione reached for his hand and turned to face him. He was clearly worried about what she was going to say to him. Too late she realized that her behavior might have given him the false idea that she wanted to break up with him.

"You do realize that I'm not some pure, innocent dove in need of sheltering, right?" she asked.

"What?"

"I'm not the Madonna and I don't need to be placed on a pedestal."

Somehow Andromeda had explained her theory about his hang ups on sex in a much better manner that she had. Antonin seemed thoroughly confused. He felt her cheeks with his free hand.

"Are you feeling all right, Hermione? You're not making any sense."

"I am a normal, healthy woman with normal, healthy needs and desires, Antonin. I'm not asking you to fuck me up against a goat pen, but I would like it if you could at least act like the thought of touching me wasn't wholly repulsive to you."

Hermione dropped her hand as she rose abruptly from the bench. Ignoring his calls for her to stop, she was across the quad in only a few moments. She picked up her pace to enter in a side door to a rarely used corridor. There was no set destination in mind. She simply just wanted to put some distance between them.

Her mortification was strong. Though she had been feeling undesirable and unwanted lately, she had been able to distract her thoughts before they consumed her to an embarrassing degree. Some days it felt that no matter how old she got or how many beauty charms she knew or how expensive her clothing was, she was still the bushy haired Gryffindor with the too-large front teeth and the shapeless robes. She would never be as naturally beautiful as Andromeda. Or as perfectly groomed as her younger sister Narcissa. Most of the other girls in her year prettier than her. How she had two attractive wizards interested in her at all was something of a mystery.

She hated how inadequate she felt. There was more to her than a pretty face. She was intelligent and magically talented. Especially with the backing of a powerful and wealthy family like the Lestranges, she could do just about anything she desired once she had her NEWT scores. Her Uncle Regnault would continue to try to set her up with eligible wizards he deemed acceptable, but she did not have to actually marry them. She could deal with a few years of occasional annoyance in exchange for opportunities for advancement she would never have as a plain, Muggleborn witch.

Tears were freely flowing down her cheeks. Thankful that she was in a corridor with little to no foot traffic, she did not even attempt to brush them away. She hated how weak she felt. Why was she even crying? Convinced that she was just having a bad day and perhaps she was experiencing some hormonal disturbances, she allowed herself the chance to wallow in her misery just a little bit longer. Weren't witches expected to cry at the drop of a hat anyway? She was so focused on feeling sorry for herself that she walked right past her cousin without even noticing.

Rabastan called after her several times. When she did not stop, he rushed after her. His hand on her arm halted her forward progression. Concern was splashed across his face.

"Are you okay?" he asked. "What's wrong?"

Of course she was too embarrassed to explain what was really wrong. His question only caused more tears to flow. Rabastan opened his arms to hug her tightly. They were not particularly close, but she appreciated the gesture. It also felt nice to be comforted without needing to explain why she needed it.

"Is it a matter of family honor?"

She looked up at her cousin with wide eyes. Even after almost a year in the past she still had trouble telling if her younger cousin was being serious or not. Fretful that he would do something drastic if he thought the fragile familial honor was challenged, she shook her head. His handsome face lit up with a bright smile.

"Drat! I could really use a good target for some hexes."

Once she realized he was joking she smiled.

"Ahh, there's that smile. I know I'm not Roddy, but I'm not completely helpless."

Thinking about Rodolphus made her sad again. She hated that she was unwittingly comparing the two in her head as he tried to provide what security he could offer.

"Thank you, Rabastan."

"Nothing to thank me for, cousin. I promised both Father and Roddy that I would keep an eye on you. Perhaps I haven't been doing my job properly if some arsehole has made you cry."

He handed her a handkerchief. Hermione laughed. She never seemed to have one when she needed on. Rabastan placed a sweet kiss on the top of her head.

"It's time for dinner. Would you like to walk with me?"

She did not even hesitate to agree. With the deafening silence from Rodolphus, she had begun to feel more than a little guilty that she had not tried to strengthen her relationship with Rabastan. He was not as nice or sweet as his older brother, but he was still family. Why was she willing to give other wizards she knew without a doubt would become Death Eaters in the future a chance and not Rabastan? She could not justify her reluctance.

They spent the walk to the Great Hall engaged in pleasant, unimportant conversation about classes. Hermione was anxious to know if he had heard anything about Rodolphus in Africa, but he gave her the bad news that they had not gotten any new letters from him in months. When the cousins approached the Great Hall already bustling with hungry students, they spotted Antonin waiting outside the doors, apparently waiting for her arrival.

"Want me to hex him?" Rabastan asked.

Hermione laughed. She knew that he would send a nasty curse in Antonin's direction with the tiniest bit of encouragement. When he heard her tell him 'no', Rabastan glared one final time at her boyfriend before walking off to join the other Slytherins at their table.

"Does your cousin even know why you're angry with me?" inquired Antonin, his irritation clear.

"No. Doesn't matter why I'm upset. Family's supposed to stick together."

He leaned in closer so his words would be for her ears only.

"He might have a different reaction if he found out the reason why you're upset with me is because I have more respect for you than to fuck you up against a goat pen."

Dinner that night was one of the tensest meals she had ever experienced at the castle. Even during her multiple falling outs with her boys in the future she was usually able to at least find a little bit of enjoyment in a boisterous evening meal. Thomas tried repeatedly to lighten the mood with jokes or funny anecdotes about classes. Neither of his friends was inclined to speak to the other. The moment Hermione finished what little food her appetite would allow her to consume, she hopped up from the bench. Antonin did not even spare a glance in her direction. He was still annoyed by what he thought was a ridiculous argument.

No one was in the Ravenclaw Common Room when she entered the Tower. She was grateful for a few minutes to herself. Sometimes solitude was difficult to find in a castle full of hundreds of students. She frequently missed her tiny little bedroom in The Hog's Head Inn. Her favorite blue velvet armchair by the fireplace was free. She lowered her body onto the plush cushion. Her eyes sought out the hypnotic flames within the fireplace. It did not take more than a few minutes of the peace and quiet before she was calm again.

The door to the Common Room opened with a bang. A furious Antonin stormed in. Hermione's stomach dropped at the site. She remembered witnessing a glimpse of the man's fury when she silenced him at the Department of Mysteries. Anger was present in his already intense deep brown eyes. Her eyes went straight to the parchment he was clenching in his fist. He traversed the soft blue rugs to throw the parchment in her face.

"You missed the evening mail delivery. Fell right on your plate as you were running out," he spat through clenched teeth.

Hermione picked up the note that had fallen to the floor. Instantly she found the seal on the back already broken.

"So you read it?"

"Thomas was afraid it might be important. He opened it. Soon as I saw his face I ripped it out of his hands. Is this some kind of joke?"

She hated how livid the young wizard was. What could the parchment possibly say that would get him so heated? She unrolled the parchment and instantly felt a sinking feeling in her stomach. The handwriting was extremely familiar though it had been awhile since she last saw it. He had the worst timing in the history of bad timing. Why of all days did he send her a note right when she was in the middle of an argument?

 _I miss you, Charodeyka. How are the goats? – Igor_

Hermione longed to scream out in frustration. She had not heard from the wizard since the first day of the fall term when he sent her flowers. And to send it over dinner when everyone was to be sure to see it arrive? If she had been planning on upsetting Antonin following their discussion in the quad, she could not have planned it any better. What was Igor possibly thinking? She could absolutely understand why Antonin was so upset. It all certainly looked like a setup to her as well.

"Not a joke, Antonin. Just a case of a horrendous coincidence."

"Coincidences don't exist."

Antonin stormed out of the common room moments later. Hermione knew better than to follow. Truthfully, she had no desire to chase after him anyway. His pride wasn't the only one that was hurt. She crumpled up the note and put it in her pocket.

She did not want to sit around the Tower waiting for Thomas to come in asking for answers she was not prepared to give. Seeing him in that moment would have been a bad idea too. Why would he open her letter? Yes, it was odd to get a note at dinner, but it was not completely foreign. He could have easily put the note in his pocket and discreetly given it to her unopened when they were both back in the Tower. Surely a serious emergency missive would have gone straight to her uncle the Headmaster.

Hermione grabbed her book bag to make her escape to the library. The walk to the one place in the castle that she could always find peace was always one that would calm her nerves. Students were slowly beginning to trickle into the library following the evening meal. Most of the tables in front already had occupants. She directed her course to the private study room she and Antonin always used. If it turned out that he was seeking refuge in the same place, she would offer an apology and leave immediately.

The door to the study room was unwarded, usually an indication that it was empty. She pushed the door open completely and stepped inside. Hermione gasped at the tableau spread out in front of her unsuspecting eyes. Amelia Bones was bent over the small study table on her stomach. Her hands grasped the edge of the surface and her skirt was thrown above her waist. An enthusiastic Kingsley stood behind her, his hands grasping her hips tightly as he thrust into her without mercy. The witch keened loudly, chanting, 'Yes, Kingsley' over and over again. He bit his lower lip, focused on the task at hand. His chocolate brown eyes met Hermione's. Instead of showing any kind of embarrassment from being caught in flagrante delicto, Kingsley winked and increased his pace.

She was mortified yet again that evening. Spinning around as quickly as she could, Hermione rushed out of the room, leaving the door wide open. Without thought to the noise she was making and the rules she was breaking, Hermione ran out of the library at full speed. She did not slow her feet until she was outside the stone walls in the night air. Ignoring everyone she met on the way, Hermione did not stop until she was at the top of the Owlery.

At one of the wide windows open for the owls to fly in and out of the tower at their leisure, Hermione laid her head in her arms. Loud sobs shook her entire frame. She wasn't sure how long she cried before she was unable to squeeze out any more tears. When she was calmer, she removed Igor's crumpled note from her pocket. Removing a quill from her bag, she penned a reply underneath his original note.

 _I don't see how you have the right to miss me. You made your decision. Agnes and Gladys are doing very well. Thank you for asking._

She attached the small note to the leg of a willing school owl. The Owlery was one of the places on the Hogwarts grounds that Hermione enjoyed visiting. Back in the future during her own time, she used to sneak off to the tower when she was stressed out to visit the animals. Hedwig and Pig were always pleased to see her to accept her treats and to have their feathers smoothed down.

Hermione spotted Rabastan's owl on one of the higher perches. He often let her borrow his owl when she needed to send a letter. A quick whistle brought the majestic eagle owl down to a lower perch where she could run her hands over his smooth feathers. Just a few minutes passed before the school owl she sent earlier returned with a response.

 _Would you believe me if I told you I regret my rash decision? I was truly only thinking of you. If you met someone you liked I did not want to stand in your way._

His letter made her snort. Hermione grabbed a blank piece of parchment out of her bag to pen her next message.

 _Use your silver tongue on someone naïve enough to believe you._

The owl flew back out the open window. Hermione settled down on a stone bench to read her Charms book. Slowly she was calming down. There were still a few hours before Seventh Year curfew. She hoped that hiding up in the Owlery for a bit longer would be enough. Her messenger returned several minutes later to perch on the back of the bench. Obviously Igor was somewhere nearby the castle. Perhaps down in the village.

 _Naïve is not a word I would use to describe you, Charodeyka. I would rather use my silver tongue on_ _you_ _again. Do you know how often I still crave you? Long to taste you once more? Bury my head back between your thighs until the only word you can remember to scream is my name? Too often. Entirely too often. I dream of lavishing your glorious slit until you come apart on my tongue over and over again._

 _Do you still remember the night you ran your fingers through my hair to hold me right where you wanted me? How you held me in place with your gorgeous thighs? Moaning and begging me not to stop. You are so beautiful when you come._

 _Have you found someone at the castle who understands what I mean?_

Hermione's cheeks heated up. She had never received a letter with such lurid descriptions and words. Igor had not been shy when they were alone in the Leaky Cauldron almost a year prior. Sometimes at the most random and awkward times his impassioned words would still run through her mind. It could be quite uncomfortable when she was in the middle of an Ancient Runes lessons. Especially when Antonin would lean over and ask if she was all right. How could she possibly answer that query?

 _I see that you have not lost your verbosity and penchant for descriptive language. If you are asking if I have a boyfriend, then the answer is yes._

Wishing to give the patient school owl a break from the back and forth messaging, Hermione attached the note to the leg of Rabastan's owl. Overly proud of himself for his task, the owl soared out the open window. Hermione felt a little bit guilty about replying to Igor's extremely inappropriate messages. She knew Antonin would be furious to find out. When she remembered how undesired she was feeling earlier in the evening, she discovered that she didn't really care. Sometimes it was nice to simply be wanted. She would worry about the rightness of her actions later.

Igor's reply arrived just a short time later. Hermione anxiously removed the parchment from the owl. She wondered where he was staying. Why was he so close?

 _You have a boyfriend? If you were trying to make me jealous, you succeeded. Tell me something, Hermione. Does he make you scream like I do?_

Unfortunately, the answer to that impertinent question was a resounding 'no'. Igor knew how to pluck her strings like a master musician. He made her body his instrument. Remembering the heat of the two nights they shared, Hermione felt her belly swirl with arousal. How could words alone written on parchment cause the effect they were?

 _No one_ _has ever made me scream like you. Why are you writing me anyway? This is inappropriate._

She cast a 'Tempus' spell while she was waiting for his inevitable message back. The time was getting closer to ten. Hermione could not believe she had been hiding in the Owlery for over two hours. Part of her wondered if Antonin had finally settled down. Maybe he was searching for her, wanting to apologize. She scoffed at the thought. No, he was too stubborn.

 _Since when have you cared whether or not something was inappropriate, Hermione? It's a shame that you are left so unsatisfied. I would love to remedy that. I'm in the village for the next couple of days for an ingredient procuring trip. Alone. In a big empty room at The Three Broomsticks. So tell me, clever girl. How are you going to sneak out of the castle? I'm in Room Number Two._

Hermione peered out the large window. Her eyes landed on the Whomping Willow. It wouldn't be the Full Moon for over a week. The Shrieking Shack would be empty and she knew where there were loose boards on the cellar window.

* * *

June 19, 1998

 **9:45 am**

Dean seemed anxious to follow Kingsley out the castle doors. His uncle had been completely serious when he said he understood all too well what it felt like to be left behind. At certain points in his life he knew that frustration more often than not. Content to just be a part of something, Dean waited until they were halfway to the gates to ask where they were going.

"Years before Dolohov was thrown into Azkaban he was renovating an old farmhouse in Wiltshire. Hoped to convince his old girlfriend to move in with him, marry him, start a family. Only one glaring problem with his plan."

"What was it?"

"She was _my_ girlfriend. Hoped to make her my fiancée and then my wife."

"What happened?"

Kingsley took a moment to sigh. Even after so many years talking about Hermione was not easy.

"The war happened."

Dean seemed embarrassed by his succinct response. No doubt he understood all too well what a war in your relative youth could do to all of the plans one attempted to make. Kingsley was certain the boy thought his question was impertinent. Not wishing to make him feel ill at ease, Kingsley continued his explanation of their planned destination.

"Anyway, it wasn't well known what he was doing so there wouldn't be many aware. I only know because Her… because my girlfriend told me. He _lured_ her over there for a tour. Apparently it was 'simply charming'."

The younger wizard snorted. Surprised by his reaction, Kingsley narrowed his eyes.

"Sorry, mate. Just sounds like you really hate Dolohov. I mean _really_ hate him."

Kingsley was both chastised and embarrassed by his nephew's remarks. He knew he should not put his bitterness on display quite like that. While he couldn't deny he was angry, couldn't deny he hated Antonin, he really should be just a bit more circumspect about his opinions. He had always hated Dolohov. Not really sure why even. Maybe it was all a childish grudge because his brother liked his company better. Certainly didn't help when Hermione liked him better too. Even as the Minister for Magic he still felt a sense of inadequacy when measured up against the feared, escaped Death Eater. It was irrational.

"I think Dolohov saved my life."

He halted his steps abruptly to stare at his nephew following his startling confession. What could he possibly mean? When would he have even been in contact with Dolohov? Dean was visibly unnerved by his scrutiny.

"When I was on the run with Ted Tonks, Dirk Cresswell and the goblins, we were ambushed one night. It was awful. Dirk did what he could to protect his goblin friends. Griphook was able to escape, but Dirk and Gornuk were killed.

"Ted was always very protective of me. He was a good man. One of the best I've ever known really. He stood in front of me prepared to defend me. The group wasn't just Snatchers that night. There were a couple of Death Eaters too. I didn't notice any difference, but Ted got angry when he recognized Dolohov. Reminded him that there was a time when they were close mates. Is that true?"

Kingsley nodded.

"Yes, for their seventh year and for almost ten years afterwards. Dolohov always claimed he hated Muggles, not Muggleborns. Ted's wife and my witch were best friends. She was the reason Ted and Dolohov became friends."

"Dolohov didn't get mad at Ted. He seemed almost _sad_. Then he looked past Ted to me. Seemed to really see me for the first time. Asked me my name. Didn't see any sense in lying. We were already caught. Dolohov ordered the Snatchers to take the two of us into custody but not harm us. One of the Snatchers didn't appreciate being given orders. Then Greyback showed up."

Dean stopped speaking for several moments. It was apparent that he was telling a very emotional story. Kingsley placed his hand on his shoulder for support.

"Greyback seemed really excited to see Ted. Said they had an old score to settle. Dolohov tried to get him to leave Ted alone, but…"

He couldn't finish the horrific tale. Tears rolled out of his chestnut eyes. Kingsley squeezed his shoulder once more. Dean took a deep breath before speaking again.

"Dolohov actually stepped between me and the werewolf. Pointed his wand at him and said that I was his prisoner now. Greyback was furious but couldn't really argue with him. I was terrified out of my skull. Knew his reputation. Greyback and the others Disapparated. Dolohov let me go. Told me to run away as fast as I could and not get caught again."

Kingsley was completely taken aback by his story. Part of him sincerely believed the Death Eater no longer had any compassion left in him. Both wizards resumed their walk to the gates.

Once outside the protected wards surrounding the Hogwarts grounds, Kingsley asked Dean to take his arm. He Apparated them into the seeming middle of nowhere Wiltshire. Kingsley knew the general vicinity of the old farmhouse but was relying on his ability to detect any magical wards or concealments. Antonin had always been an expert at creating and demolishing wards. While Kingsley was aware that they would likely have trouble finding the place, at least he felt like he was actually doing _something_. Dean finally broke the silence after several minutes of walking.

"So are you my uncle?"

Kingsley halted his steps once again to simply stare at his nephew with wide eyes.

"How did…"

"I'm not stupid, you know," Dean answered with a snort. "A bit surprised to find out you were Margie's grandson this morning. Didn't expect that."

Not once had Kingsley promised to keep Tommy's secret. He was not willing to lie, especially not to Dean.

"Your father was… _is_ my older brother. How did you find out?"

"Always knew Margie was more than she said she was. Even as a little kid. When she didn't think I was watching, I saw her stare at me with a really sad expression. When she hid me in her house I found a picture of my father she tried to hide. Mum didn't know he was a wizard. We only had a few pictures of him, but I would recognize him anywhere. Used to spend a lot of time staring at a photograph of him trying to imagine what he was like."

"He was a very brave and honorable man who walked away from you and your mum to keep you safe. He was killed just a few days after Christmas in 1980."

Dean sighed, not revealing any of the other thoughts he must have had swirling around in his brain. They continued walking in silence for several minutes.

"Did you know? About me?"

"Not until this morning. Granny and my dad, _your_ grandfather, thought it would be safer for you if you didn't know about us."

"What do you think?"

"I think that if I'd known Tommy had a son, I wouldn't have rested until I found you. You have a right to know where you come from, Dean."

They stepped forward further into an empty field. All at once they both felt a crackling of energy rush up their arms like they just crossed into an area with powerful wards. Both wizards raised their wands, prepared for the worst. Kingsley spun around swiftly when he heard Dean gasp. Dolohov was standing behind his nephew holding his wand to his throat.

"Baby Shacklebolt I've been expecting, but you're a bit of a surprise, Dean. Come to pay your old godfather a visit?"


	22. Chapter 22

_Author's Note: My plan was to post the next one-shot in the Additional Scenes at the same time as this update. However, the one-shot is fighting me! Overwhelmingly, the most common request was Antonin's POV during the Department of Mysteries. It will answer some questions about that he was thinking during that incident. Because I wrote his POV of the DoM for The Dark Mage's Captive, I've been struggling to figure out a way to write it that isn't just basically an entire rehash of Chapter Two of that story. It did not seem fair to delay this update for my writing difficulties. That_ _will_ _be posted before the next chapter, so be sure to add that story to your alerts if you are interested._

 _It will be dedicated the 200_ _th_ _person to favorite this story,_ _ **Montara**_ _._

 _Krasivitsa_ _– Beautiful woman_

* * *

Chapter Twenty Two

April 18, 1972

 **9:50 pm**

She was not sure how long she stared at the Whomping Willow imagining how simple it would be to just throw caution to the wind and give into her desire to escape from the school grounds. Hermione knew that she could sneak out any time she wanted. Six years of being best friends with Harry Potter on those very same school grounds taught her a number of tricks to avoid detection. If she considered all of the times she narrowly escaped capture during her year on the run, she could almost be considered an expert at running away. Leaving the safety of the Hogwarts wards was not difficult, but she was unsure what she really wanted to do.

Making good decisions was perhaps not something she was ready to excel at in those tense moments. She was feeling vulnerable and sad and very, very lonely. Living in the past was challenging at the best of times. Escaping her reality to spend another night alone with Igor was madness. Sheer, passionate, irrational madness. She grasped her discarded quill and on the same piece of parchment that they had written most of their notes, she penned another.

 _You're very confident. Just why do you suppose I'd risk expulsion so close to the end of the year for you?_

Once she could no longer see the speck in the night sky that was Rabastan's owl, Hermione made the decision to leave the Owlery. A walk around the grounds never failed to help her clear her mind. Maybe she could figure out just what she wanted to do. Possibly even discover why she was so angry with Antonin to begin with. It wasn't as if he had done anything wrong. Before she realized where she was going, she looked up to see the Whomping Willow in her line of sight. She was near the back of the greenhouses.

A tall figure rushed towards her from the direction of the castle. Instincts had her scrambling for her wand. She had it pointed in Antonin's face by the time she realized who he was. Undeterred by the piece of wood shoved in his direction, the young wizard reached for Hermione's arm. Initially she wanted to shrug him off. She was not sure how much more of his hot and cold attitude she could handle. It was hard to determine just which Antonin she was going to be in the company of at any given moment.

"Where have you been? I was watching for you in the Tower."

"I needed some time alone."

Antonin reach for her hand to make her stop walking away. She sighed, but did not pull it back. He waited until she was making contact with his deep brown eyes before speaking again.

"You don't repulse me."

"Thank you, Antonin. Just what every girl longs to hear."

She ripped her hand from his grasp, even more annoyed with him than she was earlier. No, he wasn't the most eloquent of wizards. He hardly spoke half the time, but did he have to utter such ridiculous sentiments? Hermione kept on walking. He had the benefit of long legs to catch up to her in mere moments.

"You scare the hell out of me."

His words shocked her enough to halt her steps. She turned around to face the wizard.

"Other girls have never frightened me like you do."

"Not really helping your case, Antonin."

"You're angry that I won't touch you like I've touched other girls. I'm sorry. You accused me earlier of acting like the idea of touching you was wholly repulsive. That couldn't be further from the truth."

Hermione knew that he was trying to make amends for their absurd arguments earlier in the day. Despite knowing that he was sincere and making himself more vulnerable in those moments than he had in their entire acquaintance, she was still frustrated. Antonin reached for her again. She did not shrug off his hands when he placed them on her upper arms and squeezed. His thumbs rubbed circles on the sleeves of her cashmere jumper.

"Honestly, I've wanted to touch you in a number of rather inappropriate ways since we met in your father's pub."

"Then why haven't you?"

"Because you mean more to me than just having a good time and getting off. You're special, Hermione. Obviously I've done a shit job of showing you how special."

His confession was a bit of a startling revelation. Hermione was most certainly conflicted. She _liked_ Antonin, but she did not love him. While she enjoyed talking to him and could debate any number of topics with him for hours, she still had her moments when she would look at him and could only see the man who cursed her when she was sixteen years old. Sometimes it was hard to get past. It was clear that his feelings for her ran a great deal deeper than her feelings.

"I just didn't want you to think I didn't respect you. I didn't want you to think that I didn't care about you."

Even in the dimness of the late hour, she could see his usually dark eyes grow even darker. Antonin closed every millimeter of open space between them. His lips crashed onto hers with none of the finesse she had come to expect from him in those rare moments he was distracted enough from his schoolbooks to pull her behind a statue. Alone behind the back greenhouses, he was all passion and fire. Without even waiting for the subtle permission she usually gave him, he deepened their kiss. The nervousness he usually displayed when he allowed his hands to move over her body was missing. More minutes than Hermione was capable of counting passed with their tongues exploring mouths and their hands traveling places they had never gone before.

Antonin abruptly broke the kiss to Hermione's sincere disappointment. She had been enjoying herself immensely up until that point. Her wizard gripped one of her wrists to place her hand directly on the erection straining the front of his trousers. A quiet gasp escaped her mouth when she realized what she was touching.

"Can you understand now that I'm far from _repulsed_ by you? I struggle with my self-control every time I am in the same room as you, krasivitsa."

"Maybe you should stop struggling so much."

His lips captured hers again. Only moments passed before they were back to the same level of heat they had just experienced. Even though they were in an area that rarely had any foot traffic, Antonin deftly maneuvered Hermione into the shelter of Professor Sprout's collection of large flowering vines. He pushed her back against the sturdy lattice fence the plants used to climb. The relative security of their hidden niche emboldened the young wizard to move his hands to parts of Hermione's body they had never touched.

She moaned when his warm hands slipped underneath the costly cashmere jumper she wasted her uncle's galleons on. Emboldened by the sound, Antonin did not stop until his thumbs were brushing her hardened nipples through the thin cotton of her bra. She shivered at the welcome sensations. He removed his mouth from hers long enough to stare back into her eyes, his dark brown eyes almost black. His breathing was ragged, but his hands steady. Her strangely confident wizard ravaged her mouth, grinding the length of his lean, muscular frame against hers. Up until that moment she had been somewhat unsure what to do with her own hands. Hermione touched the front of his trousers again, earning a deep groan in her mouth. She fumbled with the buttons at his waist.

Her hand was halfway inside his pants when an owl swooped over them to drop a letter straight on Hermione's head. Both young lovers were startled by the interruption. Realizing that she was not rushing to pick the fallen scroll off of the ground, the owl hooted. No doubt it expected a token of appreciation for the delivery. Antonin attempted to resume the kiss, but the continued hooting of the insistent bird grew frustrating.

"Bugger off!" The owl refused to leave no matter how close Antonin's hand got to almost knocking it off the perch it had found on top of the lattice. "Must want some kind of response."

Hermione slowly bent over to pick up the dropped scroll. It was the same parchment that she and Igor had used to exchange most of their messages that night. Holding it in Antonin's presence made her ill at ease and embarrassed. He took his attention off of the resolute owl to study her features. His eyes narrowed at her shaking hands.

"Must be important. It's late and the bloody bird won't leave."

Antonin clenched his jaw so tightly Hermione was certain it was painful. His anger from earlier was quickly returning. She attempted to shoo off Rabastan's owl, hoping that it would take its orders from her instead. The creature refused to leave even after she rubbed his feathers.

"Maybe he wants you to read the sodding letter," Antonin stated through clenched teeth.

Knowing that he was already suspicious and declining to open the missive in his presence would only make the tense situation worse, she unrolled the letter. She could feel her cheeks burning. Antonin stared at her every second she focused on Igor's words. There was enough light emanating from the greenhouses that she did not even need a lumos to decipher the text.

 _I have every right to be confident because I know that if you weren't interested, you would've told me to leave you alone already. Little boyfriend or not, Charodeyka, you still desire me. You long to feel my skin against your skin again. Our last encounter, though enjoyable, left a lot to be desired. I would much rather take the time to worship your body as it deserves to be worshipped without the smell of your father's charming goats lingering over the area._

 _Come to me, Charodeyka. Come to me and I will make you come for me all night long. There are so many ways I wish to pleasure you. So many ways I wish you to pleasure me. We would have no interruptions. You could scream as loud as you wished. No one will disturb us. I want to feel you panting underneath me, feel you bouncing above me, feel you shudder all around me. Thinking about you squeezing me while I am inside your glorious body makes my cock so hard I can hardly think straight._

 _I want you. I_ _need_ _you. Come to me._

 _(Your uncle is the headmaster. He won't expel you.)_

She tried to shove the parchment into her pocket, but Antonin grabbed it out of her hands. Horrified that he was holding the letter, Hermione tried to get it back. They struggled for several seconds until Antonin used his height to his advantage and held the parchment over his head. His fury was evident. As was hers.

"Give that back to me, Antonin."

"More love notes from your mysterious Igor, _charodeyka_?" He spat the last word out, his Russian accent thick in his anger.

"That letter is none of your business, Antonin. It's private."

Her attention was so entirely focused on the parchment he was holding above his head that she did not notice him point his wand at her feet. The hex he had used before to glue her feet to the ground began to work instantly. Hermione tried to move her feet. Recognizing that she was under the influence of a spell, her ire grew palpable. She tried to remove the spell, but was unsuccessful. A finite would not end it and she did not know the counter curse. A summoning spell on the parchment would not work either because Antonin was holding it too tightly.

Antonin's face only grew redder with his frustration and anger the longer he read the letter. By the time he was finished, he is more furious than Hermione had ever seen him before. He wadded up the note and threw it in her face. Their eyes met and in his eyes she saw the same anger she once saw when he cursed her in the Department of Mysteries. She felt frightened of him for the first time in months. Worried what he might do, she tried to back up and almost fell over when she remembered her feet were still stuck.

"So how were you planning on sneaking out of the castle, clever girl?"

"Antonin, stop."

"Is that where you were headed when I caught you? Off to the Three Broomsticks to have him lavish your glorious slit until you came apart on his tongue?"

She was beyond simply mortified and Antonin was only growing angrier every second that passed.

"Antonin, stop."

"Apparently he makes you scream like no one else ever had. Maybe it would do you some good, especially since your pathetic boyfriend is so unsatisfying."

"Antonin!"

"You have quite the effect on him. He can't even think straight because imagining being back inside of you makes…"

Hermione silenced him before he could finish his sentence. She could not bear it if he recited any more of Igor's words. It was simply too humiliating. His eyes widened the second he realized he could no longer speak. Just when she thought she had never seen him angrier, he became even more so. Even when he was facing her at the Department of Mysteries right before he almost killed her he had seemed more confused than angry. It was only when she silenced him that he proved willing to attack her with deadly force. Antonin seemed murderous. One step closer to her with his hand outstretched made her flinch. He stopped himself before he actually touched her, clenching his hands into fists and struggling to keep his breathing steady.

"I will _not_ allow you or anyone else to jinx my feet frozen to the ground and then scream at me. If you want to talk like rational adults, release the spell and I'll remove the silencing spell."

After several long, uncomfortable seconds where it was clear he was debating with himself whether or not he should release the spell, Antonin waved his wand and cast the nonverbal counter curse. Though Hermione could tell that he had not calmed down in the slightest, she removed the silencing spell. It was only fair, after all. Instantly he began shouting again.

"I told you to never silence me again!"

"And I told _you_ to never freeze me again! Looks like we both failed to follow through on our promises."

"Looks like it. When you told me you wanted other witches to leave me alone, I didn't realize I had to specifically tell you that I wanted other wizards to leave you alone too."

"He wrote _me_."

"And just as he said, if you weren't interested you would have told him to leave you alone. You _encouraged_ him."

Hermione's stomach dropped at his words. As much as she might wish to, she could not deny the truth. It was nice to feel wanted and desired after her argument. She had forgotten how that felt. Yes, it was very inappropriate and unfair to Antonin. There was no excuse. She could not blame him one bit for being upset.

"I'm sorry, Antonin."

"Is that all you have to say? 'Sorry'?"

"Antonin…"

"No, just stop, Hermione. You need never worry about my feelings ever again. Go run off and have your _visit_ with your wizard. Just don't expect me to still be waiting when he decides he wants nothing more than a good fuck… again."

Her hand slapped across his cheek almost of its own accord. Certainly she had not planned to physically harm him in any way. As soon as the resounding echo of the slap assaulted her ears, Hermione took off running as fast as she could away from the incensed wizard. Without looking back once, she ran towards the Whomping Willow. She was unaware if Antonin followed her and truthfully did not care. A simple spell charmed a stick to float to the base of the tree and press the knot. Once the willow was frozen, she climbed into the secret tunnel that led to the Shrieking Shack.

She cried the entire journey down the tunnel. Approaching the creepy confines of the ramshackle interior of the purported haunted structure did not calm her emotions down any further. While she had never been there alone, she was too upset to be scared. Finding the loose board that she watched Antonin and Thomas reattach to the cellar window was not difficult. A simple spell pried it open and she discovered it was much easier to climb out the window when she wasn't completely pissed.

Her tears had not subsided as she charmed the board back over the window. Several cleansing spells were required to get the dirt off of her clothes and skin before she felt confident enough to continue on towards the village. Every step that brought Hermione closer to The Three Broomsticks made her anxiety increase. It seemed that each footstep clicking on the pavement was shouting at her, "Go back", "Don't do this", "You're too upset to think rationally" and about a thousand other variations of phrases designed to make her rethink her decision. She stormed away from Antonin in a fit of anger. Yes, he _told_ her to go. Threw the parchment in her face and said she never had to worry about his feelings or opinions again.

She had never had a relationship end in such a spectacular fashion before. It caused a maelstrom of disturbing emotions within her gut. Though she knew rejection, knew it all too well unfortunately, she had never been dumped. Distance and the age difference eventually ended her budding romance with Viktor. She and Cormac had both been of the mutual opinion that they needed to stop groping each other in the corridors. And with Ron, she was thrown back in time twenty-eight years. _Technically_ , they were still together as they had never had the breakup talk, but she could not be expected to actually still consider a child that had not even been born her boyfriend.

Maybe she was still in shock. Antonin had been angry enough that she was actually frightened of him. Perhaps it was best that they cut ties before he did something else to terrify her. Though she was not fully convinced that she was making the right decision, she did begin to calm slightly. The anxiety she was experiencing was not likely to go away any time soon, but at least she was no longer afraid she would have to stop along the pathway to the village to vomit.

Wednesdays nights in the middle of April were quiet nights for the pub. Very few patrons were inside when she pushed opened the front door. Hermione was concerned that she would be recognized. No one paid her any mind as she rushed up the stairs to the guest rooms before she could talk herself out of her rash actions.

She stood in front of Room Number Two for several long moments taking deep breaths to steady her pounding heartbeat. With the hammering of her heart still deafening in her ears, she knocked softly on the door. The seconds that passed before it was opened were agonizing. She felt like such a fool about to make a terrible mistake. A confident smirk was plastered across Igor's handsome features when he finally made his appearance. His shirt was mostly unbuttoned and he was barefoot. Hermione thought that he looked decadently ruffled, like one of the men on the front of the awful smutty novels her mother used to buy when she thought no one was looking.

Igor took her hand in his to pull her inside the room. Not a single word was spoken as he shut the door and waved his wand to apply the necessary silencing charms they were both familiar with. He drew the apprehensive witch into his arms to kiss her for the first time. Still no word had passed between the former lovers. Every move of his lips against Hermione's felt familiar and even a bit comfortable. She allowed him to lead her towards the bed, removing her book bag and her jumper as they went.

Hermione allowed herself to be yanked down onto the bed with the older wizard. He rolled them in one swift motion so that she was on her back with him hovering above. Igor did not confine his attention just to her lips. His mouth travelled down her neck and then down to her chest. She hated that she was thinking about Antonin the entire time another man was touching her, but she had no control over where her brain voyaged. Igor's hand brushed against her breast, a movement so reminiscent of what she had earlier experienced with Antonin that her entire body tensed involuntarily when his attentions grew more ardent. Silent tears rolled down her cheeks. Igor was a perceptive man. He understood when his partner was no longer as invested.

"Oh, no no, Charodeyka. Don't cry."

His gentle, soft pleas only made Hermione cry harder. He moved both of his hands up to her face to tenderly brush her tears away. Igor kissed her forehead. When it was clear that she was not about to stop crying any time soon, Igor lay on his back to wrap his arm around the witch. In one careful motion he had her laying her head in the crook of his shoulder, snuggled up against the length of his body.

"What's wrong?" His tone revealed the extent of his great concern for the young witch.

"Horrible night. I'm sorry. I should go."

Hermione attempted to leave the comfort of the wizard's arms, but he would not let her. Igor gently pulled her closer.

"You're not going anywhere until you're calmer. I won't let you."

"This was a bad idea."

"Nothing is going to happen if you don't want it to, Hermione. I'm not a monster."

She closed her eyes and sighed. Igor kissed the top of her head.

"Did something happen?"

"My boyfriend found the notes we were sending each other."

"Fuck."

The single crass word coming out of his mouth made Hermione chuckle. She was not sure why she was able to find humor in such an awful event, but she decided it was better than crying. Igor laughed too. For at least a minute they simply snickered at the absurdity of the situation they found themselves in.

"I imagine his reactions were less than enthusiastic?"

Hermione snorted.

"At one point I was afraid he was going to curse me or hit me."

Her confession made every muscle in the wizard's body tense.

"He didn't hurt you, did he?"

"Not physically. He will probably never speak to me again, but no, I'm all right."

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have sent you the first letter. I have been thinking about you a lot lately. It was inappropriate."

" _Extremely_ inappropriate, but eloquently written."

Igor's loud laughter did not fail to put another smile on Hermione's face.

"My mother always made sure that my grasp of the English language was excellent. Lots of tutors, summers with my grandparents in Hampshire, entire weeks where Russian was not allowed to be spoken in the house."

"I'm certain your mum would be very proud of how well-written your filthy note was."

They both continued to laugh. Gradually, Hermione was feeling much calmer. At the very least the tears stopped.

"Did you really think you were being charming? Do other witches actually fall for the 'It was a rash decision and I was only thinking of you' bollocks?"

Igor had the sense to appear embarrassed for about three seconds before he burst out in yet another round of laughter. Hermione could not help but join in.

"Looks like it worked on you. Can't be completely hopeless then."

"You're terrible. Feed that tripe to someone who will actually bite. I'm here because I was emotional and sad and I've just been broken up with."

"So I'm what? The wizard you were just going to use to fulfill your base desires?"

"Have you never heard that the best way to get over a bloke is to get under another?"

She had heard that particular brand of advice from the girls in her Gryffindor dormitory. Parvati and Lavender were always full of lovely gems.

"Charming," chortled Igor.

"You don't strike me as the type to be interested in a serious relationship anyway."

"Maybe one day if I met the right witch."

"And we both know that's not me."

Igor ran his hands through her curls and kissed her forehead again. He could be very tender when he wished to be.

"You are amazing, Charodeyka. I truly do think about you more often than I should, but I'm not your future. We both know that."

"I'm not upset, Igor. I know. I've never imagined we were more than two people who have incredible physical chemistry. If we tried to exist outside of the bedroom…"

"Or the goat pen."

"We would never work."

Hermione sighed and closed her eyes. She was not exactly sad about the fact that there would be no future with Igor. Even without the benefit of a time traveler's knowledge she knew that he was not the kind of man she wanted to ally herself with for the long-term. He was too impulsive, too arrogant. They would never be anything more than friends who occasionally allowed their primal urges to take over their better judgment. Igor ran his long fingers up and down Hermione's side. He softly kissed her lips.

"Since you're already here."

"You are such a pig."

He did not deny her words and she did not stop him when he kissed her again. Neither one of them were in a rush to further their actions beyond simply kissing. The underlying passion that always existed between them was just beginning to influence them both when a loud knock at the door startled them. Igor removed the silencing spell coating the room just long enough to shout at whoever was on the other side of the door that he did not need anything. There was a subsequent knock even louder than the previous. Annoyed, Igor jumped off the bed to rip the door open.

"I believe you have my niece inside your room. I would very much like to speak with her."

Hermione scrambled off of the bed when the familiar sound of Albus Dumbledore's voice reached her ears. What was he doing there? Did someone from the pub notice her arrival and send a message up to the castle? Was her absence discovered when she did not return to the Ravenclaw Tower for the night? Her uncle sounded so calm. Very little ever seemed to ruffle the renowned wizard. Igor's body standing in the doorway of the room blocked all view within. She rushed around the room, pulling her jumper back on and attempting to readjust the rest of her clothing to appear less rumpled.

"I don't believe I've had the pleasure of meeting you before," Albus continued.

He extended his hand to Igor in a gesture of polite goodwill. Igor grasped it.

"Igor Karkaroff."

"Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Karkaroff. Hermione, dear, are you decent?"

She wished she could melt into a small enough puddle to hide under the bed. Her cheeks were burning with mortification. When her uncle carefully pushed past the wizard standing sentry at the door, Hermione wanted to run away.

"It is past curfew on a Wednesday night. Sneaking off school grounds is a very serious infraction."

Though she knew her uncle was right and she had broken countless school rules by running off to the village without permission, Hermione was not worried. During her time at Hogwarts as a Gryffindor she had done much worse and actually earned points for her House. If he could show such blatant favoritism to members of his House, how much more would he show for members of his own family?

"I'm here to escort you back to the castle. We will discuss your punishment on the way."

Before she followed her uncle out of the door of the room, Hermione stood up on her tiptoes to kiss Igor's cheek. He seemed every bit as embarrassed as she was to have been caught. She picked her discarded book bag off of the floor. With one last look at the wizard over her shoulder, Hermione followed her uncle out of the pub.

They were halfway to the castle and well out of the sleepy village of Hogsmeade before a single word was spoken. Hermione was certainly not going to be the first person to break the silence. She still felt a great deal of discomfort being in her uncle's presence even in the relative safety of their innocuous bi-weekly teas.

"Wandering alone at night is very dangerous, Hermione," Professor Dumbledore stated when they were in the midst of the thickest part of the woods the pathway to the castle passed through. "Hogsmeade residents have been complaining of an increase in werewolf activity in this area for the past couple of years. One dangerous Alpha in particular likes to roam this area."

"Greyback," she muttered though not quietly enough.

"You are aware of him I take it?"

"We've met."

Albus' eyes grew wide at her admission. He stopped in his tracks to focus his full attention on the witch. Hermione shuffled uneasily under his intense gaze. She had grown used to putting up her Occlumency shields every time she was in Albus' presence, but she was still learning. There would have been plenty of opportunities for the shields to fail if he pushed her too hard.

" _Where_ did you meet?" he asked, his characteristic unruffled demeanor slipping ever so slightly.

"The first time we met was just outside of the village. I was taking a walk with Igor this past summer."

"The _first_ time? How many times have you met him?"

Obviously she could not admit to the times she met him in the future. The night at Malfoy Manor was forever imprinted in her memory. She still had nightmares of the werewolf grabbing her and keeping his paws on her until he handed her over to Bellatrix. The words he whispered to her after she was promised to him were enough to make her blood pressure rise and her heart to pound in her chest. Just knowing he was nearby escalated her fear to embarrassingly high levels. She knew he found her fear intoxicating. He told her so once in the future and once again in the past.

"Only one other time," she lied. "I was feeding Dad's goats just before school started. They were agitated. When I looked up he was standing on the other side of the fence staring at me."

She wasn't sure what prompted her to provide additional information to the wizard she trusted about as much as she trusted Lord Voldemort. Maybe a small part of her was thankful to finally have someone she could tell the truth to. Aberforth would get all defensive and overprotective. He would not rest until he hunted down the werewolf, likely getting himself killed in the process. No, she resolved to never tell her father anything about the monster that unnerved her so.

"He told me that he was sent by a _friend_ to keep an eye on me."

"Did he tell you who the friend was?"

"No, but I assume he meant Lord Voldemort."

"Why would Tom Riddle have any interest in keeping an eye on you?"

Hermione was not sure how to answer his question. Truthfully, she was not entirely sure what his interest in her was either. Maybe he was concerned she was an ally of her uncle's and therefore a potential threat. Perhaps he considered her an attractive recruit to his cause. It was also likely that his interest was for an entirely different reason that she had no knowledge of yet. Certainly he seemed like the kind of wizard who would make his desires known when he was ready.

"I'm not sure," she answered.

"Has he tried to recruit you?"

"Recruit me for what? All I know about the man is he has a number of supporters who believe he has a future in politics and that he knows his way around the dancefloor."

Albus seemed to relax after her answer. At least he no longer seemed as on edge as he had just moments earlier.

"Please be careful, Hermione. Tom is a dangerous man. I fear that he will be the start of a difficult time in our country very soon. Already there have been _incidents_. Fenrir Greyback is also very dangerous. Have you told Aberforth about him approaching you?"

"No, I haven't. I did not want to worry him. I'm afraid of what he might do."

"That is certainly understandable. I will keep your counsel as well. Ab is impetuous."

The awkward silence fell between them again as they resumed their walk towards the castle. Hermione had only seen actual fear in Albus Dumbledore's countenance a few times in the past. He seemed legitimately concerned for her welfare in regards to Greyback. She found the knowledge a tiny bit heartening. She still did not trust him. That would likely never change no matter how many pretty words he spun for her benefit.

"I cannot ignore the fact that you snuck out of the castle grounds, Hermione," he stated when the gates were within sight. "I'm removing fifty points from Ravenclaw and you will have three weeks of detentions with Hagrid. Every night after dinner you will report immediately to his hut to assist him."

"Yes, sir."

It was a relatively minor punishment as far as punishments went. Hermione knew it could have been much worse. Though she was not convinced that her uncle would expel her, she could have been punished more severely. They walked the rest of the way to the castle in silence. The time by that point was well after midnight. Most of the inhabitants of the castle were likely already asleep.

"Have a good night, Hermione."

"Thank you, Uncle Albus. I'm very sorry."

"You are young. Mistakes are to be expected. If you try to sneak out again, however, I will not hesitate to expel you from the school."

She did not see anyone on the way to the Ravenclaw Tower for which she was grateful. It had been a long night. A hot shower and then bed sounded heavenly. The eagle knocker was satisfied with her answer to its riddle enough to open. All of her housemates were in their dormitories. Except for one. She rolled her eyes and tried to rush past him to the staircase leading to the girls' rooms.

"Did your uncle find you?"

Antonin's soft spoken inquiry halted her steps. She spun around in place to glare at the wizard.

" _You_ told him where I was?"

His reluctance to meet her eyes was all the confirmation she needed.

"He could have expelled me!"

"He wasn't going to expel you," he argued. "Even _Igor_ agreed with me on that. You what? Lost us points? Have detention?"

"Were you that angry that you had to report me to my uncle?"

"I didn't want you to do something you would regret."

Her bitter laugh made the wizard flinch, but she did not care. He had no right to be upset with her after the horrible manner he treated her earlier in the evening.

"Too late. I've already done something I regret," she spat. "Happened just a few minutes after midnight at New Year's."

Without waiting for a response, she ran as fast as she could up to the safety of her dormitory.

* * *

June 19, 1998

 **11:00 am**

The instincts that Kingsley had honed over his many years as an auror encouraged him to hex Dolohov first and ask questions later. Seeing his nephew standing in front of the man, a veritable human shield with a weapon pointed at his throat, was all that kept him from striking. No matter what his personal feelings about Antonin Dolohov were, he had to concede that he was a powerful wizard. Always had been.

"Let him go, Dolohov!" Kingsley shouted, afraid of what he was going to do next. The man had always been unpredictable. Years in Azkaban and years of service under his Dark Lord had made him even more volatile.

"I would die before I hurt him. And considering you're a brash Gryffindor with a strong sense of family, so would you. That's why I figure if we keep him between us, you won't be tempted to kill me and I won't be tempted to kill you."

Kingsley could not argue that the man had a point. Tommy always used to say that when a person earned Antonin's loyalty and trust, they had it for the rest of the man's life. Though he hated the man with every single fiber of his being, he could see the truth in the statement. He had been a witness to the moment Dolohov learned that Tommy was dead. Had actually been the one to deliver the bad news when he confronted the wizard accusing him of being complicit in his murder. Just as his granny said earlier that morning, Dolohov truly had gone mad with his grief. Coupled with Hermione's disappearance only days before, Tommy's murder had been a devastating shock. Somehow Kingsley knew that he would not hurt Dean for anything.

"Godfather?" Dean asked, his voice shaky and soft.

"Did no one ever tell you I was your father's best mate?"

"No, no one has ever told me anything about my father."

Dolohov's deep brown eyes met Kingsley's own with an expression of confusion and dismay.

"How does he not know anything about Tommy?" he demanded.

"I only just found out Tommy had a son _this_ morning, Dolohov," Kingsley answered, surprising himself with his candor. "Dad and Granny kept him a secret from me for years."

"Did Hermione never tell you?"

Dean's eyes snapped to Kingsley's at the mention of the witch's name. His confusion was evident, but neither of the older wizards was in a hurry to clear it up.

"No, she never told me about Dean. Never told me I had a nephew. Apparently there were even more secrets she kept from me than I was aware of."

He hated how bitter he sounded. How bitter he _felt_. Eighteen years had come and gone since that horrible Christmas season when his life had irrevocably changed in so many awful ways. Would he ever truly get over those losses? Or would he always be the shell of the man he once was, doomed to wander the earth lamenting the loss of his best mates, his older brother and the woman he loved? If she came back to him, would some of the bitterness loosen its grip? He desperately hoped so.

"The girl," Antonin began. "The Granger girl… is she… is she _her_ daughter?"

Kingsley narrowed his eyes at the wizard, trying to decipher what he was _really_ trying to say. Did he have a reason to be more interested than he was aware?

"When I first saw her in the Ministry, I thought I was hallucinating. My mind still had not… Azkaban was… I thought I had lost my fucking mind when I saw her. And then she silenced me! She used to do that to me every time we had an argument. Fucking infuriating! I lashed out. Hit her with a spell I'd created."

"You almost fucking killed her!" barked Dean. "I saw her in the hospital ward after they came back. We all thought she was going to die."

Dolohov was chastened by his godson's outburst. His wand fell to his side, his eyes dropped to the ground. Every muscle in his body seemed to sag under the substantial burden of his conscience.

"When I was back in Azkaban I worried about her. Whoever she really was. Lots of time to think in prison. She was the right age. No one ever found Hermione's body. I clung to the hope that she just ran away because she was pregnant with my child and didn't want anyone to know. Especially _you_."

Kingsley's gut clenched. He had always suspected. Always worried that five months before her disappearance she had run off in the middle of the night to seek Dolohov's comfort after he had thrown her out of their house. They had had the worst argument of their entire relationship. He would always regret that night regardless of the fact that less than a month later they were trying again to make their relationship work. Passion did not simply exist in the bedroom.

"Is she my daughter? Is Hermione still alive?"


	23. Chapter 23

Chapter Twenty Three

April 19, 1972

 **7:35 am**

Leaving the safety and security of her four poster bed the morning after her excruciating row with Antonin was not an option Hermione wished to contemplate. She did not want to get out from under her deep blue comforter to face the rest of the school. She would almost rather endure an entire evening of dancing with Lord Voldemort to being forced to interact with any of her fellow Ravenclaws. They were going to be upset when they saw fifty fewer sapphires in their hourglass, especially considering how close the race for the House Cup was that year. She waited until all of her roommates left before setting her feet on the floor. Only the realization that skiving off of all her classes that day would result in more lost points and more detentions got her moving. She honestly did not want the entire Ravenclaw House to hate her.

Hermione dressed slowly, hardly even caring how dreadful her hair must have looked after she fell asleep with it still wet. Pulling it away from her face made her almost presentable if she ignored all of the loose frizzled tendrils of hair. The dark circles under her eyes from the lack of sleep the night before were just going to have to remain. She did not even possess enough bother to care about beauty charms. Once her body was properly covered with wrinkled clothing, she picked up her book bag and headed out the door.

The common room was almost empty. There was no sign of Antonin to her intense relief. She had not had enough sleep for an altercation of the epic proportions she expected. The end of the school year could not come fast enough to suit Hermione.

When she entered the boisterous Great Hall for breakfast her eyes immediately met Antonin's. He was seated in his customary seat across from Thomas, the spot next to him on the bench empty. Antonin dropped his eyes back to his plate. Thomas was staring in her direction with a very unhappy expression marring his handsome features. Instead of sitting in her usual place where she already did not feel welcome, Hermione sat down at the end of the table closest to the doors. The moment she choked down the half a piece of toast she could stomach, she escaped to the grounds.

Herbology was the first class of the day. She hurried down to the greenhouses before anyone could catch up to her. When she entered the space set aside for classes, she tried to ignore how close she was to the hidden nook where she and Antonin almost… well, where they had their argument at least. Professor Sprout was already there setting up her pots in the front. She smiled encouragingly to her student before returning her full attention back to her task.

Thomas entered the greenhouse next. He crossed the expanse of the glass-walled room straight to Hermione. She was nervous that he was going to be furious. Antonin was his best friend. He had a loyalty to the wizard. Instead of being angry, it was clear Thomas was simply sad.

"Want to tell me what happened last night?"

"No, I'm sure you've already gotten the detailed version from Antonin."

He sighed.

"Yes, we had a long talk last night."

"Then why are you talking to me? I'm the traitorous slag who can't control my biological impulses!"

Her friend seemed very confused by her outburst if his wide eyes were any indication.

"Hermione, what are you talking about?"

"Don't act like you don't know what I'm talking about, Thomas. I'm sure Antonin told you all about the letters I was exchanging last night with my ex. How he read them and threw them in my face before he broke up with me. And then he reported me to my uncle, telling him I'd snuck off school grounds to go meet Igor at the Three Broomsticks. I'm sure he couldn't wait to tell you.'

"Actually," came Antonin's tense voice behind her. "I didn't tell him any of that."

She could feel tears of humiliation burn the corners of her eyes. Thomas' eyes were still quite wide as he alternated looking at Hermione and a furious Antonin. The rest of the Advanced Herbology students began to file into the greenhouses. Spotting Ted standing at a table in the back by himself, Hermione practically ran away from the other Ravenclaws.

"Are you all right, Mi?" Ted asked when she slammed her textbook down.

The concern in his voice threatened to overwhelm her senses. She sniffed, afraid that she was about to mortify herself by crying in front of everyone. She did not want to give Antonin the satisfaction of knowing he was the reason she was so emotional. Ted put a supportive arm around her shoulders.

"What's wrong?"

"Antonin broke up with me last night."

Ted tightened his grip on her shoulder and glared at Antonin's back.

"That son of a…"

"No, it's not his fault. It's all mine. I'm the one that mucked it all up."

Her favorite Hufflepuff kissed the top of her head and gently squeezed her shoulders again one last time. She felt a bit calmer knowing that she had at least one ally in that whole mess. Focusing on Herbology was difficult, but Hermione was determined that a bit of teenage emotional drama was not going to prevent her from making all Os on her NEWTs.

The second they were dismissed from Professor Sprout's class, Hermione dashed out of the greenhouse. Ted attempted to catch up with her, but even with his long legs he was unable to close the distance afforded by her head start. She spent the short period of time between the end of Herbology and the beginning of Potions hiding in a girls' lavatory. It was cowardly. She knew it was not the action of a Gryffindor even if she was only one in another lifetime.

Normally she shared a table with Antonin and Thomas during Potions. From the beginning of the year when Thomas dragged her to the same area of the classroom to sit next to his shy mate, they worked together well as a team. Antonin and Thomas were already unpacking their school bags when she entered the dungeon classroom. Hermione did not hesitate to slip into the vacant chair next to Andromeda.

"I wondered if there was something wrong when I saw you eating breakfast by yourself," Andromeda whispered. "Want to talk about it?"

"Not right now."

Potions felt like it would never end. Despite her potion coming out just like the book described it, Hermione's mind was elsewhere. Andromeda was serious in class. It was only once they were free from Slughorn's watchful eye that she spoke again. Taking Hermione's hand in hers, she pulled her out into the dungeon corridor.

"You're eating with the vipers today," Andromeda declared without giving Hermione an option to say 'no'.

Only minutes later Andromeda pushed her down on the Slytherin bench next to Rabastan. She crawled over the top of the bench to sit on Hermione's other side, effectively blocking her in to prevent any escapes. The Vipers, as Ted always referred to member of his least favorite House, were usually quite friendly with Hermione. Being a Lestrange was not something that was taken lightly in their society.

Despite being welcome to share a meal with the Slytherins, Hermione still felt uneasy at their table. She felt as if she did not belong. Ludo Bagman sat down directly across from her and winked. The Quidditch star was always overly confident around witches. When she turned away from his cocky grin, she noticed Maxwell Bole sitting at least five people away from Andromeda. She imagined constantly being around her former fiancé had to be awkward. Once again she was thankful she had enough spirit and self-confidence to tell Uncle Regnault where he could shove all potential marriage contracts.

"You unhappy with your own House today, 'Mione?" Rabastan asked.

Instead of answering his question, she simply sighed. She did not want to be the focus of so much attention but up and down both sides of the Slytherin table she could see interested parties staring. Andromeda gave Rabastan a sharp look that he could not interpret.

"Still having problems with Antonin?"

Hermione shoved a mouthful of bread in her face to keep from answering her cousin's additional question. Rabastan was annoyed. She could not be sure if it was her reluctance to speak or because it was all too obvious that Antonin was involved.

"Just say the word, cousin, and I'll hex him. If he hurt you in any way it's my duty to exact retribution."

His impassioned soliloquy only elicited an eye roll from Hermione. He was entirely too dramatic and self-important when it came to matters of family honor. Imagining him slapping Antonin with his glove and demanding satisfaction made her chuckle. Rabastan seemed encouraged by her response.

"Antonin's too serious," Ludo declared. "We're not old men yet."

"And not everyone wants to hear constant prattle about Quidditch either, Ludovic," retorted Andromeda.

Ludo winked again at Hermione.

"What is it they say, Dumbledore? The best way to get over someone is to get _under_ someone else?"

Most of the male Slytherins within earshot of their popular Beater snickered. Rabastan's jaw was clenched so tightly his grinding teeth could be heard. Hermione tried not to focus on the sudden stomach pain she was feeling thinking about saying almost the exact same words to Igor the night before. Determined not to make it obvious that she was upset, she rolled her eyes again. A thrown piece of bread to Ludo's face from Andromeda set them all laughing.

"Well, I will be happy to offer my services if they are ever required."

"Thank you, Bagman. I will keep that in mind."

Ludo winked one final time before returning to his meal. Hermione and Andromeda exchanged matching exasperated expressions. Lunch passed quickly to Hermione's disappointment. Her only afternoon class was the one she had been dreading all day.

Ancient Runes was the only class she could not switch desks. Seats were assigned in alphabetical order by last name. Dolohov and Dumbledore were sadly right next to each other. Hermione as determined yet again that day that she would not allow what was happening between the two of them affect her grades. The entire lesson was tense. Both were visibly relieved when it was over.

Hermione hid in the library until after dinner already started. The private study room would likely never be an option for her following her accidental peep show the night before. Thinking about Kingsley in such an intimate and passionate moment made her cheeks burn. No, the study tables out in the open in front of Madam Pince were good enough for her. They were much safer.

Twenty minutes after the evening meal began Rabastan entered the library looking for his wayward cousin. He was obviously concerned. The knowledge that he cared warmed Hermione's heart. Maybe there was hope for him after all.

"Come to dinner," he pleaded. "You can sit with me again. I'll hex Ludo if he's inappropriate again."

"I'm not hungry," she insisted. "I have a potions essay I was going to finish instead."

A few minutes of whining and wheedling from Rabastan forced a reluctant Hermione out of her sanctuary. Only a few steps away from the library her stomach began to growl loudly. Rabastan scoffed at the first noise and chuckled at the rest.

"Not hungry, my arse. You are a terrible liar, Hermione."

She did not argue though she knew it was not the truth. Lies slipped out of her mouth with every exhale. To maintain her identity, and by extension, her safety in the past, she had to lie constantly. It was a heavy burden that her slim shoulders did not always feel equal to.

"You picked at your lunch and you didn't stay long enough for breakfast to eat anything substantial."

"You watched me eat?"

"I always pay attention to you, Hermione. We're family."

The sudden influx of emotions she felt at his admission surprised the young witch. Rabastan really was being very sweet.

"I was too young to really remember my mum, but I know it makes me sad that I don't have mine anymore. I can only imagine how hard it was for you to lose your mum and then move here. This year must have been very difficult for you."

"Yes, it has been."

Large tears rolled down her cheeks. If Rabastan only knew what he was saying. She had been in constant fear and sadness for years. Even in the relative safety of a world that had not yet been thrown into the worst part of the first war, she was constantly afraid that her secret would be discovered. What would happen to her if she was found to be a time traveler with knowledge of the future that could change the course of their world? It could be very, very bad.

"I would've looked after you even if Father and Roddy hadn't asked me to."

"Thank you, Rabastan."

"One word from you and Dolohov's nothing but a puddle."

His wink made her laugh, her sadness temporarily forgotten. The cousins entered the Great Hall together. Hermione made a conscious effort to not look towards the Ravenclaw table, but she could swear that she could feel Antonin's eyes on her. He had always had an intense gaze. She focused instead on the other tables in the Hall. Once she was comfortably seated on the bench between Rabastan and Andromeda again, she looked up to see Kingsley at the Gryffindor table. He narrowed his eyes slightly and tilted his head an inch, his confusion and concern evident. She gave him a half-smile and dropped her eyes to the food laid out in front of her plate.

Dinner was a pleasant meal even if she was under the watchful eyes of both Andromeda and Rabastan. She would not have been surprised to hear that the fellow Slytherins discussed her eating habits that day before Rabastan tracked her down to the library. Instead of Ludo, Walden Macnair sat across the table from her for the evening meal. He was a quiet wizard who had only said a few words to Hermione in the months they had known each other. As soon as she was finished, she rose from the table.

"Are you going back to the library to hide?" Andromeda asked.

"No, I've got detention with Hagrid."

"What is Salazar's name did you do?" Rabastan queried, his face scrunched up in confusion.

Hermione shrugged her shoulders.

"Snuck out of the castle last night to go down to the village. Lost fifty points and I have detention for three weeks."

She walked away from the table without giving any further explanation. No doubt both Andromeda and Rabastan were extremely curious. Part of her was surprised neither of them followed her outside. The sun was setting and it was starting to get dark. She was not worried about walking alone to Hagrid's hut. It was a path she had taken dozens, maybe hundreds of times already in her life. It was a soothing and calming journey. With each step she could almost feel her tension and stress lessen.

The Keeper of the Keys was waiting for her patiently at his hut. Though they had not spent nearly as much time together in the seventies as they would in the nineties, Hagrid was always friendly when he crossed her path. Curious to know what her detention would entail, Hermione did not waste time on polite small talk.

"Harvesting mushrooms in the Forbidden Forest for Professor Slughorn," he explained.

Hermione groaned at the knowledge that she would once again be making her way into the Forest. She would have been more than happy to never have to go back there again following all of the events of her Fifth year. Visiting a giant and running from a herd of centaurs was enough to scar her for the rest of her life.

"Just waiting on one more to join you," he continued.

She wondered what other student would be forced to go out into the frightening area with her as a punishment. As if he could read her mind, Kingsley appeared in front of the gamekeeper's hut moments later. While Hermione was certainly not surprised to see the Gryffindor in trouble for something he had done, Kingsley's expression of shock proved that he was surprised by her detention. Before either of them could say anything, Hagrid handed them both large wooden buckets. They had to practically jog to keep up with the half-giant's footsteps into the thick of the trees.

A fifteen minute walk later brought them to a dark clump of trees. Hundreds of glowing green mushrooms littered the forest carpet. Hagrid explained that he would be patrolling the area around them to keep any unsavory wildlife from interfering with their harvesting. Once they each filled their buckets they would be free to head back to the castle. Hermione knelt down on the forest floor to begin silently harvesting. Kingsley followed her example. Both understood that the faster they worked, the sooner they could go back inside. Neither of the two delinquents spoke for a long time. It was tedious work pulling the mushrooms up from the ground. While unlike many of the plants they were used to in Herbology, these did not struggle or protest being picked, but it certainly felt like their wooden buckets had an undetectable extension charm. After almost an hour of silent harvesting, they both stopped at the same time to stretch their tired and strained backs.

"I didn't know the Headmaster's niece even _could_ get detention," Kingsley stated.

"Afraid so," Hermione answered with a snort. "Three weeks."

"Wow, that's pretty steep. I only have a week. What did you do?"

"Snuck down to the village. Got caught. You?"

Kingsley smirked but even in the darkness Hermione could tell he was embarrassed. Usually overly confident in her presence, he would not make eye contact with her as he explained his crime.

"Uhh, Amelia and I got caught last night when the door was left open."

"Good. That was very shocking and inappropriate. You're lucky you didn't get expelled."

"You could have shut the door behind you when you left."

"You could have kept your trousers zipped!"

They both went back to harvesting the glowing mushrooms again for several more minutes in complete silence. Only the sound of the mushrooms hitting the sides of the insides of their buckets disrupted the peace. Finally, Hermione's curiosity got the better of her. While still picking the mushrooms, she spoke again.

"Why did you use _that_ study room?"

Kingsley was embarrassed and hesitant to answer. All of his attention remained on the task at hand. There really was no need for his explanation. She understood. He _wanted_ her to see him. Knew where she liked to study. Hermione sighed.

"I see."

"Why were you sitting with the Slytherins today?"

His attempt at deflection from his own embarrassment only served to increase her discomfort. Hermione did not want to answer. She knew how much Kingsley hated Antonin. Knowing that they were broken up would only make him happy. She certainly did not want him to dump Amelia if he thought he might now have a chance with her on the rebound.

"Antonin is angry with me. I didn't want to sit with him."

Kingsley smirked until she glared at him. They returned to harvesting mushrooms in silence. Both of their buckets were almost completely filled before their conversation resumed.

"Did he do something stupid like break up with you?"

Hermione refused to answer. All of her attention was focused on harvesting the rest of her mushrooms. Kingsley began to get annoyed.

"He's an idiot. If you were mine, little witch, I would never let you go."

A promise hung in the air with his zealously uttered words. It was all a bit awkward. Hermione thought about all of the trouble he was going to go to in the future to get her sent back in time. It was all overwhelming. She knew there would come a time when Kingsley was very much in love with her. The knowledge was a bit disconcerting. Hermione was certain that she was going to disappoint him eventually. She was flawed and so many years would pass for him where she would be gone that he might think her perfect or idealize her in some way. If she was ever to return to the future, would he be disappointed in who she actually was?

She did not feel like herself. Wasn't even sure who she was anymore. Almost a year in the past and she still felt lost. She was constantly worrying that she was screwing up at every turn. The previous night only confirmed she did not know what the hell she was doing.

They finished soon after. Hagrid was pleased with their progress and sent them back to the castle. Though she did not want any company, they walked back together.

"Are you okay, Hermione?"

She started to give him the rote answer that she was fine, but something in his tone affected her. Before she realized what was happening, she was crying and Kingsley was holding her in his arms. She allowed him the embrace. Even though it was not exactly the same, she almost felt like when he comforted her after they landed at his house following the battle they fought on a thestral and after she heard Snape's story. It was almost familiar. Yet another promise of what _could_ be.

"I'll kill him."

"No, it's not his fault. It's mine. I hurt _him_. I can't do anything right."

Her tears poured out her eyes at a faster rate. Kingsley tightened his arms around the distraught witch. He ran his hands up and down back. Smoothed her hair. Slowly she stopped crying, but did not let go of Kingsley. He was in no rush to let her go either.

"Do you ever feel like you don't even know who are you are anymore?" Hermione asked. "That you can't even recognize who you have become?"

"We're supposed to grow up, Hermione. We don't stay children forever. We _can't_ stay children forever."

Hermione sighed. He had a point. Part of growing up was changing and she had had to do a lot of growing up. She was definitely ready to be done with school. Wanted to hide out in her father's pub for a while. Try to make things right with Rodolphus.

"You're not a bad person, Hermione. Quit telling yourself you are."

"You don't even know what I've done."

"Doesn't matter. I know you. You are not a bad person no matter how often you make a mistake or do something wrong."

She closed her eyes and tried to convince herself that he was the older Kingsley. It did not work. Not even for a second. He was still too gangly and bony. The muscles he would eventually gain in his career as an auror were only just beginning. She felt sad again and did not want to start crying again.

"Thank you, Kingsley."

Hermione broke the embrace despite his protests. She finished walking up to the castle alone in the dark. Once inside the Entrance Hall she passed by Ludo Bagman and Felix Travers. Ludo stopped her with a hand on her arm.

"Want to be my date this Saturday to Hogsmeade, Dumbledore?"

"No, thank you, Bagman. I'm going to spend the day with my dad."

Ludo and Travers smirked at each other.

"You sure you don't want to go to the Three Broomsticks instead?" asked Travers.

"What?"

"You know, Dumbledore, if you wanted to cheat on Dolohov you didn't have to sneak out of the castle," began Ludo. "I know a very roomy broom cupboard on the fourth floor you could've met me in instead."

Both of the Slytherin seventh years laughed. Hermione was utterly humiliated. Several other students milling about in the Entrance Hall that she did not even know were laughing too. How did everyone know? She rushed up the main staircase before she cried again. The riddle to enter the Ravenclaw Tower stumped her because she was too upset to think straight. One of the tiny first years took pity on her to answer the riddle.

Thomas and Antonin were both seated by the fireplace. Ignoring everyone else in the common room, Hermione rushed to stand in front of her ex-boyfriend.

"You son of a bitch! Just had to tell everyone what a horrible slag I am, didn't you?"

Antonin was visibly perplexed by her outburst.

"What are you saying, Dumbledore?"

The use of her last name made her eyes tear up. He had not called her by her surname since the beginning of the year. It was just more proof that things were completely over between them.

"It seems the whole school knows where I went last night. You and my uncle were the only ones that knew. Care to explain?"

"I didn't tell anyone. It's no one one's business and don't you think it's just as embarrassing for me that everyone knows my girlfriend cheated on me?"

Everyone in the common room was staring at their heated argument. Hermione could feel even more tears rolling down her cheeks. Would she ever stop crying? If she could have taken her NEWTs that moment and been able to leave the castle, she would have done so with no hesitation.

"I bet it was Sada's little friend," declared Thomas.

Antonin groaned and nodded his head in agreement.

"Sorry, Hermione," Thomas continued. "We thought we were alone in the corridor after dinner. Too late we saw Carrow. She probably couldn't wait to spread the gossip."

Hermione glared at an embarrassed Antonin before running up the stairs to her bed.

* * *

June 25, 1972

 **9:30 am**

To Hermione's great relief, the rest of the school year past swiftly. She finished her detentions with Hagrid. All of her classes were completed. Her NEWTs were taken. Tensions between Antonin did not improve, but avoiding and ignoring him became easier. She simply spent the last several weeks of term revising for her final exams. Andromeda and Ted frequently drug her out of the library for fresh air when they thought she needed a change of scenery.

By the last day of the school year, Hermione had still not spoken to Antonin since the night she yelled at him in the common room. Her only regret was that tense relations with him meant that her friendship with Thomas was also stressed. She hoped that once they were outside of the confines of the castle she could go back to being close friends with the older Shacklebolt. Climbing into the thestral pulled carriage for what was likely the last time in her entire life, Hermione was more relieved than sad to leave her Hogwarts years behind. There had been joy, but there had also been a great deal of pain.

She refused to take the Hogwarts Express one final time back to London. It was pointless. Why would she want to sit on the train for most of the day just to spend a few more hours with people she would be able to Apparate to visit any time she wished? While the rest of the students were climbing aboard the train, Hermione levitated her large trunk ahead of her and headed to the heart of the village on foot.

Aberforth's face split into a wide grin when she entered The Hog's Head, the tinkling of the bell above her head announcing her arrival. Ignoring the customer he was in the middle of serving, he crossed the main room with his arms outstretched. Hermione threw her arms around his waist and laid her face on his chest. It felt wonderful to be home again.

"What are your plans now?" Aberforth asked a short time later when she was seated at the bar with a butterbeer.

Hermione sighed, afraid she was going to cry again. For months she had been moments away from tears at all times. Her emotions had been all over the place and it was driving her mad.

"I have no idea," she answered. "I'll help you out for a little while."

Aberforth handed her a sealed letter that arrived shortly before she did. The familiar scrawl on the front of the envelope made Hermione's heart leap. She ripped it open.

 _Hermione – I'm back and I miss you. Can we talk? – Rodolphus_

* * *

June 19, 1998

 **11:15 am**

 _"Is she my daughter? Is Hermione still alive?"_

Kingsley's mind was still reeling from the revelation that Hermione cheated on him so many years earlier. While he had always suspected there was something she had not told him, it hurt to know the truth. He was unsure of what to say next. Finally he blurted out a response to Dolohov's question.

"The situation is much more complicated, I'm afraid."

Antonin was confused. So was Dean. Kingsley was not sure how much he should reveal. They were both liabilities. The more people who knew the truth about Hermione's disappearance, the more likely it was that their lie would be discovered.

"She's not your daughter. Hermione Granger is a Muggleborn witch. I've met her parents."

"Maybe she was adopted?" Dolohov suggested, the desperate man grasping for straws. "I need to know if she's my daughter."

"She's not your daughter!"

"How are you so certain?"

Kingsley took a deep breath. He was still fighting the urge not to kill Antonin with Dean in between them. It would solve a lot of problems.

"Eighteen years later and you're still angry with her? For one night?" demanded Antonin. "I mean, it was a pretty fucking spectacular night, but it was only one night."

Ignoring his nephew standing directly in the line of fire, Kingsley pointed his wand at his enemy. Dean's eyes widened and Antonin laughed.

"Still a sore subject?"

"Yes, forgive me if the woman I love cheating on me with the person I hate the most in the entire world is upsetting."

"She didn't cheat on you. _You_ were the one who threw her out of your house. _You_ were the one who said you couldn't support her decisions. _You_ were the one who told her that if she didn't dedicate her life to fighting with your blasted Order that she could just walk out of your life. _You_ were the one who wanted her to turn her back on her family."

Forget the wand. Kingsley wanted to kill the man with his bare hands. Unfortunately, his nephew was in the way and everything the man said was true. Two entire weeks had gone by before she even spoke to him again. Though they eventually reconciled, they had some tense weeks. They were almost completely back to normal when she disappeared. He'd hoped proposing would prove to Hermione that despite their differences in opinions, he was all in.

"Hermione Granger isn't your daughter because she _is_ Hermione Dumbledore."

Both men were confused. Kingsley was not sure what made him say anything.

"What you telling me, Shacklebolt?"

"Somehow she got sent back in time. I don't know how. Don't ask me."

"But the girl I cursed at the Ministry…"

"Was the woman you _claimed_ to love at sixteen years old."

Antonin looked sick at the knowledge.

"Her scar. She said it was a curse backfire when she was young."

"She lied."

"I almost killed her."

Dean was growing impatient with his uncle and his godfather. While Antonin dealt with the ramifications of his actions years earlier, the youngest of their group had had enough of being in the dark.

"Can someone please explain to me just what the fuck you two are talking about?"


	24. Chapter 24

Chapter Twenty Four

June 25, 1972

 **10:00 am**

Hermione was excited to receive a letter from her cousin after so many months of hearing absolutely nothing from him. She hoped that him admitting that he missed her was a good sign for their relationship. Maybe he was finally ready to forgive her for the cupcake incident back in the summer. She cringed every time she thought about that night. And then immediately blushed when her thoughts strayed to the goat pen.

 _When? Where?_

She sent the terse response back with the owl patiently waiting on one of the front tables.

"Was that from your cousin?" Aberforth asked, watching the owl fly out the open door.

"Yes, he is back from Africa and wants to talk."

Aberforth nodded and returned to cleaning the glasses on the bar. Hermione was pleased to see that the glasses were actually _clean_. Unlike the day they met her first trip to the pub her fifth year, he wasn't just wiping dirty glasses with an even dirtier rag. In fact, the rag looked like it had just been laundered. She was impressed. A swift scan of the pub proved that more than one of her improvements had stuck. Realizing she was making an effect on her father, she smiled.

"I'm pleased to see your smile again, lass."

Hermione gave Aberforth another half-smile before sighing.

"Want to tell me what's bothering you?"

"Why? Everyone else just keeps telling me to keep a stiff upper lip. Andy said I needed to stop feeling sorry for myself. Ted told me I'm too sensible to act this way. Kingsley tells me I cry too much."

Aberforth raised a single eyebrow at her response. Hermione felt jealous. She had always wanted to be able to do that, but couldn't.

"Do I seem like just anyone?" he asked.

"No."

"Good. Because I would hope you would have enough sense to realize I am _not_ just anyone else." He stared at the only patron in the pub seated at a front table near the window before lowering his voice for Hermione's ears only. "Have you told anyone where you are really from?"

"No."

"Then how could they possibly understand what you are going through, lass? Have they been ripped away from their true time by a foolish, selfish, old man?"

Hermione sighed again.

"No."

"No, they haven't. A lot has happened to you in the past year. Actually, it sounds as if the past _several_ years have been difficult for you. You are allowed to be emotional and even feel sorry for yourself if you want to."

"But everyone says…"

"Fuck them."

A loud burst of laughter bubbled up out of her mouth before she could stop it. Aberforth's eyes twinkled and he smiled.

"Take it from an old man who has had a bit of experience being sad and feeling down about himself. No matter how many people tell you to 'move on' or 'get over it', you can't switch your feelings on and off like a Muggle light switch."

She did not mean to gape at him following his analogy. Hermione was simply surprised that he was able to reference any kind of Muggle technology. Certainly he had never made it clear before that he knew anything outside of the wizarding world. How did he know about Muggles and electricity? Even Arthur Weasley with all of his Muggle obsessions could not even pronounce the word correctly. Realizing she was surprised by his knowledge, Aberforth rolled his eyes.

"I'm not completely useless, my girl."

"You are a man of many surprises."

"Yes, well, I meant what I said. It's okay to be sad from time to time. I imagine stewing in the memories of your own school years in that castle could not have been easy."

"No, it wasn't."

Aberforth set the last clean glass down on the bar. He dropped the rag to reach across to grasp Hermione's hand. A quick squeeze of reassurance helped buoy her mood slightly.

"It only becomes a problem when you don't know how to be anything other than sad. You're a clever girl, Hermione. But not everything makes perfect, logical sense. Don't be so hard on yourself. You have the rest of your life ahead of you."

An owl carrying her return message flew through an open window interrupting the conversation. It dropped the letter on the bar in front of Hermione before flying off.

 _I'm working in the shop today. Come to London for lunch? There's a café next to the shop. Meet me there at noon?_

Thoughts of meeting Rodolphus for lunch brightened her spirits considerably. Hermione decided her dad was correct. She needed to do whatever she could to get out of the depressive funk she had been in since long before Antonin ended their relationship. She hopped off of the barstool with a large smile on her face. Aberforth appeared pleased at her change in mood. She escaped to the back of the pub to shower and dress for her lunch appointment.

* * *

 **12:01 pm**

Warm, sunny weather brought scores of shoppers out to Diagon Alley for some Sunday shopping. Hermione always felt a sense of calm in the Alley. At least she did when she was not polyjuiced to look like Bellatrix Lestrange that is. Memories of that horrific day were ordinarily pushed to the back of her mind. Following her one embarrassing panic attack in Gringotts with Rodolphus watching, she had been able to make several subsequent trips to the Alley and even to the bank without a repeat performance. It was one less thing for her addled mind to worry about.

She had had lunch with Rodolphus a couple of times the previous summer at the café next to the Magical Menagerie. Finding it was not difficult at all. As she passed the store where her cousin's heart clearly was, Hermione could not help but smile. The beam tinged with bitterness moments later when she remembered he would not be able to enjoy the fruits of the labor of his love when he was locked up in Azkaban. Knowing the future and being unable to do anything to change it was beyond the mere description of 'frustrating'.

Rodolphus was already seated at a small table in the back when she pushed open the door to the café. It was a small locale, making it easy to pick him out within moments. Her heart swelled and her stomach clenched when the sweet man stood up from his table with no discernable expression on his countenance. He might have admitted to missing her, but that did not mean this was a meeting that was going to go smoothly. She almost wished she had _another_ time turner that would allow her to go back to that night in August and slap some sense into herself. What she thought would be a fun joke became anything but to Rodolphus.

The moment the broad grin crossed his handsome face the clenching in her stomach ceased. Exhaling the breath she had not even been aware she was holding, Hermione crossed the expanse of the small café right into her cousin's open and waiting arms. He enveloped her into a tight embrace. For a brief few moments she felt like no time had passed between them since Christmas when he stormed away. Rodolphus broke the embrace to pull out Hermione's chair. Once seated the conversation between the two was initially a bit awkward.

"How were your exams?" he asked, searching for anything to say.

"I'm relieved they are over. Still not sure going back to finish them was the right decision."

"I think you will be glad you did later."

Their conversation was interrupted for a few minutes while their orders were taken by the shy waitress. She kept looking at Rodolphus with reddened cheeks. Hermione laughed behind her menu. He was absolutely clueless to how eye-catching he was to the fairer sex. She was curious what he had been like as a teenager in Hogwarts. More than once she witnessed his younger brother strutting down the halls of their beloved school like a self-important peacock. Perhaps that was part of Rodolphus' appeal. He did not _know_ he was so attractive.

"How long have you been back?" Hermione asked, failing to remove the smirk from her face when the flustered waitress left.

"Not quite a week yet."

"How was Africa?"

Rodolphus sighed without answering the question. He seemed to be organizing his thoughts. It was clear that he really did not want to talk about what he experienced when he was out of the country with Lord Voldemort and his core followers. Hermione was curious. Just what exactly happened while he was gone? Did he have to do anything unsavory? She could only imagine considering who all was there.

"It was _enlightening_ ," he finally answered.

"Is that all you are going to tell me?"

"What do you want to know?"

His tone was beginning to get defensive. Hermione was worried about his reluctance to answer her question. What if he was already a Death Eater? She hoped that if she could not stop him entirely that she might be able to delay his horrible choice.

"How was Bellatrix?"

"Besotted."

"That's what you wanted, wasn't it? Her to fall in love with someone else on the trip?"

He sighed again. That was one of those moments that Hermione hated the knowledge she possessed as a time traveler. It was something of a joke the amount of love Bellatrix Lestrange had for Lord Voldemort. She was ridiculed in soft tones of the embarrassing manner in which she worshipped the Dark Lord. Hermione knew long ago when she first had the discussion with Rodolphus about hoping his fiancée would fall in love on the Grand Tour that she absolutely would, but it would not be the kind of love that resulted in broken engagements and hasty weddings.

"Unfortunately, she has fallen for a man who has already made it painfully clear to her that he is not the least bit interested in marriage. Our engagement is still on sadly."

"I'm sorry. That's awful."

"Yes, well, at least she won't be back for another year. Then her parents are going to insist on throwing the biggest high society wedding they can imagine to make up for their embarrassment earlier this year. That will take at least a year or two to plan. If I'm lucky, I can remain a somewhat carefree bachelor until 1975 or 1976."

His distraught and resigned sigh tugged at Hermione's heart. She reached across the small table to place her hand on top of his left forearm as a gesture of comfort. The instant she applied the slightest pressure to his arm Rodolphus hissed in pain. Hermione was convinced that he had already been Marked. Hot tears began to form at the corners of her eyes. She was too late. Ignoring his reaction, Hermione grabbed his arm again and almost ripped his sleeve in an effort to bare his arm.

Two deep gashes on his arm began to bleed again. She felt instant relief. He wasn't Marked. Not yet. There might still be time.

"What the hell, Hermione?!"

He used his wand to clean up the blood that was dribbling down his arm. His annoyance was clear.

"I'm sorry. I thought… I don't know what I thought."

Rodolphus ignored his still bleeding wounds to stare at her. It was as if he was trying not to say something. She could almost see his worried thoughts.

"One of the owls in the shop got startled this morning. Cut me pretty deeply with his talons. Caradoc and I are both rubbish with healing spells."

"Oh."

Hermione removed a bottle of dittany from her purse that she always carried with her. She never wanted to have to use the substance, but made certain that she was not without. Grabbing his arm again with a bit more care and concern, she trickled a couple of drops into each wound. Ignoring Rodolphus' hisses once more, she used a basic healing spell she learned before she went on the run with Harry and Ron to close up the wound. Unfortunately in her life she had been forced to learn healing spells.

"What were you expecting to see, Hermione?"

She could not meet his eyes, but it was clear by his tone that he was very serious and perhaps even worried. Ignoring his question or attempting to change the subject would not work.

"I thought while you were gone you might have…"

Rodolphus covered her hand with one of his.

"What do you know?'

"About what?"

"You're not convincing when you try to play dumb, Hermione."

Rodolphus lowered his voice and leaned over the table.

"Have you seen one then?"

"One what?"

He rolled his eyes. It was painfully clear that she was not being convincing enough.

"Obviously you know about Lord Voldemort's marks. Have you seen one before?"

"Not up close."

"Who?"

"Doesn't matter."

"Please tell me Igor wasn't foolish enough…"

"No! At least not yet."

Igor Karkaroff would eventually take the Dark Lord's mark. She knew this without a single doubt in her mind. The exact date that he would turn his life over to Voldemort was not known to her, however. When she was living in the future her thoughts about the Headmaster of Durmstrang Institute were few and far between. Rodolphus sighed at the thought of his best friend being imprudent enough to become a Death Eater. It broke Hermione's heart just a little bit more.

"Bella has one. She was probably the first. Bloody idiot. She tried to get me to get one too, but I didn't care for the requirements."

"Good. I was worried about you while you were gone. Thought you might be getting involved in something dangerous."

"Marrying Bellatrix Black is likely the only dangerous part of my future life. I plan on being as inconspicuous as possible."

Hermione wished that were the truth. Bellatrix was a maelstrom of menace intent on converting the world to her master's perfect view. It would only be a matter of time before Rodolphus was swept up in the carnage. An awkward silence fell over the two cousins. Their meal arrived at that moment to make it a bit easier to focus on their tea and sandwiches. The serving witch gave the oblivious Rodolphus one more shy smile as she set his meal down in front of him. For several minutes neither of them said anything. Finally, Rodolphus cleared his throat and wiped his mouth on his napkin.

"Is Andy… _happy_?"

Hermione took a moment to consider her answer. Rodolphus kept his gaze focused entirely on his plate while he waited.

"Being disowned by her father hurt her very deeply. It has not been easy for her."

"Bella ranted for days about her sister when she got her father's letter. Said she brought shame to their entire family. I've been… well, honestly, I've been a bit worried about her. Is this wizard a good man?"

"Yes, very much so. He will take care of her and keep her safe. They will both be very happy.

She spoke with the confidence of one who has seen the future. While she had no doubt Andromeda and Rodolphus would have had a happy life together, he made his decision to not go against his father's wishes. At least one of them would be happy. Well, until the second war. Hermione often made it a point to forget that Andy would lose her husband and her only daughter within months of each other. When her time turner started working again (assuming it ever would) she would go back to 1998 and her best friend would be at the end of the worst year of her entire life. Just imagining what she would be going through made Hermione very emotional. She did not want to think about Ted being dead. Or their daughter Tonks. Or Remus. Or any of the dozens of other lives that would be lost that she had no control over.

"I suppose I can't wish for anything more for her," replied Rodolphus.

"Except maybe a change in wizards?"

Rodolphus' cheeks flushed at Hermione's question. She did not feel the least bit ashamed of making him uncomfortable. He needed to be fully reminded of what he willingly allowed to slip through his fingers.

"I'm already engaged. It would be inappropriate."

"Would you rather be appropriate or happy?"

He would not answer the question. It was a moot point anyway. She knew what was going to happen. He was going to marry Bellatrix, become a Death Eater, help torture the Longbottoms into insanity and spend the rest of his life in Azkaban. It made her sick and it made her angry. Rodolphus deserved better than that. He was a much better man that he gave himself credit for.

"You already know my feelings on the matter, Roddy."

Rodolphus sipped his tea to give him a reason not to speak. Hermione knew the signs. She was guilty of doing the same thing from time to time. Choosing not to push him any further than he was willing to go after they had only just started speaking again, she sipped at her own tea. Rodolphus' eyes widened and he groaned. He dropped his teacup to the saucer causing a loud clinking noise.

"Do _not_ look towards the door," he ordered in a whisper.

Hermione was curious why he would make such a request, but did as she was asked.

"Are we trying not to call attention to ourselves?" she asked.

"A horrible woman just walked in the door. She cornered me in the shop several months ago with a dozen different questions on what she should feed her cat. Dreadful woman. Works at the Ministry. I've seen her there several times."

Hermione's curiosity was certainly piqued after his explanation. She tried to look towards the door out of the corner of her eye. All she could see was a short blob of loud pink fabric.

"She always makes a point of seeking me out."

Despite knowing it would annoy him greatly, his confession only made Hermione giggle. He narrowed his eyes at her in a vain attempt to stifle her laughter.

"Do you have an admirer, Roddy?"

"I daresay I do. Oh bugger, she's spotted me. I don't suppose I could get you to pretend to be my date."

Hermione snorted at the very idea of the charade.

"Sorry. We aren't the Blacks. There will be no romantic lunch dates in our future, dear cousin."

Rodolphus glared again, only making her laugh harder. The corners of his mouth twitched into a small smile.

"One of the ladies in her department taught me a useful trick to get her to leave me alone. If she comes over here, I'll try it."

" _Hem hem_."

Hermione felt as if an entire bucket of ice cold water was suddenly dumped on her back. At the familiar and still quite obnoxious sound, she rotated in her seat to see a young Dolores Umbridge at their table. She could not be more than twenty or twenty-one years old. She was smiling at Rodolphus in much the same manner as the waitress had been earlier. Hermione snorted at the unbelievable thought of Umbridge actually fancying her cousin.

"Mr. Lestrange, I thought that was you."

Rodolphus turned his head in her direction at the sound of his name. Hermione almost laughed at how much he resembled Regnault in that moment right down to his haughty demeanor. He had apparently been observing his father's mannerisms quite closely for many years. The heir to the Head of the Lestrange family even peered down his nose at the simpering fool.

"Yes, Miss…"

"Umbridge. Dolores Umbridge. I was a few years behind you in school. Slytherin, of course. We have had the pleasure of meeting each other a few times at the Ministry. Once you helped me pick out some food for my kitty next door."

Rodolphus acted as if he was trying to recall who she was exactly. It was extremely amusing. Hermione had to keep sipping at her tea and nibbling at her sandwich to keep from laughing out loud.

"Umbridge, you say? Wasn't there once a chap at the Ministry named Umbridge who used to mop the floors?"

The smile that had been plastered across Umbridge's face immediately fell off at the mention of the former member of the Department of Magical Maintenance. Though it had been a few years since she witnessed it firsthand, Hermione could tell the witch was steadily becoming quite incensed.

"What was his name?" Rodolphus continued. "Orford Umbridge? Are you by chance related to him?"

Umbridge narrowed her eyes.

"I am sorry, but I do not know who you are referring to, Mr. Lestrange."

"My apologies then. Must have been someone else. Oh, forgive me. This is my cousin Hermione Dumbledore."

Reluctantly, Hermione shook the toad-faced woman's hand. Neither were pleased with the gesture.

"Excuse me for interrupting your lunch, Mr. Lestrange. Pleasure to meet you, Miss Dumbledore."

The cousins watched her return to the front counter in a huff. Both struggled to keep their laughter under control as they watched her snatch a paper bag with her lunch in it out of the poor cashier's hand. She stormed all less than five feet of her out the front door. As soon as the door clicked shut behind her, Rodolphus and Hermione stopped trying to contain their laughter.

"That wasn't very kind. Where's my sweet cousin?"

Rodolphus simply winked at the question. All traces of Regnault, pater familias of the Ancient and Noble House of Lestrange, dissolved off of his face. He was once again just her cousin Roddy, acting as if he were a naughty boy stealing biscuits when the house-elves weren't looking.

"She is a horrible woman," he explained. "Works in the Improper Use of Magic office. One of the ladies that works there with her told me that she is extremely embarrassed by her father's less than prestigious roots. Mafalda said that if you mentioned her father or asked her if she was related to him, she would get really embarrassed and flustered."

"She seems to me the kind of person to hold a grudge, Roddy. Maybe that wasn't the best decision."

He shrugged his shoulders.

"Mafalda warned me against doing it too. She and I were at Hogwarts at the same time. Different Houses, but we were always friendly. Very sweet woman. She would _never_ tease the Umbridge bitch about her father. Seems a bit afraid of her."

"I don't think I blame her. Do you remember Umbridge from school?"

"Not really. You know how it is. You don't always pay much attention to those who are several years younger than you are. Rabastan would be the one to ask. I get the feeling they weren't the best of mates."

Hermione knew all too well that Dolores Umbridge was vindictive when she felt slighted. Her Fifth year at Hogwarts had been up there as one of the worst years of her life specifically because of the horrible woman. Luring her into the Forbidden Forest would be an action that Hermione would likely regret for the rest of her life. Not because it saved Harry, of course. She just felt guilty about what happened to the nasty woman after the centaurs dragged her off to the bowels of the forest. Some things should not be wished upon even one's own worst enemy. Hermione was grateful that in her own time Umbridge had been dragged off to Azkaban for crimes against humanity due to her Muggleborn Registration Commission. If she was free to cause havoc, Hermione had no doubt she would be on the very top of her list of those she swore revenge.

"Let's change the subject," Rodolphus suggested. "You are probably already sick of hearing this question, but what are your plans for your future now that school is over?"

She resisted the urge to groan. For months that had been her go-to response every time that question was asked. When she had her career advice meeting with Professor Flitwick, she had to keep herself from running out of his office in sheer terror. Everyone else in her year had already had the meeting when they were in their fifth year. Most of them even had jobs already lined up once their NEWTs were completed. Ted had an internship with one of the Muggle Relations department in the Ministry for the summer. His goal was to one day be the liaison between the Ministry and the Muggle media. Antonin was an apprentice cursebreaker with Gringotts. He would be based primarily in London. Thomas was clerking for both of his parents at the Wizengamot with hopes that he would one day take over for one of them. Andromeda even had a job working in a small shop in Diagon Alley. Before her disownment she had been expected to stay home, marry Max and provide heirs. Hermione was a little jealous of how excited the woman was with her job at The Junk Shop on Diagon Alley's South Side.

Hiding in The Hog's Head did not seem an acceptable option. Her father had already made comments about her seeking employment to prevent getting bored. They both were aware that thanks to access to the Lestrange Family vaults she would never have to work a day in her life, but a life of indolence was not for Hermione. She would grow bored of it before too long.

"I don't really know," she admitted. "I thought I would help Dad out in the pub for a bit, but as far as long term goals, I don't have any."

"I'm sure something will come up. You could always let Father arrange your marriage and then you could resign yourself to charity work and childrearing like a proper Pureblood wife."

Understanding he was just teasing her, Hermione wadded up her cloth napkin and threw it at his face. They both laughed. She had nightmares picturing what sort of wizard her uncle would find to be an acceptable husband for his rebellious sister's rebellious daughter. Likely he would be awful and old and have tremendously awful breath. She gave an involuntary shudder at the thought.

"Want to come next door?" Rodolphus asked when their laughter died down. "Caradoc and I were working on reorganizing the owls. It's been a bloody nightmare. Maybe you can help us. Fresh pair of eyes would not go amiss."

"Of course."

Rodolphus dropped a few galleons on top of the table. Certainly a great deal more than the meal cost. Maybe he wasn't as clueless to the serving witch's feelings as Hermione assumed. He winked at the flustered girl on the way out the front door sending her into a flurry of nervous giggles. Hermione rolled her eyes and smiled.

They walked next door to the Magical Menagerie, weaving through busy shoppers. Rodolphus held the door of his shop open like the proud proprietor he was. It bothered Hermione enormously that he did not feel comfortable admitting to his stern father that he actually owned the shop. Regnault had strange and archaic views on what was acceptable behavior for his sons and niece. If he could only see how happy Rodolphus was standing inside the cramped store with floor to ceiling cages and random owls flying overhead, maybe he would not be so averse to a Lestrange being in trade. But knowing her uncle as she did, she highly doubted that would be the case.

Hermione tried to ignore the fact that the last time she was in the store was the day she met Igor. So much had happened since that day. While she did not necessarily regret meeting the future Headmaster, she did wish that perhaps things had been different between them. She had obviously made herself too available because she was attracted to him. Somehow she got the feeling she would start receiving even more late night letters from the lust-inducing lothario now that she was no longer stuck in school. She shook her head physically in an attempt to banish any more thoughts about the wizard.

Another wizard she had never met before was standing behind the counter with a clipboard and a self-inking quill. He was a few years older than Hermione, certainly closer to Rodolphus' age than hers. Though not nearly as tall as her cousin, he was still at least six inches taller than Hermione. He had the same kind of thick, curly hair that Hermione had been cursed with, but he kept it short enough that the dark brown curls actually proved to be an asset to his appearance.

"All right, Caradoc?" Rodolphus asked.

At the sound of his voice, the wizard spun around in place with a bright smile. Hermione thought he was a nice-looking bloke. Not as handsome as Rodolphus certainly, but she had the feeling he did not have trouble attracting women. Her opinion was only solidified when she got a closer look at his deep emerald green eyes.

"You didn't miss anything, Rod," assured the wizard.

"This is my cousin Hermione Dumbledore," Rodolphus explained. "Hermione, this is my shop manager, Caradoc Dearborn."

Caradoc rushed around the front counter to grip Hermione's outstretched hand in a firm shake. She thought his name sounded familiar, but it truly was too hard to remember everyone. Whoever he was, he seemed to be a pleasant, friendly sort.

"Pleasure to meet you, Miss Dumbledore."

"Please, just call me Hermione. Miss Dumbledore makes me feel like I'm at some bloody boring Pureblood ball and you want a dance."

"All right then," he laughed. "Have you come to assist in the madness of the owl reorganization or can I interest you in a new kneazle kitten?"

"No, thank you. Roddy gave me a kitten for my birthday and I don't think my dad's quite forgiven him yet."

Caradoc winked one of his beautiful green eyes. He set the clipboard down on the counter and led them both over to the section of the shop where the myriad of owls they had for sale were housed. It did not take Hermione long to sense the disorder they were both trying to combat. Dozens of angry owls were perched in no discernable pattern. They had eagle owls grouped with snowy owls. Spectacled owls were next to the long eared owls. In short, it was a mess.

"You do realize that you can't keep that Great Horned owl over by those Snowy owlets, right?" she asked. When neither of the men indicated they were aware of what she was talking about, she sighed and continued. "Look at him. He's eyeing the poor dears for an afternoon snack. If you're not careful, he will eat them."

"I did not realize," Rodolphus stated, his cheeks flushing proving his embarrassment. "I know a great deal about dogs and kneazles and rodents. Caradoc's expertise lies with the slimy creatures despite his Hufflepuff background. We are both still learning about the owls."

"It would behoove you to have an owl expert in the store. It's no wonder you were scratched this morning, Roddy."

Caradoc snorted at her admonishment. Rodolphus narrowed his eyes at his manager, but there was no heat behind the look. Taking it upon herself to create some kind of organization in the madhouse, Hermione began to move the cages and perches of the owl inventory. Both men just watched her work. Occasionally they helped her move something at her request. By the time the afternoon was completely and thoroughly gone and the evening half-over, the three stepped back from the completed section of the store with a great deal of pride.

"Would you like a job, Hermione?" Rodolphus asked.

"Seriously?"

"I would hire you in a second even if you weren't the boss' cousin," agreed Caradoc.

Hermione thought over the prospect of working in the store. She loved animals. Always had. The owls in the store recognized her authority almost immediately and acquiesced to all of her commands. It had been a wonderful afternoon. She liked feeling useful and needed.

"You wouldn't have to be here every day," explained her cousin. "Just a few days a week. Help us keep the owls under control. Maybe teach us poor sods a thing or two about them while you're at it."

"Okay. Sure. I'll be helping my dad a lot at the pub too, but I'm sure we can work out a schedule."

She could not believe how much lighter her spirits felt when she accepted the part time job at the Magical Menagerie. Never in her life would she have expected to actually be happy at the thought of working retail, but there she was. How many years had she naïvely gone through her school years imagining that one day she would take the Ministry of Magic by storm and pass a great deal of legislation for creatures' rights? She always assumed that she would be working on the inside of that organization. Being on the run and witnessing how easily the entire Ministry was infiltrated by Lord Voldemort's forces was more than a little disconcerting. She did not think she had the stomach any longer to dream of slogging through the politics of the bureaucracy. Maybe she would feel differently when she made it back to the future. Somehow she doubted she would.

"I will come by in the morning and we can iron out all of the details," she suggested.

Following a hug goodbye from her cousin and another one from Caradoc to her surprise, Hermione stepped out into the rapidly darkening alley. It was almost nine. Most of the shoppers would be long gone and safe at home by that time, but she was not worried. She had survived a war when she was eighteen. A walk down the alley to an apparition point would not be an issue.

She Apparated to the front of the Shrieking Shack as she had done a hundred times before it felt like. The walk from the shack back to The Hog's Head was just long enough to be calming and relaxing. It had been a good day. She was anxious to reflect back on the small victories she had made the first day away from Hogwarts.

A hundred meters from the edge of the village a prickling sensation took hold of Hermione's entire body. Concerned at first that she was under some kind of spell, she grasped her wand and spun around. No magic was being used on her, but she was in the midst of an intense gaze from a monster she wished she would never see again. Did werewolves have a gaze that enthralled their victims just like vampires? It certainly felt like it the longer Fenrir Greyback stared at her frozen form.

"Are you aware there are dangerous creatures in these woods, Miss Dumbledore?" he asked, each second drawing closer and closer.

"Well, I am _now_ ," she retorted, determined not to show her fear. He fed off of fear. Got off on it. She refused to let him rile her up.

"One more night until the full moon."

"Then I will make it a point to stay inside tomorrow evening so we don't run the risk of seeing each other again."

Greyback's deep chuckle caused the hair all over Hermione's body to stand on end. He was close enough to touch her with his hands. She took a single step backwards when he moved closer right into the trunk of a large tree. The feral grin that crossed his lips made Hermione's heart leap. One large step from the powerful werewolf was all it took to have any hope of escape cut off completely. She could feel his breath on her face, his arms on either side of hers. Attempting and failing to calm her breathing she almost fainted when he moved his broad chest against hers. His face dropped down so his lips were just outside the shell of her ear.

"You always smell so delectable. I'd love to just bury my nose in you."

The meaning behind his words was painfully clear. Hermione gasped when the werewolf shoved his face into her hair and sniffed. His hard, commanding body was fully pressed up against hers, revealing with no uncertainty just how much the monster desired his prey.

"I would make you my queen," the monster whispered directly into her ear. "The _second_ our mutual friend gives me permission, I will."

Fenrir Greyback inhaled the scent of Hermione's hair one final time before pushing his body off of hers. A half-smile quirked at his lips. He pressed his fingers to his lips in a macabre facsimile of a blown kiss. Only when he spun around in place to Disapparate away did Hermione exhale again. She struggled to catch her breath, all of her fear crashing down on her in harsh waves.

* * *

June 19, 1998

 **11:30 am**

Kingsley dropped his wand to his side and his gaze to the ground at his nephew's insistent question. How much could he reveal? Honestly, he was aware that he had already revealed too much. Would it be safe to tell even more? He hated that Dolohov was still present and listening. The man could not be trusted.

"Dean, before I tell you anything, I need a wizard's oath that you will not tell _anyone_ what I'm about to tell you. Both of you."

The naivety of the boy was telling when he agreed immediately to the harsh terms. Most wizards would at least take a moment to consider the ramifications of blindly agreeing to such a magically binding vow. Dolohov was reviewing his options. Finally even he nodded his head in agreement. Kingsley did not trust the man as far as Hermione could throw him without magic, but a wizard's oath would at least keep his mouth closed.

"Hermione came to The Hog's Head for a drink the last night," Kingsley explained once the oath's were completed for both men. "At some point between the time I left and this morning, she disappeared. Aberforth wasn't sure what happened either. A little after ten, I said good night to both of them and left. Hermione left a few minutes later. Then I got Arthur Weasley's patronus this morning."

Dean rolled his eyes.

"We know all of this, Kingsley," he declared. "I want to know why you believe Hermione Granger got sent back in time."

"Did you know Aberforth had a daughter, Dean?"

He shook his head.

"Yes, well, neither did I until I was a cocky little shit of a sixteen year old. She just showed up. One day he didn't have a daughter and the next day he did. My granny is Ab's best friend. Has been for most of their lives. Even _she_ didn't know about his daughter. Seems a bit strange, doesn't it?"

Kingsley took another deep breath to steady his nerves before continuing.

"It's a really long story. She decided to come to Hogwarts. Dolohov over there broke her heart a few times."

Antonin snorted in derision at the words. Kingsley did not care. It was the truth. He'd even been there in the aftermath for at least one of the heartbreaks. It had been ugly. Only Hermione's cries and forced promises that he would leave Dolohov alone kept the fucking Death Eater alive.

"She and I fell in love. Took us a few years to get it right, but right before your dad was murdered by _Dolohov's_ lot, she disappeared one night. No one could find a single trace of her. No body, no clues, nothing. Just gone. Years passed. A few years ago Headmaster Dumbledore was recruiting for the Order of the Phoenix. I showed up at the Headquarters and thought I was seeing a ghost."

"When you met Hermione?" Dolohov inquired, his face pale.

"Yes, I thought I was seeing a ghost or losing my mind. Possibly both. I went to Aberforth and demanded to know what he knew. Apparently, he knew from the day she arrived in the past that she was from the future. He claimed her as his daughter to keep her safe. He'd been sitting on the secret that Hermione Granger was Hermione Dumbledore or Hermione Dumbledore was Hermione Granger."

"Is she going to come back?" demanded Dean.

Kingsley was not sure how to answer that question. It was his greatest hope that she would, but he could not make any promises. For all he knew, she might have been killed by Greyback the night of the full moon. She might never be coming back. The thought terrified him down to the marrow of his bones.

"Yes," he replied with as much confidence as he could muster. "She disappeared on June 18, 1998 and showed up June 18, 1971. I'm assuming that when she disappeared in December 1980 she will show up in December 1998. We just have to wait to find out."


	25. Chapter 25

_Author's Note: I apologize for a late update. Just one of those weeks! In the course of doing some improvements around my house, I actually fell off a pretty high ladder. Didn't break anything thankfully, but I did get a lovely reminder from my body that I'm too damn old to fall off a ladder. So I've spent the last few days curled up on my couch binge-watching Netflix instead of writing. Hopefully I'll stop hurting soon and get back on a regular update schedule._

 _Daragaya_ _\- darling_

* * *

Chapter Twenty Five

July 31, 1972

 **11:30 am**

Following her unexpected meeting with Fenrir Greyback on her way home, Hermione kept her secret entirely to herself. It would not do in her mind to worry her loved ones unnecessarily. Aberforth already admitted that she would not disappear until Christmas 1980. Future Kingsley confirmed that she would not be harmed until long after they had the chance to fall in love. Considering she still found the boy wizard positively infuriating most of the time, she assumed she had a little bit longer before she truly had to worry about Greyback's intentions.

She stayed in the woods for at least half an hour calming down. Her dad was entirely too observant. She idly wondered if that had to do with his years running a public house. He had an admirable set of skills for reading people. If she returned looking the least bit flustered or frightened, Aberforth would wheedle all of the details of her encounter out of her whether she liked it or not. All she needed was for Aberforth or Rodolphus to learn she was being approached by the fearsome, dangerous werewolf alone in the woods and for them to overreact. They could get themselves seriously injured or worse. Hermione was almost certain her actions could not change the course of the future any more than she already had, but it was a risk she was not willing to take. She could not live with herself if either of the men were attacked.

Justifying her decision to remain silent about the way Greyback pushed his body against hers, whispering promises to one day make her his queen, was surprisingly simple. Hermione was able to convince herself that the werewolf did not seem to actually want to hurt her in any way. He was reduced from predator to harmless admirer in just a few unrealistic, naïve thoughts within her mind. Besides, did he not already make it clear that she was under Lord Voldemort's protection of a sort? She thought it strange that somehow she was all right with the knowledge that she was essentially trusting Voldemort to keep her safe from Greyback.

When her heartrate finally settled to an acceptable beat, Hermione walked the rest of the way home. Aberforth gave her an odd expression, but after her explanation that she was simply tired from her new job, he dropped the subject. He did, however, push a large tumbler of fire whiskey in her hands under the guise of a celebratory drink. She was not fooled.

The next night Hermione made certain she was safe inside the pub all night long. Even if Greyback claimed he was under orders to keep a protective eye on her, she did not trust the animal he became under the full moon. She remained huddled under her heavy blankets attempting and failing to ignore the chilling howling outside her bedroom window all night long.

Working at her cousin's store brought more joy to Hermione than she initially expected. After a solid month of coming in several times a week, she wondered why she ever worried about hating it. Caradoc was an absolute joy to be around. His friendly, upbeat attitude was contagious. It was virtually impossible to remain in a bad mood around the Hufflepuff. Frequently he had her laughing hard enough to cause physical pain in her stomach or side.

On one Monday morning while they were alone in the store preparing the shelves for an expected shipment of Western Green toads, their usual lighthearted conversation turned a bit more serious than Hermione was used to. The jovial wizard started asking almost impertinent questions about the status of her love life. She was not sure why he seemed to care so much.

"So you and Igor Karkaroff were an item once upon a time?"

Hermione could not stop the snort that escaped at the question. An item? Certainly not. They had a couple of lovely evenings together, a summer of correspondence and one almost emotional sad shag interrupted by her meddling uncle. Caradoc made it sound like they'd been picking out china patterns and arguing over what to name their first born.

"Not an item then?" he asked, a smirk crossing his full lips.

"Hardly," she replied. "We had some pleasant _encounters_ but we have never been more than just friends."

"'Pleasant encounters'? For fuck's sake, Hermione, you can tell _me_ the truth. You fucked each other's brains out a few times but decided anything more than that was unlikely."

"You certainly have a colorful manner of description."

It was his turn to snort. He winked to make her laugh again.

"I don't see any reason to sugarcoat the truth, love."

"Then yes, your description was correct. We enjoyed each other's company…"

"'We enjoyed each other's company'," he mocked under his breath to her amusement.

"But no, there is no future there."

Caradoc burst out in loud, contagious laughter at her words. Feeling both entertained and a little embarrassed, Hermione threw the dirty rag she had been scrubbing the shelves with at the man's head. There were simply some messes that even magic could not clean more effectively than by hand. Her supervisor only chortled harder at her antics.

"You can do much better than Karkaroff," he declared. "Not a bad looking bloke certainly, but a bit full of himself. Doesn't seem the kind of wizard you would be interested in."

"Oh, really? What kind would you think I'd be interested in?"

He stopped his own cleaning to stare at her for a few moments seeming to be considering his response. Hermione felt ill at ease under his gaze.

"Can't decide really," he admitted. "On the one hand I see you being attracted to the serious, intelligent, maybe even a bit mysterious type. You like 'em broody."

 _Antonin_ , she thought. He certainly met all of those criteria.

"But on the other, I think you need someone who isn't quite so serious all of the time. Someone who can make you laugh until you cried. He would need to know when to be serious though. I think I also sense a closet romantic in you, Hermione."

She forced herself not to chuckle at his observation though she really wanted to. Romance had always felt disingenuous to her. Her mum could devour romantic novels by the library-full, but Hermione had never been interested.

"Of course it's painfully clear that you are attracted to the obnoxious, arrogant blokes."

She _did_ laugh at that. Caradoc joined right in.

"Take my word, Hermione. You'll most likely end up with some cocky, arrogant fool who makes you laugh until you cry and cry until you laugh. He'll protect you and quote poetry at you. Make you scream in bed. Probably even be one of those damned Gryffindors."

He pretended to cringe at the thought. Hermione feigned a bright smile. Despite not even realizing what he was doing, Caradoc had just perfectly described Kingsley. Maybe there was something of value to his words. Not wishing to continue down the same path they were headed on, Hermione attempted to steer the conversation away from _her_ love life.

"So no special witch in your life?" she asked. "I never hear you mention one."

Caradoc's boisterous laughter at her seemingly innocuous question made Hermione laugh too.

"Nope. No special witch in my life. Do have a bit of a crush if you must know."

"Oh, really? Do I know them?"

"Yes, I daresay you do. _Very_ well."

Hermione was more than a little confused by his statement. Who could he possibly mean? Taking pity on her, Caradoc continued with further clues.

"Someone who spends a great deal of time with me… in the store… _this_ store."

She felt her cheeks heat up instantly. Was Caradoc admitting what she thought he was admitting? She was certainly flattered. He was a great wizard after all. Any witch would be lucky to have him. His attractiveness was enough that even a blind person could tell he was handsome. While it was a boon to her self-esteem, she was not interested in pursuing any kind of romantic relationship with anyone at that point in her life. Staring at her flustered cheeks, Caradoc began laughing again.

"Oh, darling, I think you are very attractive, but you aren't exactly my type."

"Oh."

Hermione felt even more embarrassed learning it wasn't her than she did when she thought it was.

"I like my lovers with just a little bit more meat on them."

"I see."

She felt insulted by his remark. How dare he poke fun at her weight? Yes, she had probably lost more weight than she really needed to over the previous couple of years, but it wasn't like she was ugly. Caradoc was clearly not bothered by her obvious annoyance. He simply laughed again.

"Preferably at _least_ a hard eight inches."

Caradoc winked at Hermione. It took her a few moments to grasp exactly what he was saying. When she finally understood, she snorted and rolled her eyes. He laughed once more. He was always laughing.

"So you fancy my cousin?"

"Harmless really. I'm more than aware he likes witches and he's been in love with your friend for years. Believe me, we have discussed Andromeda Black at length."

His tone did not sound bitter as Hermione half-expected it might. Either he was a better person than Hermione ever hoped to be or he had grown used to hiding his true feelings. Unfortunately she knew all too well that unrequited love could be a real bitch.

"Nope, just a harmless little crush I've had for years. Since Hogwarts honestly."

"Does Roddy know?"

"I'm sure he suspects. I used to follow him around. Embarrassing to think on now. He's always been a good friend. He's the reason I took Care of Magical Creatures in third year. I wanted an excuse to ask the handsome, shy Slytherin fourth year for help with my homework."

He winked at Hermione again though she could swear his smile was starting to slip.

"His friendship means everything to me. I only hope one day to find an exact version of him that will actually fancy me back."

His attitude was still upbeat and there was still a hint of a joke within his voice, but Hermione was not fooled. She knew what it was like to be in love with someone who only saw her as a friend. Flashbacks of her sixth year crowded her mind. She had been in love with Ron and he ignored her for Lavender. She knew her situation as different of course, but it still made her sad. Was it healthy for him to work in such close confines with a man who could not return his affections? It was a story worthy of a tragedy.

"Do you mind watching the store while I go to the back to clean up the nursery?" he asked. "The owlets were getting a little rambunctious earlier."

Hermione did not hesitate to agree. She took it as her cue to give Caradoc a few minutes of privacy. He smiled once more before disappearing into the back. No, she wasn't fooled at all. No matter what he said to the contrary, Caradoc did not simply fancy Rodolphus. He was very much in love with him.

* * *

August 15, 1972

 **10:45 am**

Mid-August found Hermione in the midst of back to Hogwarts shopping. She was a bit overwhelmed at first by the sheer number of prospective students and their parents who needed assistance picking out new familiars and all the accoutrements that went with responsible pet ownership. Caradoc and Rodolphus were both there all day long keeping the shelves stocked and the customers happy. Aberforth made it clear that until the new school year began Hermione should spend as much time as she could in London helping her cousin out.

"The pub can be run by one old wizard for a time," he insisted. "And if it can't, well, these lazy arseholes can find somewhere else to drink."

Working with both of the men in the Magical Menagerie was generally a lot of fun. They all had such different personalities that one could never tell what was about to be said or brought up. An unspoken agreement passed between Caradoc and Hermione the day he revealed his true feelings for his cousin. She privately resolved to never bring up Caradoc's feelings up to Rodolphus. It would be unfair.

During a brief period of calm between noisy first years, the bell over the door rang. Hermione was the closest to the entrance. She slapped a smile, genuine or not she wasn't sure at that point, onto her face to greet the newest arrival. Andromeda rushed inside out of the crush of shoppers. It was unusual to see her friend in the middle of the day. They often met after work. Hermione's concern began to rise when she noticed how sick and worried her friend looked. Dropping the boxes of rat tonic she was restocking on the wrong shelf, she rushed over to the other witch.

"What's wrong, Andy?"

The sound of Andromeda's name caught Rodolphus' attention. He was standing behind the counter adding up the receipts from the morning rush. His flushed cheeks and the way his eyes kept unstealthily darting over to the women were both indications that he was attempting and failing to not pay attention to them. Andromeda acknowledged him with a small, shy smile. Rodolphus hesitantly returned the gesture.

"Is there somewhere we can talk privately?" Andromeda asked, dropping her voice.

Rodolphus offered the use of his private office in the back. Andromeda thanked him. Hermione took her friend's hand in hers and pulled her into the private section of the shop. Her cousin's office was nothing more than just a small cluttered room really. There was a desk perpetually covered in receipts he never filed away properly. A small bed was shoved in the corner. Hermione had already stayed more than once when it was too late to go home. Aberforth and Rodolphus did not like her to wander about Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade when it was late. The world was growing ever more dangerous with each passing day.

Andromeda burst into tears the moment they both settled down on top of the bed. Without hesitation, Hermione wrapped her arms around the witch and pulled her close. She had no idea what was wrong. A thousand potential scenarios ran through her mind. Hermione worried that something had happened with Cygnus Black. The man was a menace and despite claiming he would never speak to his daughter again, he had no problem sending howler after howler to her screaming about how she had shamed and dishonored her family. Part of Hermione really wanted to show Cygnus exactly where he could shove those explosive notes.

"I didn't know who else to come to, Mi. I'm sorry."

" _Never_ apologize to me, Andy. Not for needing a supportive friend."

"I don't know what to do. I've been so bloody stupid!"

In a flood and flurry of tears, Andromeda admitted that she had just come from St. Mungo's. A series of tests and diagnostic spells confirmed beyond all doubt that she was pregnant. Ted did not know yet. She continued to cry in Hermione's arms.

"I thought we were being so careful."

"Sometimes these things just happen no matter how many times you cast the charm."

The distraught witch's cheeks flared. Hermione resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She was certain they forgot the charm more than once and she was well aware of the fact that Andromeda could not bear the taste of contraceptive potions. It really was just a matter of time before little Nymphadora was conceived.

"Ted doesn't know. I didn't want to tell him in case I was wrong."

"Are you worried how he will react?"

Andromeda started crying again as she emphatically nodded her head.

"He's going to be all bloody noble and ask me to marry him!"

Hermione was confused. She knew they would eventually get married and be very happy together. Why was Andromeda so reluctant to marry Ted? They had actually discussed her marital plans more than once since leaving Hogwarts.

"Do you not want to marry Ted?"

Andromeda sat up completely affronted by the very idea.

"Of course I want to marry him!"

"Then I'm sorry, I don't understand what the problem is."

"I want him to marry me because he wants to marry me. Not because he _has_ to marry me."

Hermione attempted to calm her friend down with comforting words. Andromeda was more emotional than she had ever seen her. A lifetime in the Ancient and Noble House of Black meant that she had certain skills at suppressing her true emotion and feelings. To be so out in the open with her fear and concern was most unlike the witch she had grown to love.

"Andy, Ted is absolutely insane about you. Have you ever noticed the way he beams every time you walk in the room?"

Andromeda blushed and gave a small smile.

"He isn't going to ask you to marry him because you're pregnant. He's going to ask you to marry him because he can't imagine spending one single day the rest of his life without you."

"This wasn't part of the plan. We had plans."

Hermione gently grasped Andromeda's chin to force her friend to look in her eyes.

"No, it's not what you planned, but don't you think your life could be so much better than what you planned? You and Ted are going to get married because you love each other probably more than I've ever seen two people love each other before. It's disgusting really."

Both girls giggled. The tension slowly began to break.

"And you are both going to be obnoxiously happy. Everyone is going to be jealous and say terrible things about you behind your backs because we want what you have. And in several months you are going to have a beautiful daughter…"

"What makes you think it's a girl?"

"Because I know things. Don't question me. She is going to be beautiful and funny and absolutely _not_ inherit her mother's gracefulness. She will capture both of your hearts."

"And I suppose we will live happily ever after?"

Hermione's heart clenched and her throat tightened. No, they would not live happily ever after. In her time period, her best friend was grieving for her lost family. She did not want to imagine what she was experiencing though she knew the second she had the chance to return to the future, she would do so. If the time turner only allowed her to go forward one year at a time, she would spin it the number of times she needed to get back to 1998. There were plenty of people in that year that needed her and she needed them.

"No, that only exists in fairy tales. Ted is going to get on your nerves because he's messy."

Andromeda groaned. Hermione laughed. It was an irritation she had frequently vented to Hermione about since she moved into a tiny flat with Ted right out of Hogwarts. He had a bad habit of leaving dirty socks all over the space. Andromeda could always tell when he had been in the kitchen making a sandwich because he could never seem to see the crumbs that needed brushing away. Wet towels hung from doorknobs all over the flat. Her friend kept a long list of the truly despicable cleaning habits of her soon-to-be husband.

"And your daughter is going to frighten you because she will manage to trip on her own feet from the moment she starts walking."

"Not to mention I will be terrified of what Father will do when he learns I have a child."

Hermione grasped Andromeda's hand in hers and leant over to place a kiss on her forehead. The tears running from her best friend's eyes renewed themselves. Several minutes passed of Hermione simply holding her friend as she cried. She could not even begin to imagine what Andromeda was experiencing or feeling in those moments. Her heart was breaking. She knew that if she turned up pregnant she would not have to worry about the reaction of any of her parents. Though long gone to her and in another decade, her mum and dad would not be happy at first, but they would be supportive. Aberforth would deny it if asked, but Hermione felt certain his heart would melt with a little grandchild to hold. How Cygnus and Druella Black could simply write off one of their own daughters was too much for Hermione to understand.

"I really don't think your father will try to harm your child," Hermione said, though even she was not entirely convinced with her argument.

"You can't know that, Hermione. He's a hateful man. He will see my child as an abomination. All Half-Bloods are worse to him than even Muggleborns."

Both young ladies sighed. Hermione knew the type. Even her own uncle felt less than charitable feelings about her own background. If he had only been aware that she was actually a Muggleborn _pretending_ to be a part of his family, he would have likely murdered her on the spot to spare their family honor. The Lestranges were prickly about family honor. She witnessed it time and time again. Though it had been months since she last saw the Head of her fake mother's side of the family, she knew that their next meeting would likely be fraught with tension and numerous questions as to why she had not yet found a suitable wizard to marry. She was not looking forward to the meeting.

"Ted will keep you protected," Hermioned assured her. "And you aren't exactly weak yourself. You can't tell me that you would not willingly curse your father to protect your child."

Andromeda's hands dropped down to her still-flat belly.

"I would rip his heart out with my teeth if he ever tried to hurt her."

"Oh, so you believe me now that you're having a daughter?" Hermione teased in an effort to lighten the mood again. Andromeda's eyes were dark with fury. Certainly could not be healthy for the baby.

"You told me not to question you," Andromeda laughed. "Besides, having a daughter sounds _nice_. I'm not sure I would know what to do with a boy."

Hermione bit the insides of her cheeks to keep from laughing. If only she could tell Andromeda that her daughter would be _much_ more difficult than just a simple boy. She looked forward to Nymphadora being born and watching her grow. It would be strange to see the future auror as a baby.

"Thank you, Hermione. I feel much calmer."

Andromeda carefully rose from the small bed. Her best friend followed her example. Remembering her training as a member of the Black family, Andromeda took just a few moments to clean up her face and compose herself completely. She had been trained from birth to keep her emotions private.

"Would you like me to come home with you when you tell Ted? Some additional support?"

"Thank you, but no, I should do this on my own."

Hermione led her friend back into the front room of the store. She rolled her eyes slightly when she noticed Rodolphus trying to pretend he wasn't watching them from the corner of the store where the kneazle supplies were displayed. He was being painfully obvious, the concern flashed across his features. At the front door, Andromeda hugged her friend tightly and wished her luck. She made her promise to owl her if she needed anything at all.

"Is everything all right?" Rodolphus asked about half a second after the door closed behind Andromeda. "We could hear her crying from out here. Is it her family? Did that wizard she was dating hurt her?"

She was quickly losing patience with her cousin. Caradoc met her eyes from across the room with a matching exasperated expression. Without adding to the conversation, the manager of the store slipped into the back to give the cousins some privacy. Hermione really wished he would stay, but got the feeling that listening to Rodolphus worry and fret over Andromeda was likely too much for him.

"Did he do something to her? What happened? I don't like the thought of her with a wizard I don't know."

"Roddy, stop," Hermione ordered. "What we talked about is private. _You_ gave up all rights to anything private about her life when you let her walk out of your life."

"I didn't _let_ her walk out of my life," he insisted, his usual soft tone rising steadily.

"No, that's right. _You_ were the one who ran from her. _You_ were the one who wouldn't answer her letters. _You_ were the one who ran off to Africa. _You_ were the one who let her go."

Rodolphus' neck was tense, a vein threatening to burst. He was almost as angry as Christmas when she confessed to spiking the cupcakes the night he threw Andromeda down on top of a table. Concerned that they were about to ruin their shaky truce from earlier in the summer, Hermione stepped towards her cousin with the intent to calm him back down. Rodolphus took a step backwards when she stepped forward. Without another word, he spun around to rush out the door. The sound of the bell shaking violently above the door was her cue to begin crying. What if they were back to not speaking again because she could not keep her thoughts to herself?

"You didn't say anything he didn't need to hear, darling," Caradoc stated, wrapping his arm around her shoulders to pull her into his side. "Our Roddy's a bit stubborn. Rather like someone he's related to."

He dropped a kiss amongst her curls before releasing his grip. Hermione wanted to rush after Rodolphus, but knew it was not the right move. She would likely just further enrage the man if she did not give him adequate time to calm down. The arrival of another prospective Hogwarts student with her parents was just the distraction that Hermione needed.

* * *

 **8:05 pm**

"Do you need me to come in tomorrow?" Hermione asked, as she and Caradoc locked up the front door to the store. "I know it's not my usual day, but if you need me…"

Rodolphus had not returned to the store since that morning when he stormed out. Both Caradoc and Hermione were worried about him. Only the never ceasing line of customers coming in and out of the store kept their minds occupied. Caradoc turned the key and set the wards before answering.

"No, I think it will be all right. Even if Rod is not up to coming in to work, I should be able to handle it myself."

They walked in silence to the nearest Apparition point. Halfway there Hermione felt all of the hair on her arms and neck begin to stand up. She stopped her steps to take a look at her surroundings. Caradoc kept on walking for several feet before realizing she was no longer keeping in step with him. He turned around to see what the problem was.

Hermione could see Greyback watching her from the other side of the Alley. Tucked in between two buildings, he would've been almost invisible if she had not been expecting to see him in the shadows. She would never be able to shake off the feeling that washed over her every time he held her within his gaze.

"What's wrong, love?" Caradoc asked, looking in the direction where her eyes were fixed. "Who's that?"

"No one."

She grasped Caradoc's arm and continued back towards the Apparition point. All questions that her friend and supervisor asked about the mysterious wizard were completely ignored. Hermione leaned up to kiss him on the cheek, ignoring the swooping of fear within her gut. Moments later she was standing outside of her father's pub. After being caught alone in the woods, she vowed to never apparate there again. Some day she would be able to take the long walk back into the village, but until Greyback was nothing but a horrifying memory, she would be not be taking any chances.

The Hog's Head was generally slow on Wednesday night. That evening was no exception. Only Mundungus Fletcher sat at any of the open tables. Whatever he was responsible for doing that would one day get him banned for life from her father's pub had not happened yet. He was a frequent patron who had more than once tried to sell her obviously stolen goods.

One customer sat at the bar hunched over a full glass of fire whiskey. Hermione recognized him at once from the fine cut of his robes alone. Aberforth greeted her with a warm smile, indicating with his eyes that she should take a seat next to the familiar figure.

"You were right," Rodolphus slurred the moment she settled on the stool next to his. He knocked back his entire glass in a single gulp. This was a wizard who was familiar with drinking. Perhaps a bit _too_ familiar. "I was nothing but an idiot."

"I won't argue with you there, cousin."

Rodolphus snorted out a harsh laugh. She hated the sound. The man sitting next to her was a practical stranger in that moment and she was certain she did not like him.

"Andy deserves better than me. Always has. I'm not strong enough or brave enough to make her happy. This wizard of hers better keep her protected. I want her to be happy. Will she be happy with him, you think?"

"I _know_ she will."

Aberforth came around the bar to stand behind them. He placed a firm hand on Rodolphus' shoulder.

"Come along, son. I've got a room upstairs ready for you. A good night's sleep always brings a fresh perspective the next morning."

Hermione watched her dad lead her distraught and heavily drunk cousin up the stairs towards the guest rooms. Needing something to occupy her mind and her hands with, she set about cleaning up the dirty glasses littering the top of the bar. A fresh glass of the vile smoking substance Mundungus preferred was banished to him with a flick of her wand before Aberforth returned.

"Poor kid's been sitting on that stool for hours," her dad stated when he returned. "I kept my eye on him, o' course, but I'm not sure how many glasses he polished off."

"I had some rather harsh words for him in London, I'm afraid."

"He told me. Talked with the lad quite a bit actually. If it helps, he agrees with everything you said."

"I guess."

She sighed and continued to wipe off the top of the bar. Aberforth reached around her to pick up a sealed letter behind the bar.

"This came for you earlier," he announced, setting the envelope in front of her.

She was always a bit suspicious of post. Recognizing the handwritten script on front, she did not hesitate to rip the missive open.

 _Hermione,_

 _Wear your best dress robes and meet me in the Atrium of the Ministry of Magic at half past four tomorrow afternoon. I like the dark purple ones you got last summer. Don't argue with me. I'm the bride and you're going to be my maid of honor. Ted is thrilled!_

 _Andromeda_

* * *

August 16, 1972

 **4:31 pm**

Hermione always hated running the least bit late. It was a trait she undoubtedly picked up from her Muggle parents. For the first seventeen years of her life they consistently harped on the importance of arriving to her scheduled appointments on time. They were actually one of the few dental practices that rarely kept their patients waiting for extended periods of time in the waiting room. Even just running a few minutes behind schedule was enough to stress Hermione out to unhealthy levels.

Andromeda and Ted were already waiting for her in the Atrium. The bride-to-be was radiant in a simple set of dress robes. Ted had his arms around her waist, whispering directly in her ear. Her joyful laughter rang throughout the massive room, drawing plenty of indulgent smiles from the various Ministry workers and visitors in the area.

"They both look very happy, don't they?"

Surprised at hearing the voice behind her, Hermione spun around too fast. She might have tripped over her own feet if Antonin's hands did not reach out in time to steady her. Her ex-boyfriend did not relinquish his hold on her arms immediately. It felt both strange and exhilarating to have him touch her again.

"Yes, they do," she agreed, carefully stepping backwards until his hands dropped. "I was not expecting to see you here."

"Ted asked me to come," Antonin explained. "Asked me last night to come stand with him and be a witness."

"That sounds rather _convenient_."

She was quickly growing annoyed with the situation. Though she knew that Ted and Antonin liked each other and enjoyed spending time in one another's company, she did not believe they were close enough mates for Antonin to be his best man. She could smell a setup. Perhaps the almost-married couple hoped to push their friends back together with a joyful event like a wedding their backdrop. Antonin's soft chuckles made her stomach flutter. It had always been a pleasing sound.

"No, neither one of them are very subtle," he agreed. "But I suppose there are worst ways to spend an afternoon. I've missed you, daragaya."

* * *

June 19, 1998

 **12:00 pm**

"That doesn't make any bloody sense," declared Dolohov. "Why would you expect Hermione to show back up in 1998 if she disappeared twenty-seven years ago? Wouldn't the time turner just make her go _forward_ twenty-seven years when she turned it? If she turned it in December 1980, she won't be back until December 2007."

"We have to wait for over nine years for her to return?" asked Dean, his tone clearly revealing his own confusion.

Kingsley closed his eyes and sighed. Even after reading every single book he could get his hands on about what was known about time travel since the day he learned the fifteen year old witch in the Order's Headquarters was his long-lost girlfriend, he could still get bogged down by the minutiae of the confounding form of magic. There were many theories about time travel, each one even more confusing the last. While he was certain that the conclusions he had come to about Hermione's expected return to their time were likely emotional and possibly even illogical in some ways, he still clung to the hope that he would not be forced to wait much longer for her return.

"Ted and Andy's daughter is dead," Kingsley stated.

Antonin's eyes widened at the news. Either he must not have been in a position to learn the names of the fallen after the Battle for Hogwarts or he did not recognize her name coupled with her married surname. The Death Eater sighed and closed his eyes in much the same manner that Kingsley had done only minutes earlier.

"Dorie was always such a sweet kid," Antonin replied. "I'd hoped after Ted… well, I didn't expect them _both_ to be killed."

"Andy lost her husband and her daughter within months of each other. Her son-in-law too. All she has left is her grandson. You and I can only imagine what kind of pain she is in right now. Hermione knows all of this. She knows that her best friend is stuck in this year alone and in pain. What do you think she would do?"

"She would do whatever she could to get back to Andy as quickly as she can."

"Exactly. Aberforth believes that the time turner was not working after she landed in 1971. That's why she couldn't immediately return to 1998. If it works in 1980 when she disappears, I imagine she would turn the time turner enough turns to get her back to this year. She knows better than to try to come back any sooner. She would still be in danger if she returned when the war was still raging."

It was all speculation. One massive bundle of theories really. Kingsley could attempt to justify it until all breath left his body and still not be one hundred percent convinced himself. He was clinging to a hope that he knew his little witch well enough to understand how her mind worked. It was always a gamble.

"You can't stay here, Dolohov," Kingsley finally announced after several minutes.

"I had not planned on remaining long."

"Because you saved Dean's life and _only_ because you saved my nephew, I will let you go this time."

Dean's eyes widened at the bargain the Minister for Magic was making with the fugitive Death Eater. Kingsley was curious to know what the young man was thinking. It had been a strange day for all of them.

"You always were a bloody honorable Gryffindor," Antonin spat, venom dripping from each syllable. "I'm not convinced, however, that you didn't have something to do with the predicament Hermione found herself in. This just reeks of something idiotic that you would do."

Naturally he could not argue with the truth.

"Leave, Dolohov. If I see you again, I will be forced to take you back to Azkaban."

"You mean, you will be forced to _try_."

"Just go. Next time I will not be so lenient."

Antonin placed both of his hands on Dean's shoulders. He leaned in close to speak to his godson in hushed tones that Kingsley could not hear. He didn't want to know what they spoke of. Most of the words that fell from the Death Eater's mouth were nothing but lies. He'd heard them since they were both toddling around his parents' garden. Dean shook his godfather's hand. With a final glower in Kingsley's direction, Dolohov Disapparated away from the area. He only hoped that he would never have to see the wizard again.


	26. Chapter 26

_Author's Notes: Reviews have been so wonky with FFN the last few weeks! I hate that I haven't been able to respond to them like I should or have wanted to. Hopefully they will continue to work correctly for a little while longer. Always remember that I can also be found at Tumblr under_ _ **Canimallow**_ _. I also try to post previews of upcoming chapters._

 _A bit of bad news, I'm afraid. I will likely be unable to update again the next week. (It could still happen, but it is unlikely.) My sister-in-law is coming to visit and my house currently looks worse than Hogwarts post-final battle. The next week I will need to focus on getting ready for her visit and I've started a fairly large home improvement project that my husband is actually forcing me to finish. How dare he?! I will still be outlining and writing as I get free time. Ugh, real-life! I wish I could get paid to write this. ; )_

* * *

Chapter Twenty Six

August 16, 1972

 **5:35 pm**

The short ceremony binding Edward Tonks to Andromeda Black for the rest of their lives was surprisingly simple and utterly sweet. Hermione had been to many weddings in the course of her almost twenty years. Predominately Muggle of course, she was struck by the beauty of the binding spells used in much the same manner she had been enthralled at the wedding of Bill and Fleur Weasley. Somehow having the groom's grandmother recite the thirteenth book of First Corinthians as she had seen done a dozen times before was less memorable.

As far as wizarding weddings went, theirs was far from fancy. Two witnesses in the office of one of the Wizengamot officials was hardly posh. Despite lacking all of the finery Andromeda could have expected in her wedding to Maxwell Bole, the bride was glowing, the groom completely enamored and the ceremony sweet. It was clear to all who saw the young couple that they were very much in love. Hermione hated the sharp pang of jealousy that clenched at her heart as they exchanged their vows to love each other for the remainder of their lives. She was ecstatic for her two friends, but she could not help the green monster that resided within her breast. Would there ever be a day when she looked at someone the way Andromeda looked at Ted?

She detested her weakness in those happy moments because she knew that while she still had the opportunity for a happily ever after, the couple kissing to seal their bond would not. There would be a day in the not-too-distant future where Andromeda huddled at home in fear with her pregnant daughter and son-in-law to learn that Ted would never be coming home again. Hermione wished that she could be with Andromeda in _that_ moment instead of the one she was currently experiencing. Though an extremely happy occasion, she knew that she was _needed_ more in the awful days.

Tears slipped out of her eyes without her permission. Hoping that no one would notice her influx of distressing emotions, Hermione attempted to stealthily blot at her eyes. Antonin, an observant wizard, slipped a fresh handkerchief in her hand. She met his dark brown eyes for a moment to give him a hesitant smile of thanks. The wizard's grin in return was a little less tentative. Embarrassed that she was unable to hide her emotions as well as she thought she was, Hermione returned her attention to the simple ceremony.

When the Wizengamot official completed the final binding spell and both Hermione and Antonin signed their marriage license, the newlyweds ignored all of the assembled witnesses to kiss each other fiercely. Part of Hermione wondered how far the couple would have gone if the official had not politely cleared his throat. Antonin and Hermione caught each other's eyes to smirk at their exuberance.

"Congratulations, Mr. and Mrs. Tonks," the official politely declared, making it clear that everyone was to vacate his offices immediately.

The small wedding party stepped out into the corridor. Andromeda immediately opened her arms to hug Hermione. When they broke apart to allow Antonin the opportunity to kiss the bride's cheek, the maid of honor embraced the groom. A harsh wave of distressing emotion fell over her in those moments. She hated that she knew Ted's fate. Hated knowing that there would come a day when he was forced to go on the run to elude the Muggleborn Registration Commission. Hated that he would through no fault of his own be forced to abandon his wife and his pregnant daughter. Hated that he would be murdered only weeks before his daughter, leaving Andromeda alone.

Her emotions must have been apparent by the crushing grip she retained on Ted's torso. He seemed unnerved in the beginning by her arms squeezing his ribs, but soon settled into the embrace by hugging her back almost as tightly. Hermione's silent tears did not fool anyone. When they finally broke apart and Hermione's cheeks flushed red with her mortification, she noticed the looks of concern on both Andromeda's and Antonin's faces. Ted simply smiled at her like what she had just done was the most normal of occurrences.

"Andy, darling, I thought we would take these two into Muggle London for a celebratory dinner," Ted announced a short time later when they were all standing outside the Visitor Entrance to the Ministry.

" _Muggle_ London, Teddy?" Andromeda asked, skepticism present in her tone. "Why not just go to Diagon Alley?"

"Antonin and I were discussing the differences in Muggle restaurants and Wizard restaurants earlier today. He seemed keen to actually experience a bit of Muggle cuisine."

Hermione felt her brow wrinkle in confusion. Antonin, though not as vocal as so many of their schoolmates, was decidedly anti-Muggle. He and Ted managed to form a friendship only because Ted made it clear that he would be assimilating to wizarding society. She turned her focus on her ex who with a single twitch of his eyebrow conveyed to her wordlessly that she did not need to ask any questions.

She would later learn that the reasoning behind the newlyweds taking their close friends out to dinner in Muggle London was due to Ted's overwhelming and quite likely sound fear that a member of the Black family would descend upon their joyous celebration if held anywhere wizards were likely to gather. The groom wanted nothing to spoil their day. Andromeda had been moments from great bawling tears ever since she was disowned any time there was mention of her family. No doubt word of her marriage reached Cygnus' ears only moments after the binding spells were completed. Antonin happily went along with the mild deception that it was his idea.

"That sounds lovely," declared Andromeda, all smiles and happiness. Hermione had never seen a more beautiful bride. Not even Fleur Weasley with her Veela blood compared to the radiance of her best friend in love. "It will be an adventure. I've never gone either, Antonin."

Their adventure only continued when Ted managed to flag down a taxi. Andromeda was elated to have her first ride in a Muggle automobile. It was a day of grand first experiences for her. Antonin, however, was less than thrilled about the prospect of climbing in the backseat of the black cab. He was the last one to climb in and only did so when Hermione reached out to grab his hand to pull him inside. Once seated on the plush seat, he did not relax. The entire drive Ted spoke to the cab driver while Andromeda happily pointed out everything of interest that her sheltered Pureblood upbringing had kept her from. Hermione kept her eyes on Antonin who sat with his hands on his thighs, resolutely refusing to look out the window of the moving vehicle. It was adorable.

"You seem awfully calm," Antonin hissed when she started giggling at his obvious discomfort. "You've been in one of these _contraptions_ before?"

Hermione resisted the urge to laugh out loud before pointing out that she had been in a Muggle automobile more times than she could recall. Her parents were well-to-do dentists. Of course they each had their own car. It was amusing to think that the way she felt about broomsticks, perhaps the most common method of travel amongst wizards and witches, was exactly how so many Half- and Pureblood felt about car travel.

"A number of times actually," she answered. "They are not so bad really."

"When did you have cause to be in one?" Antonin asked, his uneasiness forgotten momentarily in his need to interrogate the witch.

Hermione rolled her eyes and sighed dramatically. Would they always have reasons to argue?

"You don't know everything about me, Antonin," she snapped back.

"Clearly."

Their petty squabble was quickly smashed by Andromeda lightly tapping the back of Hermione's head and reminding her that it was her wedding day. All arguments were to be saved for another day. Feeling a bit guilty that she rose to take the bait, she sat back on the seat ignoring Antonin for the remainder of the short drive.

Once Ted paid for the fare, the four of them stepped out of the cab onto a quiet street. It was still a bit early in the day for dinner at a few minutes past six o'clock. The cab drove off. Looking around to make certain that no unsuspecting Muggles were about to be witness to his use of magic on the public pavement, Ted quickly transfigured his wizard dress robes into something decidedly more Muggle. Hermione snorted to herself when she watched Antonin stare down at his robes with his confusion clear on his features. Taking pity on the man, she waved her wand and muttered a few short incantations to alter his robes into a smart Muggle suit.

Dinner was actually quite lovely. Hermione worried when she saw the posted prices on the menu that perhaps they were celebrating beyond most of their pocketbooks. Andromeda still had very little concept of money following a childhood of privilege where she was not expected to worry her pretty little head about prices and currency. When Ted ordered a couple of bottles of expensive champagne, she was concerned that they would be spending the better part of a month's wages on a single meal. While she sipped at the bubbly beverage she tried to think of a way in which she could slip some of her money in to cover the bill without offending the proud groom. She never wanted them to think that she was throwing her money in their faces. Thanks to whatever Unspeakable Kingsley sent back in time to forge her birth certificate, she would never have to worry about money for as long as she was alive.

Deciding that there would be no way to insist on footing the bill without performing at least three or four illegal obliviates, Hermione made the choice to figure out a way to pay for their rent for the next few months without them being aware. There had to be some way to do so without their knowledge. That was what the Lestrange family kept a team of solicitors on retainer for, was it not? She made a mental note to send a couple of owls first thing the next morning. And if the Tonkses found out what she had done, she would simply smile, shrug her shoulders and declare it a wedding present.

When she realized halfway through their main course that Ted and Andromeda were paying no attention to their guests in favor of soft whispers and lingering gazes in each other's eyes, Hermione turned her attention to Antonin. She asked several polite questions about how his apprenticeship with Gringotts was going. He replied with the proper answers expected of anyone in the same position. It all felt awkward and uncomfortable. Like two people who had just met for the first time minutes earlier. Hermione hated that where they had once been able to engage in fierce debates moderated by their mutual close friend Thomas, now they could hardly speak beyond polite small talk.

"What about you?" he asked. "What have you been doing since we left Hogwarts? You hardly seem the type to just sit around and live off of your family's money."

"No, that's more Rabastan," she agreed. "He's been begging my uncle to send him on the Grand Tour so he can at least pretend to be doing something useful with his life."

"Must be nice."

She did not miss the tiny hint of bitterness in Antonin's response. Thomas once explained that the Dolohovs were certainly not poor by any stretch of the imagination. They were very similar to the Shacklebolts and the Shafiqs. _Comfortable_ , but not wealthy. The Grand Tour was out of the reach of most of her former classmates. Not many people could afford taking off a lavish adventure across many countries for two solid years. Sometimes she forgot how fortunate she was in regard to monetary wealth. It was easy to forget when she had been cooped up in Hogwarts for most of the last year allowing her monthly allowance to accumulate in her private vault.

"I've been helping my father around the pub a few times a week," she explained. "And I've been working at my cousin Roddy's pet store in Diagon Alley. He and his manager are completely hopeless when it comes to their owls."

"No grand goals?" he asked.

"Not at present, no."

"That seems strange to me. You seem like the kind of ambitious person who has known what she wanted all along."

Hermione took a long sip of her champagne before answering.

"Once upon a time I was that girl."

"What happened?"

"I ended up here."

She rose from her chair abruptly, excusing herself from her dining companions. Once inside the safety of the ladies' room she finally allowed herself to cry the tears she had been holding in since the Ministry. It had been a trying and emotional day. For reasons she could not understand, Antonin's simple remark struck her harder than she anticipated. Yes, there had been a time when she would've been miserable to find out that she was not fighting the good fight for creatures' rights within the Ministry following Hogwarts. But that was when she was Hermione _Granger_. Hermione Dumbledore was different somehow. Part of her felt like she wasn't really a part of the time she was living in. She almost felt as if she was just waiting for the day when she would eventually disappear. She felt displaced.

After a few minutes of allowing her emotions to flow freely, Hermione cleared up all traces of her tears with a couple of well-practiced charms. When she stepped out into the corridor, she was surprised to find Antonin leaned up against the wall waiting for her. It was clear by the expression on his face that he was concerned.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

Hermione tried to put her best smile on.

"Of course I am. Why would you think otherwise?"

"Because I'm not an idiot. I know when you're upset."

She attempted to walk away back into the main dining room. As soon as she stepped past Antonin, he reached out to grab her arm to stop her movement. Hermione was annoyed. Nothing had changed since he broke up with her. What right did he think he had to touch her or impede her progress? Before he could say a single word against it, she ripped her arm out of his grip. She returned to the table, Antonin only steps behind.

Andromeda and Ted hardly even noticed their absence, let alone their return. Biting down the rising tide of jealousy, Hermione settled back into her chair. The remainder of the meal passed in silence between the two attendants and quiet whispers between the newlyweds. Finally after what seemed an eternity, Ted was paying the final bill.

"You will both have to excuse us, but my beautiful bride and I have a honeymoon we would like to start."

Hermione plastered another smile on her aching face. She was truly happy for them. It pained her that she was allowing her own petty envy to color what should be a joyous occasion. At least neither of them seemed to notice her true feelings. Antonin rose from the table to assist Hermione in vacating her chair. Though a kind and polite gesture, she was annoyed by his attentiveness. Everything about the wizard was beginning to grate on her nerves. She longed for the right moment when it would be polite to slip away to go home. A long, hot bubble bath sounded heavenly.

"Would you two like to share a cab with us?" Ted asked when their conveyance arrived.

"Absolutely not," insisted Antonin. "I would rather walk across the country than get in another one of those _things_."

His disgust at a normal, everyday Muggle item made Hermione snort. Once the newlyweds disappeared in their personal taxi, an awkwardness fell between the two exes. Not wishing to remain longer than necessary, Hermione started walking away from Antonin. She only made it a few steps before he reached out to take her hand.

"We don't have to go home just yet," he stated, unable to meet her eyes.

Hermione was conflicted. She was still upset by their breakup. It had not been _that_ long ago that they experienced that horrible night when he threw Igor's letter in her face. Antonin really hurt her in the aftermath, but she also felt guilty because she knew he was hurt too. She knew that it was all of her fault too.

"What did you have in mind?" she asked.

"Find an empty alley and Apparate to the Leaky Cauldron. Order a bottle Ogden's and see what happens."

She allowed herself to be persuaded. In truth, she _did_ enjoy spending time with Antonin. There had been several moments over the course of the afternoon and evening with him that had been more than a little enjoyable. The thought of being alone with him again after all that had happened was a bit exciting. Maybe they could be friends again.

Antonin Apparated them both to the pavement in front of the popular wizard pub. Once inside, Tom narrowed his eyes at Hermione. Apparently he did not forget a face even over a year later. She and Igor had obviously made quite the impression when they sauntered into his establishment half-dressed at almost four in the morning. Antonin ordered a bottle and they found a small table in a dark corner.

"Doesn't look like the proprietor cared much for you. What did you do?"

Hermione poured them both full glasses of whiskey in an effort to keep her hands occupied and delay the answering of his question for a few moments longer. Antonin's smirk at her obvious reluctance made her stomach clench with not unpleasant nerves.

"He probably just doesn't like the fact that I'm a Dumbledore or a Lestrange. Most people either hate one or the other."

Antonin was not convinced, but did not push it. They sipped their glasses silently for several minutes. Neither seemed to know quite how to further their conversation. It felt strange to Hermione. Almost like those first few weeks in their seventh year when she was still learning to read the mannerisms and moods of the boy who would one day almost kill her in the Ministry.

"Do you ever wish you had a time turner?" Antonin asked, breaking the silence without warning.

Hermione almost choked on the fire whiskey she had been drinking at the exact moment of his question. Without thinking her hand reached up to feel the time turner she always kept hidden underneath her clothes. Her companion eyed her movements with an odd expression across his face.

"Sorry," Hermione muttered as soon as her breathing was back to its normal speed. "Why would you wish for a time turner?"

"Isn't it obvious?"

She shook her head in the negative. The man had always been a mystery to her. No, she did not think he was being apparent. Antonin polished off the last of his first glass.

"I would use it to go back in time to that first night we were alone in the study room."

"The night you jinxed my feet to the floor?"

"The night _you_ cast a silencing charm on me."

They were never going to agree which one of them was in the wrong that night because they knew that they were both wrong. Antonin finally smiled an almost shamed smile.

"Anyway, I'd go back to that night and I wouldn't let you out of the room until you kissed me."

"I don't know how well that would've worked. I was pretty angry with you."

His hand slipped across the top of the small table to grasp one of hers yet again that night. It was familiar and awkward and exhilarating. Antonin's thumb rubbed the top of her hand, distracting her thoughts for several moments.

"Perhaps I could've persuaded you," he suggested.

Hermione snorted and they both laughed.

"I've heard rumors that those rooms weren't used for just studying," he continued.

Antonin waggled his eyebrows making them both laugh again. Between the champagne with their dinner and the fire whiskey they had already consumed since being seated, Hermione was feeling the effects of the alcohol in her system. Her inhibitions were down. With those, she also lost a great deal of the anger and pain she had been hanging on to since the night they broke up.

"You would be correct about that," she declared. "The night you and I _ended_ our relationship, I walked in on Kingsley and Amelia Bones in there definitely _not_ studying."

At her confession Antonin burst out in loud laughter. It startled Hermione a little at first. She was certain she had never heard him be so loud before.

"Baby Shacklebolt and Bones, huh? Good for him. Bones is fit."

Hermione laughed and reached for a few pretzels from the bowl in the middle of their table. She threw them at Antonin's chest causing them both to laugh again. He refilled both of their empty glasses.

"Why do you call him that anyway? 'Baby Shacklebolt'. He's what, six _months_ younger than you?"

"Eight actually."

She did not even attempt to hide her rolled eyes at his statement. As if two months actually mattered in the grand scheme. Antonin shrugged his shoulders.

"He used to cry all of the time. About everything. He'd cry when Tommy and I wouldn't let him play with us. He'd cry when you would play with the toy he wanted. He'd cry when you wouldn't give him your last biscuit. He'd cry when you hit him in the eye. _Always_ crying."

"I've never seen him cry."

"Yeah, well, the name stuck. He hates it which makes me happy."

Hermione knocked back the rest of her glass. If she was going to continue her awkward evening with Antonin, she at least wanted to be more relaxed.

"Are you two ever going to get over this rivalry you have?"

"Highly doubt it. We'll probably be one hundred years old and still jinxing each other in the back."

"It's all a bit childish, don't you think?"

"Certainly it is, but I don't see either one of us ever reaching the point where we actually enjoy each other's company."

"You don't have to enjoy each other to not act like children."

He laughed loudly once more. Though he too was feeling the effects of the alcohol, his steady hand refilled both of their glasses. Hermione was startled to realize that they had already drunk at least half of the bottle. She was not sure how she would be able to Apparate home at that point. Apparating under the influence could be a serious problem resulting in horrible splinching accidents.

"Why are we wasting our evening talking about Baby… _Kingsley_?"

"You're right. He's obnoxious. Let's change the subject."

Their conversation landed on a variety of different topics as the evening wore on. Hermione was surprised by how quickly time seemed to fly by when they were enjoying each other's company. She felt encouraged once again that maybe they could put their past differences aside to regain some semblance of a friendship. Antonin would one day become a Death Eater. While she knew that she could not completely prevent him from making that poor decision, she hoped to be able to delay his journey into darkness for as long as she could.

"You were pretty emotional at the Ministry today," Antonin stated some time after nine and countless glasses of fire whiskey.

"Weddings are always emotional. Haven't you ever heard of people crying at them?"

She was only giving him half an answer. There was simply no way she could admit that the reason she was so emotional was because she was thinking of the day when Ted would be murdered in the future. How could she explain that away? At best he would think she was simply insane. At worst he might actually figure out her secret and know that she had been lying since the day she arrived.

"No, when you hugged Ted," continued Antonin. "Why were you so upset? You hugged him tight and you were crying. Why?"

Hermione was not sure how to respond. Her emotions had gotten away from her in that moment. It was almost embarrassing.

"You're a very strange woman, Hermione Dumbledore. I don't know what it is exactly. Can't quite put my finger on it, but there's _something_ about you."

"And you have always had an odd way with words around women, Antonin Dolohov. This reminds me of the night you told me that I didn't repulse you. Now _that_ was the kind of compliment every woman longs to hear."

She threw out mention of _that_ night without giving it much thought. Anything to get his attention off of the fact that there absolutely was something strange about her. Antonin was the kind of wizard who would not rest until he solved a pesky riddle. She did not want him to exert all of his energy in attempting to solve hers.

"That night could have gone a lot differently," he agreed. "It wasn't all bad though. I did finally get my hands under your jumper."

His wink made Hermione snort loudly. She was surprised that he was doing what he could to remain positive about what had ultimately been a horrible night. Obviously the four months that had passed had given him plenty of opportunity to soothe his injured pride.

"You could've had a whole lot more," she added.

After her pronouncement, she almost gasped when she saw how dark his already dark eyes became. Her breathing hitched as her stomach swirled. Antonin refilled their glasses and swallowed an entire tumbler-full in one swallow. Suddenly nervous for reasons she was not entirely sure of, Hermione followed suit. She was definitely not going to be able to make it home to Scotland that evening. Aberforth was not expecting her back. Knowing there would be a celebration following the wedding ceremony, he made her promise that she would get a room at The Leaky Cauldron or stay in the backroom of the store if she was unfit to Apparate home.

"And now?" Antonin asked, his voice hardly a whisper.

"And now what?"

"Can I have a whole lot more?"

It was the alcohol. She could blame it on the alcohol, couldn't she? Antonin would never have been so bold if he had not been drinking for hours. Hermione certainly would not be entertaining the idea of agreeing to a 'whole lot more' if she had not been meeting the wizard drink for drink. It was a crazy idea. Though she could not blame him for his anger the night he discovered she had been exchanging letters with Igor, he _had_ really hurt her in the aftermath. Was she willing to allow herself to forget for an evening of fire whiskey fueled debauchery?

 _Probably_.

"You are very bold this evening, Antonin."

"I've had a lot to drink, _daragaya_. And I meant what I said earlier. I've missed you."

Getting a room at The Leaky Cauldron was not going to happen. She did not appreciate the way in which Tom stared at her when she entered earlier in the evening. Asking him for a room was just begging him to make some snarky remark about the last time she was there with a wizard. If Antonin learned that that establishment was the same place where she was first with Igor, he would storm out of there faster than she could calm him down. A quick glance at an ornate clock on the wall showed the time to be almost ten. The store would have been empty for hours.

Rising from the table in one swift movement, she almost smirked when she saw the brief look of panic in Antonin's eyes. He likely thought she was about to storm out of the pub in anger at his suggestion. Instead, she reached into her purse, pulled out more than enough money to pay for their bottle of fire whiskey and dropped it on the table. Almost instantly the galleons were summoned across the pub by a simple spell from Tom. She picked up the almost empty of fire whiskey in one hand and reached for Antonin's hand with the other.

They weren't even through the brick wall entrance to the Alley behind the Leaky Cauldron before Antonin pushed her up against the wall to kiss her soundly. It was reminiscent of when he pressed her up against Professor Sprout's flowering vines. Several minutes passed of increasingly heated and passionate kisses before they were interrupted by a couple of shocked witches exiting the alley.

"We should probably find somewhere more private before this, uhh, _escalates_ ," Antonin suggested, a proud smirk on his face.

Hermione tapped the bricks with her wand. Her nerves made her hit the wrong combination more than once. Antonin's chuckles and his hands on her hips did not help matters. On the fourth or fifth try, the wall finally opened. Diagon Alley was practically empty. Most of the lights in the stores were out and they ran into very few people milling about the area. The fire whiskey gave Antonin more confidence in himself than Hermione had ever seen. Every few yards he would stop walking to pull the flustered witch back into his arms for another kiss or several. By the time they were standing in front of the dim windows of The Magical Menagerie, she was out of breath and her heart was pounding in her chest.

"Oh, so you're the type that requires an audience?" Antonin teased as she fumbled with the lock on the door.

"What?" She dropped her wand in her confusion.

"All of the animals will be witnesses."

His whispers in her hair made Hermione's cheeks burn with both mortification and excitement. She was able to unlock and unward the pet store with only a couple of tries. Once inside she shut and relocked the door. Antonin's eyes surveyed the entire store. Many of the animals were annoyed by their unexpected arrival if their squawks and mewls were any indication.

"Need an owl?" Hermione teased.

"Come here."

Hermione's feet moved almost of their own accord. Antonin was standing in front of the counter with the till and all of the receipts from the day's sales. When she was close enough to reach, his hands clamped on to her sides. Several heated kisses left her breathless. With no warning at all, Antonin picked Hermione up as if she weighed nothing more than just a few pounds. He carefully set her down on the edge of the counter. Sitting on the edge brought her head level with his. Though he had not yet reached his full adult height yet, he still was much taller than she was.

His hands moved from her sides down to her thighs. They continued their impassioned kissing for more minutes than Hermione could count. Her mind refused to work properly as Antonin's hands moved down the silk of her robes. She jumped the moment he felt the bare skin of her legs. They both smiled against the other's lips and renewed their attentions. The ridiculous shoes Madam Tatting talked her into purchasing that matched her robes fell to the floor with a clatter. Antonin distracted Hermione with his tongue long enough that she did not even realize he was removing her knickers until they were slipping off of her ankles.

She actually whined when he broke their kiss, but he was not bothered. Antonin pushed the hem of her robes up above her waist, completely exposing the lower half of her body to both the cool air and his heated gaze.

" _Antonin_ ," she moaned, his mouth hot on her core.

It became clear in those first few moments that Antonin possessed an impressive skill she had been unaware of. As his lips and his tongue worked in tandem to deliver incredible sensations to the part of her body that had been severely lacking in positive attention for the previous year, she quickly became oblivious to everything else happening beyond her own body. She slipped her hand through his silky dark brown locks, gently encouraging the wizard with her soft touches and appreciative moans.

Her first orgasm of the long night tore through her with little warning. With Antonin's name on her lips, she screamed loud enough to upset most of the animal occupants in the room. The annoyed squawks from the owls in the corner made him chuckle against her skin. When she could breathe again, she laughed and carefully slid off of the counter. Her legs threatened to buckle under her, but with his assistance she was able to stand.

"Fuck, you're gorgeous when you're screaming my name."

"Now it's my turn."

She slid to her knees to discover that her opinion on what Antonin looked like moaning her name was quite similar.

* * *

August 17, 1972

 **7:45 am**

They lost count the number of times they came together that night. First on the floor next to the kneazle kittens cages. Then finally on the small bed in Rodolphus' office. At some point after one or two in the morning they both passed out completely knackered.

A loud knocking on the door to the office startled them both out of a deep sleep. Hermione jumped up quickly, knocking a naked and half-awake Antonin crashing to the hard floor. Realizing that she was not dressed either, Hermione stood by the door without opening it first.

"Yes?" she called.

"You might want to hurry up and get dressed before Roddy arrives," Caradoc stated through the wood of the door. "He's next door picking up pastries and tea. I'd hate for him to walk in on his cousin and her _date_ naked. Might make him cranky."

Hermione was mortified. Based on the tone her manager and friend was using to address her, Caradoc obviously found the situation highly amusing. She wondered how he was even aware what she had been doing. Several nights that summer he had woken her up when she stayed the night. How was this one any different?

"What makes you think I'm not in here by myself?"

Caradoc laughed. The door opened just a crack. Terrified that he was about to burst in, Hermione jumped even further behind the door. When a single hand entered the crack holding Antonin's robes transfigured into a Muggle coat, she rolled her eyes. Obviously they had left articles of clothing scattered around the space. She ripped it from Caradoc's hand, ignoring the snickering both behind her and on the other side of the door. Just as she was about to slam the door shut, Caradoc's hand slipped back in. Her dark blue lacy bra dangled from his index finger. Antonin's laughter was almost as loud as Caradoc's. Hermione grabbed the offending garment with an embarrassed huff.

"I'll keep Roddy distracted outside so you two can slip out the back door."

"Thank you, Caradoc."

She pushed the door shut but not before she heard one last mortifying statement from Caradoc. Antonin was almost in tears he was laughing so hard. If the door had been opened, she was sure that her friend was in a similar state.

"Hermione, honey, your knickers are on the till."

* * *

June 19, 1998

 **12:45 pm**

Kingsley was not sure where to go after watching Dolohov Disapparate to parts unknown. Returning back to the castle seemed the only sensible solution. Maybe they would get some bogus leads on what might have happened to Hermione. Knowing the truth but being unable to share it was maddening. He hated that now Dean was involved in the same lie.

"Let's get back to the castle," Kingsley suggested. "Maybe we can be of some help there."

"You mean pretend to be of some help," corrected Dean.

The Minister cleared his throat. He did not want to admit that his nephew had the right of it. They walked in silence past the extensive wards surrounding the property. Before they Apparated back to Hogwarts, Kingsley's curiosity got the better of him.

"What did Dolohov say to you?"

Dean shifted uneasily on his feet. He seemed reluctant to answer his uncle's question at first. Kingsley wished he had kept his mouth shut.

"He told me that I shouldn't let the fact that he was my dad's best friend change my opinion of him."

The content of Dolohov's speech surprised Kingsley greatly. He did not comment on the words, only stared at Dean hoping to encourage him to continue.

"He said that my dad was a good man. The _best_. He was smarter and braver than he ever was. Said that his mistakes and his choices were his own, but that my dad was a good man. He also said he might hate you, but you were a good man too. Said I could trust you. You would never hurt me."

For the first time in his life, Kingsley found that he actually agreed with something Dolohov said.


	27. Chapter 27

_Author's Note: Thank you so much for all of your patience for the delay in updating. I hate not writing! I'm planning on writing at least two one-shots this week to hopefully make up for it all. They will be additional scenes for this story._

* * *

Chapter Twenty Seven

August 19, 1972

 **10:45 am**

The closer the beginning of the school year came, the busier Hermione found herself in the Magical Menagerie. Rodolphus had only returned to the shop on the morning she was caught there alone with Antonin by Caradoc. He had been unaware that she was there that day. It was clear that he was actively trying to avoid his cousin. Hermione tried not to take that personally, but it was damn near impossible not to. She was worried about him. When she made a point to express some of her anxieties to Caradoc during a lull between customers, he sighed and did what he could to put her fears at ease.

"Roddy does this sometimes," he explained. "Runs off for a few days. Hides himself in the bottom of a bottle."

Hermione was shocked. Caradoc made it sound as if he had something of a drinking problem. That did not make any sense at all. The night at her father's pub was the first time she had ever seen him even close to approaching intoxication. Surely he was mistaken.

"I had no idea."

"He's usually pretty good at hiding it from everyone, but I know him better than most."

She hated to hear that this had happened before. Why did Rodolphus feel the need to run off and hide from those he loved? Was he really on a drunken bender? It was a reality that was hard for her to wrap her mind around. Only the night before Andy's wedding had he ever seemed out of control. Usually he only sipped the same glass throughout the night when he was drinking socially. These were not the actions of the alcoholic Caradoc was implying he was.

"Rodolphus may be different than his father in many ways, but he is still a Lestrange," Caradoc continued. "Your entire family is obsessed with portraying a perfect image to the rest of the world."

Hermione squirmed slightly at his words. He was uncomfortably correct. Even if she wasn't _technically_ a Lestrange, she was the exact same way. Obviously she had never cared much about portraying a perfect physical appearance in her past. She was known, even in the seventies, for going to her lessons with dried ink on her face from where she either rubbed her face with ink splattered hands or laid her head down for a short nap during revising the night before right on top of a wet essay. It was something that Antonin once claimed was endearing. He would smile every time he saw ink splashed across her nose. A quick cleansing spell always cleaned up the evidence, though her initial embarrassment took a bit longer to clear up.

It was important that everyone who knew Hermione Granger and then Hermione Dumbledore saw her as intelligent and capable. Any time she answered a question incorrectly in class (which was quite rare) she was humiliated. What if that one instance was enough to forever change the opinions of every other person in the room? Would they always assume she was some kind of idiot just trying to unsuccessfully move through life pretending to be far clever than she actually was? No matter how many times she told herself in the safety and peace of her own mind that she was being irrational and even a bit ridiculous, Hermione still carried around the fear that if she did not portray absolute perfection in most areas of her life to the outside world, she would be dismissed. Written off as a lesser, unimportant being. It was an illogical fear she had always struggled with. If she was not clever enough to answer every question correctly, would everyone who already believed that someone with her blood status did not deserve magic be proven correct?

"He will keep hiding his problems behind his handsome grin. Maddening and infuriating really. No one other than Regnault Lestrange cares if Roddy is perfect or not. I personally love it when he's relaxed and unashamed to put his flaws on display."

Caradoc moved over to the kneazle shelves to continue his tidying up of their supplies. It was rare to get a free moment in the store between customers. Though she knew it would feel weird to not be going off to school with all of the other students, Hermione was actually looking forward to September 1st coming and going. She could use a break from working in the store. While she loved Caradoc and was rapidly considering him one of her closest and best friends, she hated to be there when Rodolphus wasn't around. He added an extra dimension to their interactions in the store that she found she was sorely missing. She was also ready for the store to slow down so she could spend more time in Scotland with Aberforth. Surprisingly, she was missing slinging drinks in his pub. It was a great deal of fun to spend her evenings with the man who had volunteered to pretend to be her father.

Hermione had been grateful for the constant stream of customers, however, because it prevented the nosy busybody she was learning Caradoc really was from asking too many impertinent questions about the morning he walked in to find her clothing and some of Antonin's spread across the store. He had enough sense and professionalism to keep his bantering to a minimum when there were customers present.

"So you want to tell me what in the hell happened here the other night?"

He laughed when Hermione cringed. With bright red cheeks flaming, she crossed to the opposite corner of the store to pretend to tend to her owls. Caradoc had been teasing her since the day after he helped them slip out of the back door. So far despite his increasingly impertinent questions, she had been resolute in holding her tongue. Mr. Dearborn was far more tenacious than Hermione ever gave him credit for. He was not about to give up easily.

"For fuck's sake, Hermione, you've got to tell me _something_."

"Who says?"

"I'm living vicariously through you. My love life is dull and empty. I need to know what happened!"

Hermione laughed. She knew that feeling all too well. How many times in her past had she felt like she was the only person who was not in some kind of relationship when all of her friends were? It was enough to drive a person mad at times. Taking pity on the man, she cleared her throat. At least she could give him a _hint_ of her evening.

"Well, Antonin is my ex-boyfriend. We had a rather upsetting break-up a few months before the school year ended," she explained. "Partly Igor's fault, if you can imagine."

"Not surprised at all," he replied, his eyes lit up with excitement that he was finally about to get some juicy details.

"He was Ted's, Andromeda's husband, best man. Showed up rather unexpectedly actually. I hadn't realized they were so close. Anyway, he just _appeared_ at the Ministry. A bit awkward in the beginning."

"I imagine it was," he agreed. "Though it seemed from my point of view that you must have gotten over the awkwardness at some point."

She snorted when he winked at her across the store. Yes, he was correct. It did not take long before being alone with Antonin was no longer awkward. They had not seen each other since the morning after though he made it a point to send her at least one owl a day. He was very busy with his cursebreaker apprenticeship, but did not want her to think that he was no longer interested in seeing her again. For a reticent wizard, he could be astonishingly verbose in his letters. Perhaps it was easier for him to express himself when he was not under her intense gaze. She could sympathize.

"We went to dinner after the ceremony. Ted and Andromeda were all over each other, almost completely ignoring our existence."

"Doesn't love just make you sick?" Caradoc teased with a wink.

"Sometimes, it does. After dinner, the newlyweds decided that they wanted to be alone. I had every intention of Apparating back to Hogsmeade and helping Dad in the pub the rest of the night. Antonin grabbed my hand before I could leave."

Caradoc stopped cleaning up the shelves. His interest was singularly focused on her story.

"We ended up in the Leaky Cauldron drinking an entire bottle of fire whiskey. We got to talking about the night we had our massive row. Well, he made it very clear that he missed me and then he asked if we could…"

Her continued description of the night's events were interrupted by the ringing bell above the shop door. Caradoc muttered his favorite curse word under his breath before turning his attention to the new arrivals. Hermione could not help but laugh at his frustration and disappointment.

They remained busy with customers until well after the lunch rush was over. There was only one more Saturday before the beginning of the school year. Most of the last-minute shoppers would wait until the next week to complete their back to school shopping. Hermione was already dreading the next weekend. Around three in the afternoon, they had been enjoying a short two minute break from customers. Her manager had obviously not forgotten their interrupted discussion from earlier in the day. There had not yet been an opportunity to continue Hermione's salacious tale.

He was just about to ask her a question when the door opened yet again. Hermione was tempted to tell him that he would be better off waiting until the end of the night when they locked up the store. It seemed to him to be a vast conspiracy amongst the British Wizarding community to keep him ignorant of the gossip he so longed to hear. Hermione thought him adorable when he pouted.

The Prewett twins entered their establishment moments later. Though she knew of them and had certainly spent a little bit of time in their company, Hermione did not know them very well. During her final year at Hogwarts she did what she could to avoid Kingsley as much as possible. As little time as she spent around the brothers in her time in the past, she still liked them immensely. Just like their nephews would be in the future, it was hard to be around them without feeling happy. She resolutely refused to think about the fact that she knew there would come a day when both of their consistently smiling faces would be cut down by the man she was currently entertaining being in a relationship with again. It was exhausting having knowledge of the future.

Fabian's face split into a wide grin when his eyes fell on Hermione. Ignoring Caradoc completely, he started in her direction. He was definitely the more gregarious of the twins.

"Good afternoon, Miss Dumbledore," he greeted. "My brother and I are in need of a new owl."

"Fabian, you don't have to call me that. Just call me Hermione," she insisted. "I can help you both find what you need."

She turned to address Gideon assuming he was right behind Fabian. To her surprise and amusement, he had not moved from where he had been standing in front of the door. His attention was not focused on his twin or even in their general direction. Both Gideon and Caradoc were trying to pretend like they had not just been caught discreetly looking in the other's direction. Fabian noticed the way they kept cutting their eyes towards the other. With a big grin on his face, Fabian nudged Hermione with his elbow.

"Caradoc, have you met Fabian and Gideon Prewett?" she asked.

He cleared his throat before answering.

"No, I'm afraid I haven't."

"Gideon, this is Caradoc Dearborn. He is the manager here," Hermione announced.

Caradoc closed the short space between him and Gideon in only a few steps. His outstretched hand was grasped immediately by the quieter of the Prewett twins. Fabian nudged Hermione again when neither of them seemed in a rush to drop the other's hand. An evil plan formulating in her mind, Hermione took hold of Fabian's elbow.

"Caradoc, why don't you show Gideon the owls we have available? Fabian has been asking to see the owlet nursery for ages."

" _Ages_ ," stated Fabian with a grin, picking up on Hermione's plan.

Clearing his throat and dropping Gideon's hand, Caradoc led him over to the corner of the store where their owls were displayed. Hermione tightened her grip on Fabian's elbow to drag him to the back before they both lost their composure. It was clear that they were both only moments away from bursting into laughter. They stepped into the back with only moments to spare. Ignoring the fact that they were likely loud enough even in the back of the store to be heard by their loved ones, Hermione and Fabian released their mirth at the same time.

"We're not being cruel to them, are we?" Hermione asked when she was able to draw a breath.

"Oi! That's my twin you're talking about. Any bloke would be lucky to have him."

They both laughed at his statement. Hermione led him over to the section of the back where they kept the owlets housed. Following her instructive afternoon when she helped the helpless men reorganize the owls, they had a special section they referred to as the nursery. A number of protective spells were covered over the area to prevent some of the more aggressive owls from turning their future profits into tasty snacks. Rodolphus had already been able to see a difference in their books following the relocation. Apparently neither he nor Caradoc had ever been able to figure out why they were frequently losing owlets.

Fabian was instantly charmed by the owlets. With a broad smile on his face, he wasted no time in reaching into the nursery to play with the babies. Hermione did not know the twins well, but she had had more than one conversation with Kingsley about them. Though they were identical, the Prewetts did not try to confuse others like their nephews would one day. They were different with their own haircuts and individual sense of style. Fabian was obviously much more outgoing and funny while Gideon was more subdued and serious. The more time she spent around them or heard stories about them, the more she was reminded of their nephews Fred and George. Both of them had very different personalities despite seeming to be so similar.

"Is he a good one?" Fabian asked.

Hermione thought his concern for his twin's well-being and happiness was sweet. She had not realized that Gideon liked men until she saw him glancing at Caradoc. Fabian always had a string of giggling witches hanging on his every word. She simply assumed that Gideon was shy.

"He's a very good one," she answered. "Very sweet."

"I worry about my little brother. Worry that someone will take advantage of him."

"Your little brother?"

Fabian's grin returned to his solemn countenance.

"I am _seven_ whole minutes older than the kid. It's my duty to make certain he is happy."

"That's very responsible of you."

A comfortable silence fell between them for a few minutes as they both stroked the fluffy baby owls. Hermione was not sure what to say to the wizard. Honestly, though she did not want to admit the truth to herself, she was hesitant in forming any kind of friendship with the man or his twin brother. She remembered the pain she felt learning of Fred's death at the Battle for Hogwarts. It was one of the most difficult moments of her life. Though there had obviously been other people that she cared about who had given their lives that same day for their cause, she had been most deeply affected by Fred. He had been a constant in her life since she became friends with Harry and Ron their first year. They got on each other's nerves a great deal through the seven years that they knew each other, but she loved him dearly. When he died, she felt a part of her heart had been ripped from her chest.

She was afraid that if she got to know the Prewett twins she would learn to love them too. Their time was limited. She wished she could remember the exact date that they were murdered by Antonin and at least four other Death Eaters though it was probably for the best that she couldn't. The possibility of her trying very hard to prevent their murders was real. It was already a struggle to keep from blurting out to anyone willing to listen that James and Lily Potter would be murdered by Lord Voldemort on Halloween night in 1981. At least she would be gone before she had to worry about that date. Being around those she knew were slated to die in the coming years was unbelievably heart-wrenching at times. She could not save anyone. No matter how hard she tried, the past had already happened. She had clearly been unable to save anyone the first time she was in the past.

Hermione took a deep breath and discreetly wiped the tears that were forming in the corner of her eyes. It would not do to burst out crying in front of Fabian with no suitable explanation. At worst he would demand to know what the problem was until she could not remain silent any longer. At best he would simply think her mad.

"Kingsley is a bit upset to hear that you are back with Dolohov," Fabian announced.

Her almost-tears were quickly forgotten. How could he possibly know about their relationship likely being back on? It had only been three days since the wedding. Of course she had not taken Thomas into consideration. No doubt Antonin would have sought out his best friend to tell him the details of their evening. Thomas was sweet, but he wasn't the best at keeping secrets.

"Amelia broke up with him before the school year ended," he continued. "Did you know that?"

"No, I didn't."

"She was embarrassed about being caught in the library. Said Kings was too reckless. Also said it was clear that he wasn't over you actually."

Hermione dropped her gaze back to the owlets. She did not want to think about how obvious it was to outsiders how much the future Minister for Magic cared about her in that time period. They both had a great deal of growing up to do. It was off-putting to think about how much of their lives would actually have to change before they became the people who were supposedly so in love with each other in just a few short years. Certainly Kingsley was attractive, but there was still much of the boy he had been in him that she often had a hard time remembering the man she knew from the future.

"I see." She did not know how to respond to Fabian's declaration.

"He tried to tell Amelia that she was wrong, but I think he's the only one who can't see the truth. You probably would have only had to deal with his awkward crush for a little while until he got over it, except for Dolohov showing interest in you."

She did not understand what he was trying to get at at all. How could Antonin be responsible for shaping Kingsley's feelings? The very notion was almost laughable.

"You know about their rivalry. If _any_ other boy had shown interest in you last year, Kings probably would've been okay with that. Like, Ted Tonks, for example. I know he's your friend. If Ted had made his intentions clear about you, Kingsley would have been a little disappointed, but would have eventually moved on. He probably would've even been okay with you dating his brother. Anyone but Dolohov."

"That's ridiculous. Obviously his feelings, or what he assumes are his feelings, for me aren't genuine if he only feels that way because someone else does too."

She was steadily growing angry the longer their discussion continued. Kingsley was still very young and immature. Even though technically he was only about two years younger than her in that time period, he seemed much younger. Boys always took longer to mature. She knew that firsthand from being friends with boys her entire life. But to have one of his best friends say that he only thought he was in love with her because Antonin was too was exasperating. Was she just another toy that Baby Shacklebolt wanted to play with? The last biscuit? Should she expect him to start crying like Antonin claimed he used to do at the drop of a hat?

"I shouldn't have said anything," Fabian sighed.

"No, I don't think you should have," she retorted, not even caring that there was a harsh bite in her tone.

"Just as I worry about Gid, I worry about Kings. I love him almost as much as I love my brother. I thought it only fair that I make it clear to you that I don't want to see him hurt. He fancies himself in love with you and I don't really know why."

Hermione resisted the urge to hex the redhead standing only feet away. While she wasn't entirely certain that he was trying to insult her, it felt like he was. Felt like he was trying to say he did not understand what his best friend could possibly see in her that would make him want to pursue her romantically. Suddenly her fear that she might eventually grow to love Fabian was a distant memory. No doubt she would always remember this conversation where he all but accused her of leading his friend on. Where he all but said he did not see anything special in her that would make a man want to love her.

"I really am not trying to be mean, Dumbledore, but this is how I feel. I get the impression that you are just giving Kingsley enough encouragement to prevent him from actually moving on with someone with the capacity and desire to love him back."

She could feel her teeth grinding together in her anger. This _child_ in front of her could not possibly be accusing her of stringing Kingsley along. The very notion was preposterous! Where did he get the gall to confront her? Not caring in the slightest that she was being rude to Fabian or interrupting a potential moment between Gideon and Caradoc, Hermione rushed out of the back of the store.

"There you are, Hermione," called a familiar voice from the owls. "We were beginning to get worried that Fabian had done something to you."

Thomas stood with Caradoc and Gideon inspecting the inventory. His younger brother was only a few feet away pretending all of his attention was wrapped up in their display of rat tonic. Hermione resisted the urge to roll her eyes. When she felt Fabian step behind her from the back, she did not hesitate to cross the store to get away from him. The elder Shacklebolt boy leaned down to kiss her on the cheek. With the Wizengamot preparing to be back in their regular session, he had been working a great deal of the summer clerking for both of his parents. They had had few opportunities to socialize since school ended.

"Sorry," she replied. "Fabian and I got caught up playing with the owlets."

"Adorable creatures," Fabian added, his tone back to the jovial one he usually employed. He was clearly attempting to pretend their difficult conversation had not just happened.

"We were just discussing our plans for this evening," Thomas continued.

"This evening?"

Thomas reached behind him to grab Kingsley's arm. With the slightest tug he brought his brother closer. Reluctantly, Kingsley lifted his eyes to meet Hermione's. She was not in the mood to deal with him so soon after talking to Fabian. Maybe she would need to be just horribly rude to the boy to get him to leave her alone. Or, as it seemed, maybe all she needed to do was to stop dating Antonin.

"We are celebrating," explained Thomas. "Little brother here is going to be Head Boy next year."

"That's wonderful, Kingsley," she said, genuinely happy for him. He met her eyes again and she smiled warmly. "Congratulations."

"Thank you."

Ignoring their uncomfortable exchange, Thomas clapped his brother on the back and resumed his explanation.

"We are all meeting at your dad's tonight. One last evening of poor behavior before he has to go off and be responsible."

"That sounds lovely."

"Antonin already promised he would be there."

"Why would you invite _him_?" Kingsley demanded. "Is he aware that you're wanting to celebrate _me_?"

Thomas rolled his eyes. Hermione thought he had a fair point.

"We can't exactly invite his girlfriend and not invite him," Thomas replied. "It would be rude."

"I don't mind being rude to Dolohov," insisted Kingsley.

"We will sit on the opposite side of the table from you, brother. Consider this your first lesson in diplomacy. You will need to deal with a great number of people you won't necessarily like when you're Head Boy. Might even come in handy for when you are the Minister for Magic one day like you claim you will."

Based on Thomas' tone, he had his doubts on whether or not his younger brother would rise to the head of the ranks of the Ministry of Magic. Hermione hated that Kingsley was obviously embarrassed by his brother mocking his ambitions. Forgetting her plan to be rude to him, she actually placed her hand on his elbow. Shocked by the sudden touch, Kingsley's eyes widened when they met hers.

"You _will_ be the Minister for Magic," she insisted in a quiet tone that she hoped no one but he could hear. "Don't let anyone, even your brother, tell you otherwise."

Buoyed by her assurance in his future accomplishments, a wide grin crossed Kingsley's face. Hermione noticed that he had grown at least a couple of inches over the summer. Their paths had not crossed very often with her working so much in London. It seemed strange to her to see him becoming even more like the man she knew from the future. Soon she would not even have to try to imagine what he was going to look like.

"Would you like to meet us there?" Gideon quietly asked Caradoc.

Everyone tried to pretend like they weren't eavesdropping on their exchange, but they clearly were. Realizing that he was being observed by the entire group, Caradoc cleared his throat nervously. He glanced in Hermione's direction, not missing her smirk.

"I'm sure I can stop by for a drink or two after we close up the shop," he replied.

The entire group left a short time later after Hermione rang up Gideon's new owl. She was not exactly looking forward to spending an evening in the company of all of the wizards, but she had already promised Thomas she would be there. Antonin would be there. Surely it wouldn't be too awful. And if it was, she could always use the excuse that her dad needed her help. She could easily slip away if necessary.

"So what did you think of Gideon?"

She did not even attempt to slide easily into her question. They were at a disadvantage when it came to time. Customers could be walking in at any moment and just as Caradoc was earlier in the day, she wanted the gossip. Immediately he blushed and tried to ignore the question. And just as he had been that morning when it was details about _her_ love life, Hermione was not deterred by his aversion to the question.

"He seemed awfully eager to invite you tonight."

"It's ridiculous, isn't it?" Caradoc asked, his vulnerability clear in his tone.

"What's ridiculous?"

"He's very young."

Suddenly his embarrassment was clear. Hermione slipped her arm around his waist for a bit of comfort. He was a man who reveled in physical touch. It was how he showed his affection for others and how he liked them to show him. Caradoc put his arm around her shoulder before sighing.

"He's of age," Hermione replied. "And I'm fairly certain he will be turning eighteen soon after the first of the year. That's not that much younger than you."

Caradoc kissed the top of her head before releasing his grip on her. Their moment was interrupted only moments later by yet another customer arrival.

* * *

 **8:35 pm**

If Hermione did not know any better she would have assumed that Caradoc was not wanting to leave the shop that night. Ordinarily, despite loving his job immensely, he was quite keen to be out of the Magical Menagerie as soon after eight as physically possible. He usually liked to finish most of the closing tasks well before the time to actually lock the front door arrived. That evening, however, he was dragging his feet through their closing checklist.

"I'm not sure Roddy will be here in the morning," he declared. "Maybe I should go ahead and add up the receipts before I leave."

"That can wait until the morning."

"Did you give the owlets that potion that was recommended by the animal Healer? I don't want them to catch that virus that has been going around the mail owls."

"I did that three hours ago."

"Maybe I should just go check on them again. Make sure none of them are running a fever."

Hermione reached out to grasp the back of Caradoc's robes. Though he was definitely stronger than her, he stopped moving when she pulled. With something of a defeated sigh, he turned around to face her.

"You don't have to go if you're nervous," she insisted.

"I just feel like a fool. Maybe I should wait until he's out of school and send him an owl."

She rolled her eyes. It had been clear to every single person present in the shop that afternoon that the younger of the Prewett twins was interested in the shop manager.

"Caradoc, no one is asking you to declare your intentions to marry the kid."

'Kid' was the wrong word to use if his sudden cringing and closed eyes were any indication. Hermione wished she could go back and reword her remark to something less pedophilic sounding. There had been a bigger age difference between her and Igor the summer before, but somehow she didn't think that bringing that nugget of knowledge into the discussion would really help her case. Caradoc's feelings about Igor being a cad were well-documented.

"Come for one drink," she continued. "If after one drink you are still uncomfortable, I will hex you. Not enough to do any serious damage, but enough that you will have to go home."

"You are really willing to hex me?"

"Absolutely."

They both laughed at the absurdity of her offer. Or rather, Caradoc laughed at it and Hermione simply went along with his response. He did not really need to know that she had no qualms about hexing those she cared about when the situation called for it, did he? At least that seemed to be the right thing to say this time to calm his nerves. A simple wave of his wand completed the few remaining tasks they still had left to do.

Short minutes later they were at the Apparition point nearest the shop. Concerned that he was still nervous about the impending evening, Hermione grasped his arm to Apparate them both to The Hog's Head. A quick glance through the still-clean windows showed they were the last to arrive. Hermione urged Caradoc to take a deep breath. She ran her hands on his robes to calm him down and remove the non-existent wrinkles she insisted were there. Only when he was ready did she open the door.

Aberforth was the first to greet the new arrivals. He was clearing off an empty table. With a pleased smile on his whiskered face, he leant down to kiss her cheek. Hermione introduced her friend to her father. They had still not met despite her working there all summer. Sensing he was nervous to be in his pub for whatever reason, Aberforth summoned a clean glass and a bottle of fire whiskey from the bar.

"Best to knock the first one back as quickly as you can, son," Aberforth whispered.

Caradoc followed his directions. Hermione was impressed to find that he did not even gasp or threaten to choke as so many who followed her dad's advice were apt to do. Aberforth clapped him on the back and playfully pinched Hermione's chin before returning to the bar.

Antonin was pleased to see Hermione's arrival. When they approached the table, he swiftly rose from his seat. Hazarding a glance towards where her father was refilling drinks and therefore not paying close attention to them, he kissed her soundly. Hermione felt a bit embarrassed by the attention. Ignoring the way Kingsley gripped his glass and swallowed a large gulp at the display, she formally introduced Caradoc to Antonin.

"Ahh, yes, lovely to finally be able to put a face to the… _coat_."

Caradoc's wink in Hermione's direction made her cheeks flush and caused Antonin to actually snort. Within moments it was clear that the two wizards liked each other. Several more thinly veiled references to the morning he walked in on them naked in the shop office were made by both men before she finally begged them to stop. Caradoc lowered himself into the empty chair next to a suddenly shy Gideon. Hermione had to resist the urge to say 'aww' at them.

"I was surprised to hear that you were going to be here tonight," she said quietly so only Antonin and Thomas could hear.

"Yes, well, I wasn't going to pass up a chance to spend an evening with you," Antonin replied. "Even if it is a celebration of Baby Shac… _Kingsley's_ accomplishments."

"Do you want to tell Hermione what you spent all day doing today, Tony?"

Antonin narrowed his eyes in Thomas' direction. The expression only made his friend laugh. Though there would come a day when Antonin would terrify scores of people with only his facial expressions, Hermione got the feeling that Thomas would never be one of those.

"I wasn't planning on telling her just yet," Antonin hissed, clearly frustrated.

"I'm sorry. I didn't know it was a secret."

"What's a secret?" Hermione asked, her curiosity most definitely piqued.

"It's not a secret," her wizard insisted. "I was just afraid if you knew about it before it was ready that you would insist on coming to see it."

Hermione was thoroughly confused. Her dad interrupted the discussion to serve her her first glass and to refill the others as needed. Part of her wanted to laugh when she witnessed Antonin visibly gulp when under the steel gaze of Aberforth's twinkling blue eyes. The future Death Eater was clearly intimidated by the older wizard.

"I was searching for a flat in London today," Antonin announced when Aberforth moved on.

"Why is that a secret?" She still did not understand.

"I love my parents, but it's time I moved out of their house. Especially since we… well, I don't exactly cherish the thought of having to bring you back to my childhood bedroom when we wish to be alone."

Thomas guffawed at his explanation. Hermione could feel the corners of her mouth start to twitch up into a smile too. He was embarrassed by the thought of still living at home. While she could certainly understand it, it wasn't exactly as if any of them were very old. There was still plenty of time to move out from their parents' homes. She had no intention of moving out of the back of pub at any time in the near future.

"I looked in Diagon Alley today," Antonin continued to explain. "Everything is too expensive. I don't make much money at the bank yet and my parents aren't in a position they can really help me much. I was able to find a flat, but it's not in what you might call a _fashionable_ neighborhood."

"I'm sure it's lovely," she stated, hoping her claim would be enough to set him at ease. "Where is it? I'd love to see it."

"Knockturn Alley."

She could feel her face morph into an expression of disgust against her wishes. It had been her goal to keep her face as impassive as possible. In the first few seconds she managed to fail spectacularly. Antonin's face dropped just as hers changed. His beautiful dark brown eyes stared into the top of the table for several long seconds before he spoke again.

"I wanted to wait until I had it fixed up before you came to see it. That way you could maybe look past the address."

"I appreciate the thought, Antonin, but really, you're not thinking very clearly."

His eyes snapped up to meet hers. He seemed ready to attack. Even Thomas seemed bothered by her response.

"You should have me come _before_ you fix it up. I can only imagine what you might do to it otherwise. All your flat will likely need is a woman's touch."

"My mum promised to help me."

"Great idea. _Two_ women will be even better than one and I'd love to meet your mum."

She said the exact right words to smooth over the situation. Antonin's face relaxed. Within moments they were all smiling and laughing again. Hermione was sincere. His mother had always sounded like a fascinating woman when he would talk about her. She also knew that she had a tendency to be a bit of a snob without even meaning to. Deciding that she would 'ooh' and 'aww' over his flat even if it was filled to the rafters with homicidal rats and black mold, Hermione kissed her delighted boyfriend.

The rest of the evening passed by quite quickly. Hermione was surprised by how much she enjoyed the company. Even Fabian seemed to be willing to move past their uncomfortable conversation from earlier in the day. He even risked Antonin's wrath to harmlessly flirt with Hermione. She did nothing to encourage him of course. A little after midnight she hugged Caradoc before he left. They had shorter hours on Sundays, but morning would be there before either of them was ready for it.

"I guess I should get home too," Antonin said when they were the last two still sitting at the table. "It's late."

"When can we go to your new flat?"

"It won't be ready for another few weeks. I really appreciate you offering to help."

"It's selfish really. I'm hoping I will get to spend a lot of time there."

Antonin's eyes darkened. He swallowed before smiling. Leaning close, he whispered in her ear.

"I _really_ want to kiss you right now, but your dad is staring."

She laughed. A quick glance at the bar proved Aberforth wasn't even attempting to hide his surveillance of his daughter's activities. Hermione stood up, grabbed Antonin's hand and pulled him towards the front door. She called over her shoulder that she would be back in a little while. Aberforth did not say anything beyond a grunt of recognition.

They were outside and past the large front windows in only seconds. Once in the darkness surrounding the pub, Antonin pulled his witch closer. Before their lips could meet, a sound startled them both. Reaching for their wands and pointing them in the direction of the darkness, they quickly realized that they weren't the only young couple seeking out the darkness for a heated snog. Biting her bottom lip to keep from laughing, Hermione dragged Antonin by the arm further down the empty street before Caradoc and Gideon even noticed they had almost been interrupted.

* * *

June 19, 1998

 **8:00 pm**

Kingsley lowered his exhausted body into his favorite chair. He had had the longest day of his entire life. Once he and his nephew returned to the castle to help with the continued search for his 'missing' witch, it had been a seemingly never-ending day of auror reports, Ministry press conferences and heated arguments with the other Order members participating in the search. He had never been more thankful to find his feet crossing the threshold of his house than he had that night.

Though he had asked Dean if he wanted to stay at his house now that they were aware of their familial relationship, his nephew had not been interested. He was still heavily involved in the reconstruction of the castle. Despite knowing the truth about Hermione, Dean promised to keep his secrets. It would have been suspicious if he outright refused to help with the search for his fellow Gryffindor.

The Minister hated the position he was putting his nephew in, but he sincerely did not know what else to do. A stack of owl messages were waiting for him on the side table next to his chair. There was a great deal of paperwork involved in his position. Maybe his witch should've told him in more detail what the position she was so certain he would one day ascend to involved. Flipping through the stack of envelopes, his eyes stopped on a familiar script.

 _Kings,_

 _Thank you so much for your beautiful flowers at Nymphadora's and Remus' service. I have been remiss in writing my thank-you cards. It is almost as if I am finally coming to terms with the fact that they are actually gone. Little Teddy is also thankful for the stuffed wolf you sent him. He cries every time I try to take it away from him. Your card was beautiful. I have something that Nymphadora would have liked you to have. When you get the opportunity, Teddy and I would love a visit. Thank you again for your kindness in this difficult time._

 _Andromeda_

Kingsley sighed. That was a visit he knew he needed to make, but one he had been putting off since the end of the war. Hermione would not be pleased to know that he was not being a good friend to Andy in her absence. He promised himself that very soon he would visit.


	28. Chapter 28

_Author's Note: Thanks again for all of your patience as this chapter took a bit longer to get completed than I planned. Crazy, difficult couple of weeks for me, I'm afraid. You may have already noticed that this chapter is a bit shorter than the last several. I'm returning to the goal of 5,000 average words per chapter. I know several of you have expressed that you prefer it when I can churn out a longer chapter, but I'm afraid that writing 6,000 – 7,000 word chapters is damn near impossible to do once a week, let alone twice. It makes me cranky and irritable when I have to slog out so many words that I'm not pleased with. My quality definitely goes down when I strive for quantity. Hopefully this will mean I can return to a more manageable update schedule._

* * *

Chapter Twenty Eight

September 20, 1972

 **11:36 am**

The end of the summer arrived just as Caradoc was wishing it would last just a bit longer. Hermione loved to tease him that since he met Gideon Prewett he could speak of nothing else. She did not mind, of course. In fact, she was excited for her friend. He seemed to her, whether or not he would openly admit to it, to have had a great deal of sadness and loneliness in his life. She could sympathize with being in love with her best friend for years, watching him fall for other girls. It was difficult. To have the added pressure of the stigma that Caradoc still faced in their at-times primitive society due to the sex of his chosen partner must have been so much worse.

When the first day of September rolled around, Caradoc was very down. Hermione thought it sweet. He had not come right out and admitted that they had seen each other multiple times in the last almost two weeks leading up to the beginning of the school year, but she was certainly not blind. How many times had he snuck out for a long lunch when he had been in the habit of eating a sandwich over the rat cages to make any spills easier to clean? Or how often had he asked Hermione to close up the shop by herself and practically skipped out the front door? The Friday morning that they had been so anxious for since the back to school shopping began months earlier was somehow no longer as exciting to the store manager as it had been.

"You asked me for every single salacious detail of my relationships with both Igor and Antonin," Hermione declared on the afternoon of the first. She was growing weary of his downcast mood. Usually he was the one who kept her laughing through her shift. "Are you really not going to share anything about what is going on between you and Gideon?"

His cheeks instantly flushed red and the smirk she had come to love broke across his charming features for the first time all day. Caradoc seemed reluctant to speak about Gideon. It took several more minutes of prodding and good-natured poking before he finally broke. Clearly the man was already smitten.

"We are taking it slowly. With him off at school it's not as if I can see him a lot anyway."

"He'll have Hogsmeade weekends," she suggested.

"Yes, well, I do have a job."

"Nonsense," interjected Rodolphus as he walked in from the back office carrying the thick book containing the records of their current inventory. "Every Hogsmeade Saturday, Hermione and I will be in charge of the store."

Hermione did not argue with her cousin's generous offer in the slightest. She would have made the same suggestion if he had not beaten her to it. Caradoc met Rodolphus' eye before agreeing. Roddy smiled encouragingly. His love and concern for one of his oldest friends' happiness was evident. Finally, the vivacious wizard chuckled and accepted.

Rodolphus had come back to the store several days after Andromeda's wedding acting as if nothing was wrong. He seemed so confident in his abilities to put on a cheerful front that he did not even worry about explaining to either Hermione or Caradoc where he had been. The false façade he kept up for their benefit struck Hermione right in the heart. She wanted him to be honest with her even if the truth was not picture perfect. Instead of admitting that he had disappeared to parts unknown with his private addiction, Rodolphus threw himself into reorganizing the storage room. Hermione was worried about him, but was unsure how to approach a sensitive subject. She had already found a couple of hidden bottles of whiskey tucked around Rodolphus' office.

By the middle of September the three workers of the Magical Menagerie had settled back into an easy routine. The school year, especially in the beginning, allowed them a breather from the almost incessant patronage. On a late Wednesday morning closer to the end of September than the beginning, Hermione found herself working alone in the store. With less customers, she spent most Wednesday mornings by herself until Caradoc came in the afternoons to relieve her for the later shift. She found working alone to be peaceful. Though she loved most moments she spent with Rodolphus and Caradoc in the store, sometimes it was nice to simply be alone.

She was in the middle of feeding their current stock of owls when the bell over the front door rang to announce the arrival of a new customer. Her task was almost completed so instead of stopping, she called out to the new arrival that she would be there to assist them in a few moments. The lack of response made her assume they were all right by themselves. She finished up feeding the last of the animals and wiped her hands on her apron before approaching the wizard standing at the front counter.

To say that she was surprised that her new customer was her relative would have been a gross understatement. Regnault seemed out of place in the bright and noisy store. He was a man that she always associated with dark colors and somber moods. Somehow seeing him standing next to a display of giant purple toads was difficult for her to wrap her mind around. They had not spoken since a dismal Christmas months earlier.

"Uncle Regnault, what a surprise!"

The tall and imposing wizard twirled his head around to view the shelves of the store from the spot he was standing in. Upon hearing Hermione's voice, he stepped closer to kiss her cheek. Even his greeting was formal. She wondered if there would ever come a day when they would be able to sit down comfortably and have an entire conversation without arguing.

"I hope I am not intruding," he replied, granting her the tiniest of half-smiles that proved to her that he was at least _trying_ to be civil.

"Of course not," she assured him with perhaps a bit too much enthusiasm. The atmosphere of the shop shifted. As she always was when her uncle was in the room, she was on her guard. "Wednesday mornings are usually slow and now that Hogwarts is in session, we are experiencing a bit of a lull."

"I have not been in this store for years. Not even once since my son purchased it."

Hermione did not know what to say in response. She was surprised that Regnault was aware that Rodolphus was the proud proprietor of the Diagon Alley shop. Regnault's half-smile twitched into a full grin when he saw the astonished expression on her face. Hermione had only seen him smile like that on a few occasions. It changed the look of his entire face. She liked it.

"Please tell me that you didn't believe Rodolphus was capable of keeping this a secret from me."

She blushed at his words. Regnault actually laughed. She was shocked again. It was turning out to be an extraordinary Wednesday after all. Part of her wondered and hoped that Regnault was actually making an effort to get along with her that time. Usually they only met during tense family dinners. It was not the most relaxing of situations for the development of a friendlier relationship between the two.

"Some tiny, obnoxious witch at the Ministry told me over a year ago."

"Roddy thinks you don't know."

"It benefits us both if I pretend that is the truth."

"How so?"

"I can pretend like he is not working in a profession that is beneath his dignity as a Lestrange and he can continue to be happy with his animals assuming I am ignorant."

Hermione thought it strange that if he was so insistent on making sure Rodolphus thought he was keeping a secret from his father that he would so brazenly cross the threshold of the store. Obviously he had an agenda. Regnault Lestrange was the kind of wizard who always had an agenda. He began to walk around the shop, examining the assorted animals and products. Realizing that he was clearly in no hurry to get to the point of his visit, Hermione offered him a tour of the store. She showed him how the owls were organized, the new shipments of fire crabs that were not selling well at all and even took him to the back to show him the owlet nursery. When they had seen all there was to see of his eldest son's business, they returned to the main storefront.

"Can I interest you in a new kneazle kitten or a streeler or two?"

Regnault chuckled again. She continued to find the sound almost unnerving though still pleasant.

"No, thank you, my dear. I grew up with the manor and its grounds covered in animals. I had my fill of pets."

"Then may I be so bold as to ask what your true purpose for being here is?"

"I appreciate you coming right to the point, Hermione. I would like to make more of an effort in the two of us getting along."

Yet again in his short visit she did not know how to respond. While she did not enjoy the arguments she had with her uncle, it was much easier to keep up the lie she was living if she was not around him much. To put it quite simply, Regnault intimidated her. She always felt like she was a major disappointment to the man. Certainly she never felt like she was the niece he really wanted. All the same she was touched a great deal by his sentiment.

"I would like us to get along too, Uncle."

Regnault cupped her cheek gently with his right hand and smiled another warm, genuine smile. It was a tender, sweet moment very similar to the moment they first met.

"You have a great deal of your mother in you and I fear I have a great deal of my father in me. It will not always be an easy combination."

"No, I'm sure it won't be easy, but family is important."

His hand fell to his side at her remark. Hermione dropped her eyes and shifted uneasily under his gaze. Every time someone from the past looked at her a certain way or made a comment that she was similar to her mother, she was uncomfortable. It was all a giant lie. Would she be able to pull it off convincingly for as long as was necessary? She felt enormous guilt when Regnault said something or when her "Uncle" Albus mentioned that she reminded him of his mother Kendra. Obviously both men were simply seeing in her what they wished to see. Imagining a day arriving where they would all learn that she was nothing but an actress pretending to be their niece made her stomach twist and turn into knots.

"I confess I did not expect to find you alone," Regnault continued. "Rodolphus is having lunch with Cygnus today, but I thought he had some kind of manager or caretaker hired to mind the store. I did not realize you would be handling so much responsibility."

If he was trying to make a veiled remark about the unsuitability of a witch in their social class working for a living, Hermione was determined to ignore it. They were both going to make an effort about getting along. She forced herself to take a deep breath before answering.

"You just caught me on a strange day," she explained. "Wednesdays Caradoc visits his grandmother at a care home in Dorset until after lunch. Now that the rush of the summer is over, I only work a few days a week."

"I see. Then I am afraid my plans…"

Whatever her uncle was going to say was interrupted by the shaking of the bell above the door. Hermione glanced up at the clock to see that it was already a few minutes after twelve. A quick glance at the entrance proved that her lunch date had already arrived. Antonin, wearing the dark red robes of a Gringotts apprentice, stepped forward holding a paper sack in one hand. In the few weeks since they had resumed their relationship, he came by every Wednesday at noon with sandwiches from the café next door. She made an offhand remark once about never being able to eat on Wednesdays until Caradoc returned in the afternoon. The very next Wednesday he arrived to make certain she was fed. Hermione made certain to smile brightly at the wizard. When he returned her smile with one of his own, she could tell in the corner of her eye that her uncle was not missing the exchange in the slightest.

"I was going to extend an invitation for you to join me for lunch, but it appears I am too late."

Noticing the slight narrowing of Antonin's eyes at the announcement that a strange, middle-aged wizard was there to ask his girlfriend out on a lunch date, Hermione reached for her wizard's arm to drag him over to Regnault. A quick round of introductions later, Regnault no longer had an annoyed sneer on his face. He even seemed pleased to see the younger man.

"Dolohov? Are you Vadim's boy?"

"Yes, sir."

Hermione definitely did not miss the pleased look on Regnault's face at that announcement. Regnault did not hesitate to extend his hand for a handshake. Antonin grasped it within moments. Satisfied no doubt with the firmness of his handshake, her uncle released Antonin's hand with a contented nod of his head.

"I have known your father for many years. He is a good man."

"Yes, sir."

Antonin was visibly nervous around Regnault. Hermione would have found it especially charming if she was not in the same boat. Her uncle intimidated the hell out of her. She gripped Antonin's hand in a show of additional support. When she squeezed it, Antonin smiled again at her before squeezing back. Regnault's expression changed remarkably when he saw them holding hands. Hermione was unsure if he was still pleased or not. He was a very difficult man to read. Quickly the moment became awkward.

"Antonin is a cursebreaker apprentice for Gringotts," Hermione announced, hoping for _something_ to break the silence that was choking the air around their group.

Regnault granted them a small half-smile. It was an expression he made when he was neither pleased nor displeased. Or it was how he hid his true feelings. Hermione often wanted to give up guessing in the middle. It was almost impossible to discern what the tiniest quirk of his lips actually meant.

"Admirable profession," Regnault replied. His tone sounded strangely sincere to Hermione's ears. "Very difficult skills to acquire and master."

"Yes, sir."

Regnault closed the short distance between them. Placing both of his hands on Hermione's upper arms, he leaned down to kiss her cheek.

"I do not wish to disturb your lunch date. No doubt Mr. Dolohov does not get a very long one as an apprentice."

"I'm sorry we can't have lunch today."

"Another time."

"I don't work tomorrow," she replied, instantly wishing she had kept her mouth shut.

Her uncle smiled and kissed her again before releasing his soft hold on her arms.

"I will send you an owl in the morning. It was a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Dolohov. Please say hello to your father for me."

Regnault shook his hand one final time before walking out of the store. In the same moment that they heard the click of the door behind him, Hermione released a loud exhale. Antonin smiled and kissed her as he had been wanting to since he walked through the door.

"Your uncle is rather… _imposing_."

Hermione snorted. Their mutual laughter helped to lessen the tension. Antonin kissed her on the forehead and took their meal behind the front counter. His Wednesday visit was always a nice break in the monotony of being alone. Because their time was certainly limited, they did not waste another moment tucking in. A companionable silence often accompanied the two of them. Though she was not used to remaining silent in the presence of others, Hermione was learning that sometimes just sitting with a person and not talking could be just as enjoyable as lively conversation.

"My flat will be ready to move in this weekend," Antonin stated between bites of his sandwich.

"That's wonderful!" She instantly felt embarrassed by her show of enthusiasm. It was still a subject that she knew made him a bit uncomfortable, especially after her initial reaction to the address being in Knockturn Alley. Clearing her throat, she strove to adopt a more neutral tone. "It's not a Hogsmeade Saturday so I can still come over and help if you want me to."

"My mum is anxious to meet you. Hardly spoken of anything else since I told her you also offered to help."

He always seemed shy about speaking of his mother. Years in the wizarding world as a Muggleborn taught her the sad truth that he was likely expected to be ashamed of his mother's origins. Part of her wished when he was anticipating her about to make a disparaging remark against the woman who gave birth to him, that she could come right out and admit her true identity. The Lestranges were an overly proud, bigoted family. She might have been one on paper, but she certainly tried not to be like them in actions or thoughts. If he knew that she was a Muggleborn herself, he might have been more comfortable speaking about his mother. It was truly disgusting how far reaching hatred amongst wizards really was. Hermione smiled at him, a gesture that almost always put him at ease.

"When my father realizes who your uncle is, he'll probably want to meet you too."

Antonin was definitely embarrassed mentioning his father. Hermione had gotten the impression more than once since she met the man that it was not a subject he really wanted to discuss. She was curious, deciding that she would figure out a way to ask him later. They finished up their quiet lunch with only a single customer seeking out owl treats interrupting.

* * *

September 21, 1972

 **11:58 am**

Lunch with her uncle was to be served precisely at noon the next day at an upscale restaurant in Diagon Alley. It was a familiar location that Rodolphus and Rabastan had taken her to on several occasions. As she entered the front door of the pricey establishment, Hermione thought back to how uncomfortable and out of place she had felt eating there the first few visits. More than once she felt like she did not belong, as if someone was going to spot she was a fraud any second.

"Miss Dumbledore, what a pleasant surprise," declared the overly excitable maître d. The wizard rushed to greet her in the deferential manner she had been surprised she was coming to expect up and down the Alley. "Mr. Lestrange is waiting for you at your table."

He was eager to lead her across the restaurant to one of the more prominent tables in the dining room. Regnault, a wizard who felt that if you were early you were on time and if you were on time you were late, rose from his seat to kiss her in greeting. A secretive glance at his pocket watch and a tiny satisfied nod to himself proved that he was pleased to find his niece early.

Just as she expected they would be, the first few minutes of their meal passed slowly and was more than a little awkward. Prior to the previous day when they spent less than half an hour in the shop together, they had never been properly alone. Rodolphus was almost always with them to act as their buffer. In a pinch Rabastan once served in his stead. Both parties seemed at a loss as to how to begin their conversation.

"Thursday mornings I usually spend at the Ministry," Regnault explained. "We could make this a regular appointment."

Hermione tried to keep her facial expressions as inexpressive as possible at his suggestion. She knew he was trying in his attempts to forge a better relationship with her, but she also knew it was only a matter of time before they began to butt heads again. They were both stubborn. She was conflicted on what she wanted to do.

"Maybe we try it a couple of times before we make it a habit?"

She smiled at his suggestion, grateful that she did not have to commit. Any further remarks were interrupted by the arrival of their waiter to take their order. Hermione recognized the wizard who had waited on her more than once. His usually perky and friendly demeanor however, was altered when he spoke with her uncle. The poor waiter was visibly nervous. Regnault's order was obnoxiously precise with multiple special requests. She chuckled to herself while he terrified the wizard. When it was her turn, she gave the waiter a sincere smile and a simple order. He was grateful.

"I was surprised to learn you were _involved_ with Vadim's son," Regnault said the moment they were alone once more.

"Yes, Antonin and I are spending a lot of time together. Or whatever his busy schedule will allow, but we are not serious."

Regnault seemed to ignore her last remark. He took a deep sip from his glass of wine. Naturally neither of them hesitated in the slightest when it came time to order their choice of beverage. Alcohol seemed to be the only reason either one of them were going to make it through the uncomfortable meeting.

"He comes from a very respected family," he continued. "While it is a pity his father married a Mudblood, the Dolohovs have a great deal of influence in their native Russia. Their family might have fallen on hard times since they were greatly involved in that Grindelwald mess, but they are still quite powerful.

"Vadim's private library of books and magical artefacts alone could fetch a high enough sum to rival even the Malfoys' wealth to the right buyer, if he was ever inclined to sell. I do not believe he will, however. I get the impression he would rather starve than let any of his treasures out of his possession."

Hermione's ears perked up at the mention of Vadim Dolohov. She was extremely interested in learning all that she could about Antonin's father. Clearly her uncle had a wealth of knowledge she did not. Antonin all but refused to talk about him when asked.

"Antonin doesn't ever talk about his family. I really had no idea."

"Private and proud family. I was not just being polite when I told the boy it was impressive and admirable to have been selected for his apprenticeship. If he is half as talented as I suspect he is, it will not be long before he finds a suitable patron."

She bit her tongue to prevent asking her uncle if he planned on sponsoring her boyfriend. Or maybe, even worse, he planned on getting Antonin onto Voldemort's radar. Would her family be the reason he eventually turned his life over to the insane Dark Lord? She was not sure when he became a Death Eater, but she was determined to delay it as long as possible. Hermione hated that she could not change the past. It was not a matter that she did not _want_ to change the past, but that she _could not_ change the past. If it were possible, she would have run away and dragged Rodolphus and Antonin alone with her somewhere safe until the end of the war. Not to mention she would do whatever was possible to save Harry's parents and all of the other innocent lives lost in the pointless conflict.

It just simply was not possible. All studies done of time travel she had devoured since arriving in the past explained to her that time was a loop. She could not stop something that had already happened. Even her own personal experiences with time travel in her third year proved the findings. The only reason she and Harry were able to go back in time to save Sirius Black and Buckbeak was because they had _already_ saved him. Neither one of them actually changed the past. They were simply living within the loop that turning the time turner created. When Aberforth placed the time turner around her neck over a year earlier, he had essentially created a time loop that had already happened. Time travel was a fascinating subject that could drive even the most intelligent minds batty. It was confusing and tiresome.

"Are you all right?"

Hermione snapped back to reality following her uncle's question. Obviously she was unable to contemplate the intricacies of time travel and listen to her uncle's words at the same time. Regnault was giving her an odd look when she finally realized he was speaking to her.

"I'm sorry, Uncle. I got distracted. That was very rude of me."

"It is all right. I was just saying that it might be a good idea to invite your boy and his parents over to the manor for dinner. While I am not terribly comfortable inviting a Mudblood into my home…"

She did not even attempt to hide her rolled eyes at his statement.

"… the Dolohovs would be an alliance we should cultivate. In the near future, there may even be cause to join our families."

Hermione sighed and finished the rest of her wine. Their anxious waiter rushed to the table to refill the glass before she even had a chance to set it back down on the table. Of course Regnault was already planning her wedding. Likely it would be some disgustingly formal affair at the manor with hundreds of guests she hated.

"Is there a problem?" he asked, the steel in his tone threatening.

"No, not at all. I just don't see the need for all of us to be there. Antonin's mum is quite shy and not good enough to enter your home anyway. She can stay home. Antonin and I don't really need to be there either. You and Mr. Dolohov can meet for dinner and plan the rest of our lives without any pesky input from us."

Her voice was quiet enough that she was not disturbing any of the other diners, but her anger was quite clear. Regnault sighed. He was every bit as frustrated with his niece as she was with him. Before they could get in the stride of one of their arguments, their food arrived. Both of them occupied their hands and mouths for several minutes in an attempt to calm down. It would not do for them to cause a scene in public. Regnault always lectured on the importance of their family remaining out of the papers as much as possible.

"You act as if I am being intentionally cruel to you, girl," he spat, his voice little above a whisper. "This _is_ how these things are done in our society. Your cousins are aware of what is expected of them. Rodolphus has been engaged to marry his fiancée for years. Rabastan will marry the Selwyn girl when she leaves Hogwarts in three years. Her father and I have been finalizing the terms of their marriage contract."

"It's barbaric to choose someone's spouse for them."

"It is _how_ it is done, Hermione." He was struggling to keep his tone down. His teeth were clenched and she would not have been surprised to see his fork bend in the middle. "For centuries we have kept our bloodlines pure by arranging the best possible marriages between our children."

"Does love not ever factor in to your consideration?"

"Love is fleeting. It is an emotion one feels for one's children, but never lasts between partners. It is better to have mutual respect and the backing of one's families to ensure a lasting marriage."

He dropped his fork to his plate not even caring that it made a distressing clang when it landed. Several eyes glanced up in their direction. Realizing they were quickly becoming a spectacle of interest, Regnault forced several deep breaths before he spoke again.

"If your cousin had survived her birth, she would have been engaged to marry Lucius Malfoy. It had already been decided before her mother went into early labor."

"And you see nothing wrong with betrothing _babies_?"

"None at all. A Lestrange-Malfoy alliance would benefit all involved. If you were not illegitimate and the daughter of a half-blood, you would have likely even been considered for Lucius' bride."

Hermione could feel the dry chicken she was eating move around in her stomach at the thought of marrying Lucius Malfoy. This was a society she had had no experience with before arriving in the seventies, and she was perfectly all right with not learning any more of its inner-workings.

"Thank Merlin I'm the bastard granddaughter of a Mudblood then," she hissed under her breath.

Regnault's eyes flashed at her last remark. Remembering his dignity as the head of a proud Sacred Twenty-Eight family, he made himself take another deep breath. He sat up straighter in his chair.

"Considering the less than ideal circumstances of your birth, Dolohov may very well be the best you can hope for."

Hermione carefully laid her fork down on the table next to her plate. She removed the napkin from her lap, folded it in half and placed it on top of her half-eaten meal. Standing to her feet, she forced herself to give her uncle a kiss on his cheek.

"Thank you for lunch, Uncle. This has been an enjoyable experience. I cannot wait to endure more of these in the future."

She left the wizard fuming at their table. It was safe to say that their resolution to achieve a better relationship was off to a rather rocky start.

* * *

July 25, 1998

 **7:00 pm**

Kingsley apparated to an empty alley a few blocks away from his destination. He was going to need every spare moment available to prepare himself for the task he did not want to complete. Five of the most tedious weeks of his life had only just passed since the search for Hermione Granger began. Naturally, there were few leads. He did not expect there to be many at all. Even the people who had once known Hermione Dumbledore in a lifetime earlier would not have immediately gone to the conclusion that she was a time traveler. He believed his and Aberforth's secret was safe for the time being.

In addition to being the face of Hermione's search, he was bogged down with a great deal of work at the Ministry. His high position meant that he rarely had a free moment to call his own. He was not ashamed to admit only to himself that he had used his new position to keep pushing back the visit he knew he was eventually going to have to make. Between being the Minister for Magic and working to integrate his nephew fully into his life and their family, he had been able to push off a great many unpleasant tasks.

His long legs brought him to the front of the tidy house long before he was really prepared. Several deep breaths at the gate were required to give him the energy to push forward. He hated that he hesitated knocking on the door. It was not as if he had never been there before. In fact, he had been to that house more times than he could even count, starting first years earlier when he attended a house warming party with the witch that stole his heart when he was sixteen strolling down the street in front of her father's pub. It was only the thought of how angry Hermione would be to learn that he was not supporting her best friend in her absence that gave him the final encouragement to knock.

"I was beginning to wonder if you were ever going to pay me a visit," Andromeda declared the moment her eyes fell on the Minister. "Well, are you going to stand there or are we going to have a chat?"


	29. Chapter 29

_Author's Note: If you haven't already, don't forget to check out the newest additional scene for this story. The sixth scene is dedicated to_ _ **trinatron**_ _for being the 750_ _th_ _reviewer! The link to those scenes is on my profile. I cannot believe this story already has that many. Thank you so very much. Don't forget you can always send me ideas you want to see for future additional scenes in a review, PM or even through an Ask on Tumblr. You can even make Asks anonymous on Tumblr if_ _you're shy. ; )_

* * *

Chapter Twenty Nine

September 23, 1972

 **7:58 am**

Entering Knockturn Alley first thing in the morning was not how Hermione really wanted to spend her Saturday. She could make a long mental list of all of the places she would rather be, but a promise was a promise. Rodolphus tried to convince her the night before that Knockturn Alley really just had a poor reputation because the real estate was cheaper and the clientele a bit darker than one might expect in other alleys. His attempts at reassurance were somewhat hindered by him making her promise that she would never enter the area without a firm grip on her wand, her purse completely out of sight and a nasty hex ready on her lips.

She was determined to be nothing but positive the entire day. It was not going to be easy, but she had already set her mind to it. Antonin was shifting his big feet at the entrance to Knockturn Alley when she arrived. He was visibly nervous to anyone who knew him as well as she did. His smile was hesitant, almost as if he really didn't want her there. As part of her determination to put the wizard at ease, Hermione slipped her arms around his waist when she was close enough to reach him. After a swift kiss in greeting, she laid her head on his chest. Antonin needed no encouragement to wrap his arms around the witch.

"I've missed you," Hermione whispered with a sigh.

Antonin's chuckle made her head bob slightly off his chest. He kissed the top of her head when it returned to its resting place.

"It's only been two days since we last saw each other."

"Feels like much longer than that. I had an argument with my uncle. He wants to meet your father in an effort to secure me the most advantageous marriage that the disappointing facts of my birth can give me. He's under the impression that I will be unable to do any better than you."

Hermione could feel Antonin tense slightly the more she spoke. Too late she realized that he may have been taking her words as an insult. How else was one supposed to take her statement about being the best she could do? She gently pushed back from his chest to look at Antonin's face. His expressions could be difficult to read at times. He was often stoic and impassive. The amused smirk he was sporting proved he was not insulted.

"Seems your uncle and I are of the same opinion. You really can't do any better than me."

She swatted playfully at his chest and laughed.

"Oh, I don't know. Kingsley was looking pretty fit last month. Maybe I should visit my other uncle and make a visit to Kingsley's private dorm. I never got to see it last year with Diggory as Head Boy."

A literal growl came out of Antonin's mouth at her teasing remark. His smile was completely gone. He pulled her closer to him in a dominant show of possession. His lips crashed down hard on to hers in a reminder of just who she was dealing with. Hermione knew that her feminist ideals should have been horrified, but she found it exciting and terribly arousing.

Their time alone had been very limited. He worked long hours and she helped out at the pub when she could. Antonin pointedly _refused_ to sneak into her bedroom at The Hog's Head no matter how prettily she begged. It had been an uncomfortable month since their night at the pet store. Hermione was excited he had his own flat for a number of reasons. They deepened their kiss, not even caring they were out in public.

"Keep it in your robes!" shouted a disgusted witch heading out of Knockturn Alley.

They broke apart laughing. Antonin reached for her hand to lead her into the Alley. Hermione had only been there once when she went to Borgin and Burke's with Harry and Ron to try to figure out what Malfoy was up to. The further they walked into Knockturn Alley, the more ill at ease Antonin seemed to become.

"The Ministry doesn't allow apparating in or out of Knockturn Alley," he explained. "It's due to the high rate of crime. You will have to apparate at the entrance, I'm afraid and walk the rest of the way. I don't have a fireplace."

She squeezed his hand and smiled, hoping she could put his concerns out of his mind. Their walk was thankfully not very far. Antonin stopped in front of a dingy building marked with a sign that said "Trackleshanks Locksmith". He led her to a side door.

"It's nicer than it looks on the inside," assured Antonin.

"I'm sure it's great."

Hermione's face was already hurting from the fake smile she had plastered across her features. The building looked dreadful. Every positive thought she was desperate to hold on to was becoming harder and harder to keep. The neighborhood was dubious. Even at eight in the morning the people wandering around looked suspicious. There was a weird smell lingering in the air she could not identify. Antonin struggled opening the door, finally resorting to kicking it open with bright red streaks running up and down his neck.

"Sometimes it sticks. The humidity I think."

He cleared his throat and held the door open for Hermione. The dark, narrow staircase made Hermione feel confined. It was a gloomy building ripe with the smells of oil from the locksmith shop and the other tenants' questionable cooking. She took a deep, calming breath before heading up the stairs behind Antonin. He led her to the third floor at the very top of the building. His flat was obviously in the attic. Positive thoughts were increasingly slipping through her grasp.

The door to his flat opened easily on the first try. Hermione stepped inside after Antonin. She did not realize she had been holding her breath until she exhaled. It was actually not horrible to her relief and surprise. The flat was essentially one large room with a door she assumed went to the loo. It made her think of the lofts she used to see advertised in her own time for ridiculous rents.

"What do you think?"

If it was possible, Antonin seemed even more nervous after asking his question than he had all morning. It was clear that he wanted Hermione to not be horrified by his new living conditions. She could see a lot of potential in his new flat to be perfectly honest. Getting past the area it was located in would be a bit of a hurdle. Hermione did not want to seem like a snob looking down on him. She lived in the back of a pub that used to smell like goats, for Merlin's sake!

In an effort to put his mind at ease once and for all, Hermione stood up on her tiptoes to kiss him. He was encouraged enough to envelop her in his arms and pick up where they left off at the entrance to Knockturn Alley. They could not have been kissing long before a throat being cleared behind Hermione startled them both into stopping. With matching reddened cheeks, the young couple turned towards the front door.

Hermione remembered seeing Antonin's parents at King's Cross when they were catching the Hogwarts Express at the beginning of their seventh year. Realizing his parents had just witnessed them in an intimate moment, she felt even more than a little embarrassed. Both of the Dolohov parents were smiling at them in their own way. Antonin clearly got his coloring from his petite mother. Mira Dolohov had short dark hair and deep brown eyes that seemed at odds with her fair complexion. Her shy smiled revealed her to be pretty, but not beautiful in any conventional way. Vadim Dolohov looked almost exactly how she remembered Antonin looking when she first saw him in the Muggle café except for his sandy blond hair, light blue eyes and wide, easy smile. Hermione thought him quite handsome and also found it interesting how the two wizards could look so similar and so different at the same time.

"Excuse us," Vadim stated with a soft chuckle. "We did not realize we were interrupting."

His heavy accent was easy enough for Hermione to understand. Clearly Vadim had a lot of practice speaking English. There was a great deal of laughter in his tone as he spoke. Mira swatted at him, only serving to make him laugh harder. Hermione and Antonin were mortified.

Once his parents were fully inside the flat, Antonin introduced them to Hermione. His mum was quite sweet and a bit introverted. She gently pat Hermione on the cheek and told her she was pleased to meet her in stilted English. Vadim was much more gregarious. He kissed both of Hermione's cheeks before winking at her.

"Antonin has told me very little about you, Miss Dumbledore. Imagine my surprise to find out his girlfriend was Regnault Lestrange's niece."

Vadim cut his eyes to Antonin with a tiny sneer. Antonin was clearly embarrassed. Hermione thought she might finally understand his reluctance to speak about his father after she was asked ever more increasingly impertinent questions about her family. Vadim Dolohov was a social climber of the most obnoxious kind. She had been a little insulted days earlier when she found out Antonin had not told his father much about her. Five minutes in his presence and she could understand why.

"Antonin has always been one for keeping secrets. I cannot imagine why. He should be proud to be seen with a member of the Sacred Twenty-Eight."

The elder Dolohov turned his complete attention to Antonin before letting loose a long, loud stream of Russian words Hermione did not understand. It was easy enough to tell by his tone that Vadim was not happy. Antonin's entire face flushed again and he dropped his eyes to the floor. Finally, Mira spoke. The moment she began to speak, Vadim stopped. It was also easy enough to tell despite not even speaking the language that though she might be shy around outsiders, Mira Dolohov was the one that ran their family. When she finished chastising her husband, she turned a warm smile on Hermione that Hermione readily returned. Mira addressed her son in much softer Russian. He nodded.

Antonin gave them all a quick tour of the flat. He spoke in English but occasionally slipped into Russian for his mother's sake. His lavatory was quite small with only a tiny shower stall. It all seemed like it could be an acceptable place to live once years of dirt and cobwebs were cleaned up.

Once the tour was complete Mira started giving gentle orders. Hermione smiled when she saw both Vadim and Antonin comply immediately. Mira caught her eye and gave her what could only be described as a conspiratorial wink. The older witch gently grasped Hermione's elbow to lead her over to the large windows. She cast a cleaning charm on them. Hermione followed her lead. The four worked in near silence while they covered the entire flat in charms.

Once Mira was satisfied that the flat was cleaned to her exacting specifications, she smiled and began pulling shrunken boxes out of her pockets. Vadim and Antonin did the same. Resizing and arranging Antonin's furniture was a much more boisterous affair. There were several arguments between Antonin and his father as to where something should go. When they would start bickering, Mira and Hermione would both roll their eyes and smile at each other.

By lunchtime they were almost done. Vadim and Antonin left their ladies alone in the flat to get food from a nearby pub. Hermione was a little nervous to be alone with Mira. Language barrier aside, she was intimidated by Antonin's mother. They finished putting away the last of Antonin's mismatched dishes in the tiny corner of the room set aside as the kitchen/dining area. The men still had not returned by the time their task was completed.

"Toshka is very serious boy."

Hermione was startled by Mira's sudden speech. She rotated in place to turn her body towards the woman to give her her full attention.

"Serious like his mama."

Mira placed her hand on Hermione's cheek. It was a very gentle touch. She smiled brightly at the younger woman.

"He shines when he looks at you. Be kind to him. Please."

The front door opened before Hermione could respond with anything other than a smile. Mira tenderly pat Hermione's cheek with another sweet smile on her face. Both Dolohov men entered carrying bags from the nearest pub. Antonin assured her that it wasn't as dodgy as her father's pub used to be. A harsh smack to the back of his head by his father made both of the women laugh.

Lunch was pleasant in the beginning if also a bit awkward. A simple spell or two enlarged his dining table for all of them to sit. Conjured chairs solved the problem of too few seats. Throughout the simple meal Vadim proved to be every bit as intolerable as Hermione feared he was. Antonin grew even more uncomfortable as his father asked too many questions about her family.

"We heard about a party your uncle threw for you when you first arrived last summer," Vadim declared. "It sounded as if it was quite the elaborate affair."

"Yes, it was lovely," Hermione agreed only to be polite. She hated every moment of that damned party except for a few brief minutes alone with Igor in the formal gardens.

"How often does your uncle entertain?"

Antonin was tense. Hermione could tell by the stiffness in all his muscles and the vein popping out in his neck proved he was clenching his teeth too hard to be comfortable. Fearing he might have a burst of unintentional magic, Hermione reached for his hand under the table. He only relaxed slightly at the gesture.

"Not very often, I'm afraid," Hermione answered. "Mostly just quiet family dinners."

"The Lestrange Manor was featured in an issue of _Wizard Design_ a few years ago. Have you seen the issue I'm speaking of?"

Hermione squeezed Antonin's hand again. His breathing was slowing down but he was still clearly embarrassed. She really hoped his parents would not linger much longer. They were almost done setting up Antonin's flat. Everything that was left to do could be done another day.

"No, I'm afraid I haven't."

"Stunning photographs, especially of the gardens."

"My uncle is very proud of the gardens. He spends a great deal of time out there ensuring they are perfect."

"It clearly shows," Vadim replied. "I know your uncle is an associate of Lord Voldemort…"

Hermione felt like ice water was running through her veins. Based on the excited twinkle in Vadim's blue eyes, it was obvious he was a great admirer of the wizard who repeatedly tried to kill her best friend. In her gut she felt a twisting of fear. Why had she not considered that Antonin's own father might be the one to introduce him to his future master?

"That is how I actually first met your uncle, Miss Dumbledore. Our Lord introduced us. I've known Regnault for longer than Antonin has been alive. I was hoping when our Lord returned that Regnault may be hosting another grand party. We would, of course, endeavor to be in the country this time."

"Papa, can we talk about something other than Hermione's uncle?" asked Antonin through his still clenched teeth.

The tension in the room rose to a disturbing level. Mira reached across the table to grasp Vadim's arm. Hermione clutched Antonin's hand tighter. Both men stared at each other for a brief few seconds that felt much longer.

"Regnault Lestrange is an old friend," Vadim responded, his own jaw set in a similar fashion to his son's.

"And if he is such an old friend, why has he never invited you to one of his parties?"

Hermione did not understand what was happening. There was clearly more going on than she knew. Mira seemed ill at ease as well. Both men continued to stare at each other without speaking. Finally, without warning, the men began shouting in a language that Hermione could not speak nor understand. It was easy enough to infer by the tone they were yelling at each other in that they weren't discussing anything pleasant.

"Your mother and I will not stay where we are clearly not welcome," declared Vadim, switching back into English no doubt for Hermione's benefit.

Mira rushed over to kiss Antonin goodbye. She was unable to do the same to Hermione before Vadim was tugging on her arm. Both of the Dolohov parents were out of his flat in mere moments. The space they sat in felt eerily quiet without the extra two people. Hermione did not know what to say or even if anything needed to be said.

"I'm sorry about that," Antonin finally stated in a soft tone of voice. If he had been embarrassed by his father before, it was nothing to how he felt at that moment.

"You don't have to apologize to me," she assured him, "If anyone should apologize, maybe it should be me."

His troubled dark brown eyes shot up to meet hers. The expression on his face was back to being serious and intense. Hermione preferred it when he smiled and was less solemn. She hated his father.

"Why would you need to apologize, _daragaya_? _He_ was the one being inappropriate and embarrassing all fucking day!"

Hermione pushed her chair back from the table. Only a couple of steps brought her close enough to sit on Antonin's lap. As soon as she slipped her arms around his neck and laid her head on his shoulder, he relaxed enough to sigh and hold her tightly.

"Do you want to tell me what you and your father were shouting about?" she asked, kissing his neck once in encouragement.

Antonin sighed. She knew he did not want to talk about what had just happened. He had a bad habit of stewing in his anger when he was upset. It was unhealthy.

"He screamed at me for being disrespectful to him in front of you," he explained. "Said that I should be on my best behavior around you at all times because of who your uncle is. When they first walked in this morning he said something to me in Russian…"

"Yeah, I was curious what he said. Looked like it made you upset."

She ran her hand through his hair in an effort to help keep him calm. It seemed to help if his increased deep breaths and more relaxed body were helpful indicators.

"He asked me if I was ashamed of our family. Asked if I didn't think our family was good enough for you to meet. He's such a fucking…"

"Yes, he is."

Antonin kissed her head and sighed into her hair.

"I told him that our family wasn't likely to get an invitation to any of the posh parties he wanted to go to."

"Why not?"

"Because of my mum. No one wants to invite her places because she's Muggleborn. I told him I wouldn't go anywhere my mum wasn't allowed and he shouldn't either. He wants me to marry you too. He's always wanted me to marry a girl from a Sacred Twenty-Eight family. After the Selwyns tore up my marriage contract with Sybille…"

Hermione kissed him again. She, for one, was glad that he was not forced to go through with his marriage to the Slytherin sixth year she had met a few times the previous school year. Though Sybille was not as terrible as so many of the 'vapid slags' in her House as Andromeda liked to call them, she knew that Antonin would have been miserable married to the girl. At least now he had the opportunity to make his own choices.

"… I told Papa that I would never allow him to plan my marriage for me. We had the worst row we've ever had before. That's why I stayed with Tommy and his family over the winter holidays. He was still mad at me. I told him that any family that did not want my mum around could stay away from me."

"Was this fight just a continuation of an old one?"

"Basically. He warned me that if I continued to embarrass my family in front of you, you would want nothing to do with me. Hermione, I care about you a great deal and no matter how much I might like the idea that one day we would be married, I will _not_ be told I have to marry anyone. Not again."

She sat up slightly to kiss him directly on the lips. All concerns that he would have a burst of magic against his will were put to rest. Wanting desperately to change the subject, Hermione took a look around the flat.

"It looks really good in here, Antonin. Now that all of your furniture is in here, I like it."

"Good." He tightened his arm around her waist. "Because I have every intention of having you over here often."

"It didn't take as long to clean up and unpack as I thought it would."

Antonin shrugged his shoulders.

"Small flat and I don't have that much yet."

A large yawn snuck up on Hermione. As soon as she yawned, Antonin followed suit. They both laughed.

"I think we deserve a nap after all of that hard work," Hermione stated, hopping off of his lap.

Antonin rose from his chair and grasped her hand to lead her over to the large bed tucked underneath the large windows. He and his father both spent a long time that morning charming the glass to allow natural light in, but to prevent any potential nosy neighbors from being able to see inside. The closer they got to the bed, the more the entire atmosphere around them changed. Hermione was both nervous and excited all at once. They had not been completely alone for a long time. Only feet away from the bed, Antonin picked her up and dropped her on the mattress. She laughed, bouncing up a bit on the bed. He climbed on top of the bed and immediately began kissing her. It was not difficult to ascertain just where he wanted the rest of the afternoon to go.

"Antonin, stop," she pleaded, gently pushing him off of her. "We're dirty and sweaty."

He pulled back clearly disappointed in her rebuff. After sulking for a few seconds, a devilish grin crossed his face. Hermione felt her belly swoop at the gesture. Antonin picked her up again, slung her over his shoulder and carried her to the lavatory. A spell from his wand started the water running in the tiny shower. He carefully set Hermione back down on her feet.

She did not know how the logistics of his plan would pan out, but was curious to try. He was already half-naked before she had even pulled her jumper over her head. Soon they were both completely naked, Antonin's body showing clear signals of just what he wanted to do to her in the shower. Hermione stepped into the shower first, giving him her best sultry expression.

Antonin stalked forward, his eyes never blinking. She shivered at the attention. It would be the first time she ever had the opportunity to have sex in the shower. Movies always made it seem so hot and romantic. Her boyfriend had the same idea. He stepped into the shower and immediately hit his head on the shower head.

"Fuck!"

A giggle burst out of Hermione's mouth. Antonin's eyes narrowed at her for only a second before they widened. He slipped on the wet tile only to fall forward on Hermione, crushing her against the back of the shower. The space they were both trying to occupy was a tight fit for just one of them. Remembering the purpose of why they were in there together, Antonin composed himself and leaned down to kiss Hermione. When their lips touched, the spray of the water from the shower head increased all on its own power. Scalding hot water hit them both straight in the mouth, completely ruining any chance for a steamy kiss.

Hermione was past giggling by that point. As soon as the initial shock of the scalding water wore off, she was laughing. Antonin had to turn around to fix the stream, but with the limited space, he ended up squishing her against the wall again. She could feel tears running down her cheeks through her boisterous laughter. Her wizard fixed the issue with the water pressure and temperature. He attempted to turn back around, slipped and hit his head back on the showerhead.

"Fuck!"

Antonin seemed reluctant to join in Hermione's amusement. She was at that point having trouble breathing between her loud guffaws. A hint of a smile twitched at the corner of his mouth. Without warning, all hot water ceased, spraying them both with gallons of ice cold water. Both of them screamed. He tried to get the water turned off, but the knobs on both the hot and cold water fell off to land in the floor of the shower with a bang. Despite her teeth chattering from the temperature of the water, Hermione was still laughing. She was unable to get past Antonin out of the shower even if she wanted to. He attempted to reach his wand sticking out of the pocket of his trousers and slipped out of the shower completely. Thankfully a fluffy bath mat prevented much damage to certain parts of his anatomy he was quite fond of.

A few spells were required to bring the shower back into working order. By that time, Antonin was laughing every bit as hard as Hermione was. They took turns soaping up as quickly as they could and rinsing off before getting the hell out of the tiny death trap. Tears were freely escaping both of their eyes. It may not have been the steamy, memorable first shower she was anticipating, but it was certainly a moment she would never forget.

"I expected showering with you would be…" Antonin started as he escaped with all of the lather rinsed off his body.

"Sexier than that?"

They both laughed. Hermione tossed him a dry towel.

"Yes, actually."

Hermione wrapped her towel around her body, not wishing to get back into the clothes that needed cleaning. Antonin followed her to the bed, his own towel wrapped around his waist. She stood at the edge of the bed and dropped her towel with a smirk, exposing herself to his piercing gaze again. Antonin gulped. He released his own towel and closed the distance between them quite swiftly.

They spent a long time that afternoon reacquainting themselves with each other's bodies after the long break. Their fatigue from moving into the flat was forgotten. Neither of them seemed in need of a nap after all. When they were both finally satisfied and ready to fall asleep, the couple slipped under the covers to take a needed nap. Before they could fall asleep completely, Antonin spooned up behind her and tightened his grip on her body. Just as she was drifting off to sleep, he whispered directly into her ear.

"Your uncle was wrong. You can do a lot better than me and I think one day soon you are going to figure that out."

* * *

July 25, 1998

 **7:05 pm**

Kingsley was nervous about entering Andromeda's house. Though he had no good reason for being reluctant, it was a bit of a struggle to finally cross the threshold. Remembering all of the manners that his mum knocked into his head repeatedly as a young boy, he asked to see her grandson, knowing that would be a good ice breaker.

Andromeda was more than happy to lead him down the corridor to Teddy's nursery. The tiny wizard was fast asleep, blissfully unaware that the two adults in his house staring over his cot were anxious and uncomfortable. Once upon a time they were close friends. It saddened Kingsley that he could no longer say they were close. He made the appropriate noises, 'oohing' and 'ahhing' over the sleeping babe.

It was all too easy to see both of his parents in Teddy's features. Kingsley was not prepared for the influx of emotion that suddenly threatened to overpower him. Remus and Tonks had been two of his best friends. He would likely mourn their loss for the rest of his life. Seeing the representation of their love for each other made him both happy and intensely jealous. Why could he and Hermione not have had the same before she disappeared? Of course, if they had, there would have been the uncomfortable realization that their child might have ended up in school at the same time as his mother. Too many variables would have made that a difficult situation. Remembering his purpose for being there, Kingsley cleared his throat.

"He's beautiful, Andy."

"Yes, I think so too."

Andromeda led them both into the kitchen. Though she had grown up in a large manor house with dozens of formal rooms, she always felt the most at ease inside her own kitchen. Many a pot of tea and bottle of fire whiskey had been shared in that cozy room over the years. Kingsley settled down at the kitchen table watching his friend prepare the tea.

"I'd offer you something strong to drink, but I don't have anything."

"That's all right. Tea will be just fine."

She set the teapot down on the table to allow the tea to steep. After a quick dig around her cupboards, she removed a couple of cups for their use.

"I had the pleasure of meeting your nephew a few weeks ago."

Kingsley was not sure why exactly that he was surprised by that news. He was aware that Dean admired Ted greatly. His nephew felt strongly and correctly that he owed his life to the man. The more he got to know Dean, the more he could see bits and pieces of his father tucked away into his personality. He was anxious to be closer to Tommy's son. Andromeda sat in the chair directly across from the Minister.

"I fancied Thomas all through our second year."

They both chuckled as they prepared their tea.

"Dean told me how Ted protected him," Andromeda added, her voice slightly heavy.

"Ted was always a good man."

"Yes, he was."

Silence fell over the warm kitchen for a few minutes as neither of them quite knew what to say to further along their conversation.

"I'm sorry I didn't come visit earlier. I've been…"

"Busy. I understand. You're the Minister for Magic. Just like she always said you would be."

"Actually, I was going to say that I've been avoiding you and I've been a fucking coward."

Andromeda's light gray eyes caught Kingsley's. Almost instantly she started laughing. Kingsley was surprised by her reaction.

"Thank you, Kings, for being the _first_ person to come right out and admit the truth. I've had a number of visitors but none have been as honest."

He reached across the table to grasp her hand in his. Her laughter subsided as she began to put on what he always called her "Black Façade" before she spoke again. He had known the woman most of his life and understood that she was not comfortable expressing her emotions.

"Explain something to me if you don't mind, Kingsley."

"Anything."

"Does Hermione have a daughter or is this all much more complicated than I ever realized?"


	30. Chapter 30

_Author's Note: This is just a friendly reminder that there is A LOT of story left. Hermione still has_ _years_ _left in the past. Don't be so quick to make your decisions and/or opinions. You may find yourself disappointed. ;)_

 _Thanks again for all of the amazing reviews! They make me so happy. I'm sorry that I've been unable to respond to them personally the last couple of chapters, but I truly adore them. Welcome to all the new followers!_

* * *

Chapter Thirty

November 23, 1972

 **7:50 pm**

Autumn arrived with very little fanfare. Time was passing quickly, much quicker than Hermione was comfortable with. The longer she was in the past, the more connected she felt with it. Thinking about a day coming up in just a few years when she would disappear without a trace was upsetting. She assumed it would be because her time turner was working again, but she could not be certain. Even in the early years of the war people disappeared left and right. She wanted to remain positive. Sometimes it was hard.

A terrible feeling settled into in her gut for weeks that she could not shake off. With everything around her happening with little to no excitement, she worried if it all wasn't just a little _too_ quiet. She had an unnerving feeling that life was not going to remain quiet for long.

By late November she still could not quiet the discontent she felt. A number of theories crossed her mind. Maybe someone was going to figure out her secret. Or Voldemort was going to return from his trip earlier than expected. Of course she might have simply been uneasy because she knew it was only a matter of time before the wizard who called himself the Dark Lord came back to make her life uncomfortable. He all but promised he would figure out her secret. She felt less confident in her Occlumency shields the more she dwelled on the possibility of putting them to the test against a Master Legilimens like him.

One Thursday night as the month was drawing to an end, Hermione walked into The White Wyvern, a pub not far from Antonin's flat. Since he moved to his own place she'd spent a lot of time in London. At least two or three nights a week she slept over. Aberforth never asked questions where she was staying. When she tried to tell him once, he waved her off and told her that she was an adult and entitled to have a private life. It always made her laugh how uncomfortable he would get when she started mentioning young wizards.

Antonin worked late on Thursdays at the bank. His training usually included practical applications once a week. Most weeks he got off of work from practical days hungry, exhausted and grumpy. They started meeting at the pub for a late dinner.

It had taken Hermione a little while to warm up to his neighborhood. Knockturn Alley in general felt scary and shady when he first moved in. She was determined to keep a positive attitude regardless of what she experienced. It had not taken long for her to actually like his surroundings. His neighbors who seemed dark and frightening at first had grown on her. The elderly wizard on the ground floor had an exotic collection of rats in cages lining one entire wall of his flat. More than once since meeting he'd come by the shop to buy tonic specifically from her. There was also a young couple on the first floor and witch on Antonin's level they had gotten to know fairly well.

She headed straight for the bar to place her order for takeaway. If Antonin was not out of work by half-past seven on Thursdays he was usually in a bad enough mood that dinner back in his flat was preferable. The proprietor of the pub smiled when he recognized Hermione. In the past couple of months she'd eaten there with Antonin more times than she cared to admit. Their chicken and ham pie quickly became Antonin's favorite. As she was still learning to cook actual edible meals from her dad, on nights she spent in London they became semi-regulars to The White Wyvern.

Without even needing to ask, the owner who Hermione was almost certain was called Hector, placed a large glass of chilled pumpkin cider in front of her. She smiled and climbed up on the comfortable barstool. Waiting for Antonin was not a hardship when she had a pint and a plethora of interesting characters to observe. If Antonin's move to Knockturn Alley taught her nothing else, she knew that evenings spent in the dodgy end of London's wizarding district was never dull.

She had not been there long at all when someone she had not seen in a while unexpectedly turned up. Igor spotted her the second he walked through the pub's front door. He crossed the cramped room in only a few strides of his long legs. After a chaste kiss on her cheek he sat down on the stool next to hers.

"I am surprised to see you in a place like this, Charodeyka."

"Why, Igor? There is wonderful cider and delicious food. My mother might have been a Lestrange, but that doesn't make me a snob."

They both laughed. Catching up with Igor made the time pass quickly. He had a little more free time to call his own as his apprenticeship drew to a close. His mastery exam was to be held in January. Exhausted with revising, he called an early night and headed straight to London to decompress. His arrogant nature and eternal confidence in his own talents meant he was not concerned about the possibility of failing his Mastery.

"I'm proud of you, Igor. That is quite an accomplishment."

"Want to go somewhere and celebrate where there's a little more privacy?"

Hermione snorted and rolled her eyes. He would never change. Igor winked in the middle of his loud laughter at her response. She was fairly certain that if she wasn't in a relationship with Antonin she would be very tempted to take him up on his offer. She was still very attracted to him even though she knew there was no future.

"Tempting offer, Igor."

"Ahh, I know a rejection when I hear one. Who's the lucky wizard?"

"My ex actually."

"The one who read our letters?"

She nodded and he laughed. Hector set a fresh glass of fire whiskey down on the bar in front of Igor. He wasted no time taking a large gulp from the tumbler.

"Do you promise to come running back to my bedroom if it doesn't work out again?"

Hermione did not know how to respond to his flirtatious question. Any truthful answer she gave felt like a betrayal to Antonin. Yes, she would be very tempted to work out her frustrations with a night, or several, spent alone with Igor, but she could not admit that, could she? It felt crass and very, very wrong. Undeterred by her slow response, Igor ran his free hand through her curls, stopping for a moment to carefully tug on a couple. She smiled and felt her cheeks flush.

"You know, in case you need to get under another bloke to get over that one?"

"Igor…"

"Charodeyka…"

A throat was loudly cleared only inches from where they were both seated. Hermione turned to see an agitated Antonin standing behind them. Igor's hand was still in her hair.

"Forgive me if I'm interrupting."

Antonin's tone was cold and precise. Hermione did not like it. She pulled away from Igor. The older wizard smirked at Antonin, clearly amused by the situation. His temper had not yet become as infamous as it would in the future, but Hermione still felt worried about Antonin's reaction to the scene he walked up on. She practically jumped off of the stool to stand closer to her wizard.

"Uhh, Antonin, this is Igor Karkaroff. Igor, Antonin Dolohov."

Igor gleefully offered his hand. He, at least, was enjoying the encounter. Antonin glared at the offered hand for several tense seconds before reluctantly accepting it for a handshake. His frustration only made Igor laugh. Hermione was grateful that their dinner arrived moments later. She thanked Hector as she took the paper sack out of his hands.

"Have a good evening, Igor. It was lovely to see you again."

Without thought or care for the fuming wizard next to him, Igor leaned down to kiss Hermione's cheek. She could feel Antonin growing angrier by the second.

"Good evening, Charodeyka. I hope to see you again very soon. Nice to meet you, Dolohov."

Igor muttered something under his breath in Russian. Not for the first time Hermione wished she could speak the language. Antonin's cheeks flushed and he looked like he wanted to curse Igor. His silence and stewing anger made Igor laugh harder. Clearly he was not intimidated in the slightest.

Antonin gripped Hermione's arm and practically dragged her out of the pub. He did not seem to care how tightly he was holding her. Once outside she shrugged her arm out of his grasp.

"You're hurting me, Antonin."

"What was going on back there?" he demanded, completely ignoring her complaints.

"Nothing. We were just talking."

He laughed though there was no humor in his expression.

"It didn't look like _nothing_. He was fucking touching you, Hermione."

Antonin grabbed her arm again and pulled her body flush against his. She was frightened by his behavior. This was not _her_ Antonin. Whoever he was, she did not like him. She had flashbacks to the future when she crossed his path in the Department of Mysteries and then again in the café in London. She also remembered the night he spelled her feet frozen on the ground to scream at her while they were still at Hogwarts.

"Why is he touching you, Hermione?"

His grip tightened on her arm. She was scared and desperately wanted to go home. A quiet evening in his flat no longer seemed like a possibility. She longed for the safety she always felt in The Hog's Head under Aberforth's watchful protection. Antonin stopped walking to loom over her. Unsure what his next move would be, Hermione tried to back away from her boyfriend despite him still squeezing her upper arm. She backed herself right into a wall. Antonin's tone was rough and they were attracting unwanted attention.

"I want to go home, Antonin. Let me go."

"'Home'? Is that where you really want to go or are you lying to me? Did you and your precious Igor make plans to see each other tonight once you got rid of the pathetic boyfriend?"

Hermione did not understand what was going on. Antonin had not behaved that way since the night the broke up the first time. Even then it was nowhere near the same intensity. She was afraid of him for yet another time in her life. And like she had been that night at Hogwarts and all of the other times she met him face to face in the future, she was afraid he might actually hurt her.

"Antonin, what is wrong with you? Why are you acting like this?"

"There is nothing wrong with me. I just don't care to walk into a pub and see _my_ witch chatting up some bloke she used to fuck. Especially when his hands are on her!"

Hermione placed both of her hands on Antonin's chest and used all of her limited physical strength to attempt to push him away. To her great disappointment, he was too strong. He held his ground no matter how hard she pushed. When she gave up and tried to grab her wand, he grabbed her wrist instead. The pressure of the squeezing made her fear he would break it before their argument was over. She was a bundle of emotions: anger, fear, humiliation. Knowing she had no other option, she made the decision to kick him where she knew she could do some damage. At the last second before she could even lift her knee, a large form pulled Antonin off of her and threw him to the ground.

" _Expelliarmus_!"

Antonin's wand flew into Igor's hand. He tried to get off of the ground, but Igor knocked him back down before he made much progress. Hermione sighed in relief. Igor would not let him hurt her in his presence. Of that she was absolutely positive.

"I have no idea what is going on here, Dolohov, but it seems to me you need to calm down and cool off."

Igor struck Antonin directly in the face with an Aguamenti spell. Antonin sputtered in rage and tried once more to get back up. A charm held him to the pavement. Hermione was in shock. Everything happened so quickly that she was still having trouble processing what she was seeing. Perhaps in an effort to preserve his health considering November was a cold time to be drenching wet outside, Igor ended the Aguamenti spell. Antonin was incensed. He began yelling at Igor as loudly as possible in their native language.

"That is no way to speak in front of a lady, Dolohov, even if she doesn't understand you."

Igor splashed him again with the water spell. Hermione reached out for Igor's arm to get his attention.

"Igor, please stop," she begged. "That's enough."

"You should _never_ allow a wizard to lay a hand on you in anger, Hermione. Never be afraid to hex his bollocks off."

He turned his attention back to the wizard stuck on the ground.

"You don't deserve her," he spat.

"Hermione…"

"I'm going home, Antonin. We will talk about _this_ later."

"Go to the end of the alley, Charodeyka. When I see you've gone, I'll release your little boyfriend."

She needed no further encouragement to direct her footsteps out of Knockturn Alley. She simply wanted to go home. It only took her a couple of minutes running as fast as she could to make it to an Apparition point. Disapparating when upset was not usually a good idea but she could not be arsed to care.

The Hog's Head was practically empty when she pushed open the front door. Aberforth stood behind the bar drying off clean glasses. The moment he saw Hermione's face he dropped the rag and rushed to her. Without saying a word he wrapped his arms around the distraught witch. For the first time since her argument with Antonin began in the other pub, she felt safe. All of the tears she had been choking down came tumbling out.

"There there, my girl. You're safe now. It'll all be all right."

Several minutes passed with her safely cocooned in the security of his arms. Aberforth kissed the top of her head when her crying slowed. She was proud to realize he was growing more comfortable showing his affection. A small part of her believed she was really improving his life. He led her into their private parlor in the back of the pub. They sat on the sofa.

"Do you wish to tell me what happened?" Aberforth asked in a calm, soothing tone.

Hermione was afraid that Aberforth would overreact if she told him the full truth of what happened that evening. She wasn't really hurt, was she? Just upset and a little frightened. Igor arrived before anything _too_ bad happened and she also wasn't entirely positive that Antonin would've allowed it go too far anyway. He cared about her, had told her so on many different occasions. She was afraid Aberforth would rush out to find Antonin if he knew the truth.

"Just a very bad evening," she finally replied.

"I understand. I am no stranger to those."

"I just want to go to bed early, I think."

Aberforth kissed the top of her head again. She stood up from the sofa. The sleeve of her jumper was pushed up her arm at some point revealing dark red marks where Antonin's hand cut into her flesh. She hastily pulled the sleeve back down and headed to bed.

* * *

November 24, 1972

 **7:45 am**

Hermione got up early the next morning. It seemed silly to remain in bed when she could not sleep. Unsurprisingly her thoughts drifted all night long to the events of the previous evening. Sleep had been hard to come by.

Friday mornings were days she liked to help Caradoc and Roddy in the shop. They usually received their weekly shipments of new animals and products from their suppliers. Being there when the new owls arrived always made their transition easier. Besides, she could use a distraction to get her mind off of what happened with Antonin and Igor.

The welcome scents of breakfast cooking filled the back of the pub. Hermione's stomach led the way to the small kitchen. Aberforth stood at the stove turning the eggs. Her favorite time of day was when she had the chance to eat breakfast with her "dad". When she slept at the store or over at Antonin's she always missed it.

"How did you sleep?"

"Very well, thank you," she lied as she sat down in her customary chair.

Aberforth tipped a large serving of eggs on her plate before sitting down at the table across from her. He often teased that the entire village could tell she was hungry by her stomach growls alone.

"Do you have a busy day?" he asked.

"Not really. I'm helping in the shop this morning but my afternoon and evening are free."

"The Dolohov boy has been pacing out front this morning since at least half past six."

The calm manner in which he announced his news startled Hermione enough to drop her fork. Aberforth sipped on his tea with a deceptively serene expression on his whiskered face.

"What?"

"He seems agitated, like he wants to talk to you about something. If the _something_ he wants to talk about has anything to do with how upset you were last night and those red marks you're trying to hide on your wrist, he better be here to offer you a damn good apology."

Hermione did not know what to say. She could hardly look Aberforth in the eye. He was clearly angry.

"Ordinarily I would say that your private life is none of my business. You are twenty years old and perfectly capable of taking care of yourself…"

"Dad, it was just a misunderstanding. He lost his temper. I'm sure he feels terrible."

"Good. He _should_ feel terrible. There is never a good excuse for a man to put his hands on a woman."

She wanted to argue with him further, but she couldn't. He was one hundred percent correct. Her Muggle father would give her the same advice if he was able. In the light of the morning after spending all night tossing and turning, she could no longer defend or justify his actions.

"I'm going to go outside and talk to him."

"And I will be watching you both through the window."

Hermione smiled hesitantly at him as she stood up from the table. It warmed her heart that he clearly cared deeply for her and her wellbeing. Standing guard was such a 'dad thing' to do. She slipped out of the front door of the pub. Just like Aberforth said, he was pacing in front of the pub. Antonin stopped the moment he saw her emerge but did not immediately go to her.

"I've been up all night, _daragaya_."

Hermione sat down on the bench in front of the pub without saying a word. Her full attention was focused on Antonin. Truthfully, she was more than a little curious what he had to say for himself.

"Yesterday was a shit day from beginning to end. I was reprimanded by one of the goblins at work for making a mistake. That's why I was late meeting you. I had to stay behind and redo everything. I was already in a foul mood and then I saw you with _him_ , smiling and laughing with his hand running through your hair. I was already upset, but when I realized he was Igor, _the_ Igor, I got very jealous."

"We are friends, Antonin. That is not going to change. We were only talking."

Antonin sat down on the bench next to her though they are not touching. She looked back at the pub to see that Aberforth was indeed keeping his promise to watch them. She felt comforted by his presence.

"I'm sorry, Hermione. I lost my head. If it had been anyone else, I probably wouldn't have gotten that upset. You've already proven that you liked him better than you like me."

"When did I do that?"

"When you exchanged letters with him and then snuck down to Hogsmeade to see him."

Hermione sighed and rolled her eyes. He was never going to forgive her for that one night. Months later, almost a _year_ later and he still couldn't forgive her. Clearly he was still holding on to some anger.

"And then he taunted me as we were leaving," Antonin continued.

"What did he say?"

"He told me that if I insisted on leaving a witch like you alone in a pub, I deserved when a better wizard came along to take you away from me."

She could not stop yet another eye roll. Understanding men and their need to be so possessive was something she would never be able to accomplish. It all seemed so juvenile. Were they not all adults?

"You scared me last night, Antonin. Very badly."

"I know. I'm so sorry. I promise I will never do it again."

"I think we need a few days away from each other to both calm down."

Antonin sighed and lowered his eyes from hers. She could tell he was bothered by her suggestion, but she did not care. If there was ever going to be any hope at all that they would continue to have a healthy relationship, he could not treat her like that ever again. Somehow in the back of her mind she always assumed women that were frightened or even injured by their husbands or boyfriends were weak and willing to put up with anything because they were desperate. She would have never imagined that someone who claimed to care about her, maybe even love her, would react so violently to a simple conversation with another man. It put a fresh perspective on all of her old prejudice.

"All right. I will give you whatever space you need."

"Thank you." She rose from the bench and stepped towards the door. With her hand on the knob, she turned back around to face him. "Oh, and Antonin, if you ever leave _another_ mark on my body, there will not be another chance."

She reentered the pub without waiting for a response. There really was no good excuse anyway.

* * *

November 30, 1972

 **12:15 pm**

To Hermione's immense surprise, she and her Uncle Regnault had been keeping a standing lunch appointment every single Thursday. Their first one was terrible. Neither one of them could dispute that fact, but they were both determined to get along. It certainly was not easy. Tenacity and sheer nerve was all it took for them to begin steadily improving. Eventually they were able to endure an entire meal without arguing once. By the end of November, she found herself actually looking forward to the experience with feelings other than dread.

"I heard a very upsetting rumor about an argument between you and Mr. Dolohov last week in Knockturn Alley," stated Regnault in the middle of their salad course.

Hermione set her fork down and wiped her mouth on her napkin. She was both curious and annoyed by where her uncle was steering the discussion. They had just been enjoying a lively discussion about a bill being introduced in the Wizengamot to allow daughters of the Pureblood aristocracy to inherit equal shares of their family estates as their brothers. Naturally Regnault had his reservations. She decided not to lie about the argument with Antonin. Regnault was the kind of person who could sense a lie. Besides, he probably had multiple stories to corroborate the story. For all she knew, he could have hired someone to follow her around at all times.

"Yes, we had an argument. It has since been settled. We are actually meeting tonight after he gets out of work."

"That is good news. I was under the impression that it was quite severe. Igor Karkaroff even had to intervene."

"Yes, but like I said, we have since settled the argument."

"I am glad to hear that."

They returned to their salads. Just as she was beginning to believe that her uncle had finally dropped the subject, he spoke again.

"Your grandfather was under the impression that once a witch had a wizard's name, he was entitled to do whatever he wished with her. As I witnessed a few times with my mother before she passed and then again with my stepmother, he held the belief that if a witch had your last name, you were allowed to curse or hit her as you pleased."

Hermione wished she could say that she was surprised by his admission, but she wasn't. Centuries of spousal abuse existed long before there were laws in both the Muggle and Magical world to protect the afflicted.

"That's horrible," she replied.

"I am inclined to agree with you, my dear. It is our duty as wizards and as the Heads of our families to _protect_ our witches and our children. There should never be an incident where they must be protected _from_ us. Clearly, I am more progressive than my father, thank Merlin. I _never_ want to hear about another wizard putting his hands on you, Hermione."

Her eyes fell to the salad in front of her because she did not want him to see her eyes fill with tears. For the first time in her acquaintance with Regnault Lestrange she could actually feel that he cared about her. In a further act of surprise, her formidable uncle reached across the table to pat the top of her hand. He reserved his true acts of affection for only very special occasions. After a couple of pats and a gentle squeeze that meant the world to his niece, Regnault pulled his hand back.

"But I am pleased that you and Mr. Dolohov have worked out your disagreement. I had plans to invite him over for Christmas dinner. It would have been awkward for me or either your cousins to murder a guest in our home. Not very festive, is it?"

The wink from her usually dour uncle made her laugh until she almost cried.

* * *

July 25, 1998

 **7:30 pm**

He was at a loss for words. In his position as Minister for Magic and the head of their government, Kingsley was frequently called upon to speak about uncomfortable topics and issues. Since the war ended just a few months earlier it often felt like most of what he had to speak about was unpleasant. He could rally support for prison reform and call for assistance in tracking down fugitive Death Eaters until he was blue in the face with no qualms. Answering what should have been a simple question posed by an old friend proved to be much harder than he was prepared to handle.

Too many people were close to figuring out his secret. Once upon a time he foolishly believed that he could pull off sending his little witch back in time with only two people ever knowing what he had done. The Unspeakables did not count. They were each under Unbreakable Vows to prevent loose lips in their department from sharing what they were working on to the world. He was bloody awful at keeping a secret. What made him believe he could pull it off?

He was not surprised that Andromeda guessed. She was very perceptive. Always had been. Infuriatingly so at times. More than once Kingsley felt when he was in an argument with Hermione that a simple chinwag with Andromeda would fuel the fire on her side, making it damn near impossible for him to emerge the victor. Too often they were more worried about who would _win_ the row than why they were having one in the first place. It was just one more item on his list he had been compiling for years on how he would improve. Hermione deserved him at his very best.

"Your reluctance to answer the question is all the confirmation I needed," Andromeda sighed. "If it was just a case of our Hermione running off pregnant with Tony's baby, you would have been furious and you would've already tracked down her hiding place. Of course I would like to think that if she was still alive, she wouldn't have hidden from her loved ones for so long. She might have been afraid of Tony, for good reason, but once he was locked up in Azkaban, she would've been free to come back home."

Kingsley just sat at the table listening to Andromeda speak without adding his own thought. He knew that Andromeda was smart enough to figure out all of the pieces that she was missing. She simply needed a sounded board. He sipped his tea.

"Interesting though, isn't it? That a witch named Hermione who looks _exactly_ like our Hermione disappears without a trace at the same age that our Hermione suddenly appeared in our lives. Almost like she and this Hermione Granger are exactly the same person."

He tried and failed to suppress a groan at her declaration. It looked like one more person was going to have to be brought in on the secret. Aberforth was going to be furious when he found out. From Day One he had been the dissenting voice, telling him that there was simply no way they would be able to emerge from this experience unscathed.

"What did you do, Kingsley? Time turner? Dark Magic spell?"

"Time turner."

Andromeda sighed. She just stared at the Minister without speaking for several long minutes. They finished their tea in silence. One afraid to hear the details and the other afraid to give them.


	31. Chapter 31

Chapter Thirty One

December 25, 1972

 **10:00 am**

As the end of the year approached, the strained relationship between Hermione and Antonin was not much better. Despite having spent time together since the incident in November she really was tired of talking about, they had yet to return to how it once was between the two of them. Part of her had a legitimate fear that they would never be the same together. Was this simply the beginning of the end? She knew that there would come a day when their relationship would be over. Even if she did not know that she was destined to fall in love with Kingsley at some point, she knew that she would not be comfortable maintaining a romantic relationship with an active Death Eater. Maintaining even a cordial friendship might be asking too much.

By Christmas she still had not stayed the night over at his flat. She wanted to maintain some distance between them for a little while before they attempted to carry on with their relationship. She had done a great deal of thinking in those weeks. It was clear that despite her wishes to do otherwise, she was becoming more and more entrenched in the past the longer she stayed. Her earlier hopes to remain as neutral as possible seemed to be becoming less and less of a reality the longer she was there. Antonin, of course, apologized repeatedly. Almost to the point that she was growing sick of it. She would not be pushed or bullied into making her decision before she was ready.

Rodolphus and Caradoc had been incensed when the gossip inevitably made it their direction. Igor must have owled Roddy the night the incident happened because first thing that Friday morning she was almost attacked by two over-exuberant wizards when she walked into the Magical Menagerie. They each made it clear in their own unique ways that she deserved much better than the likes of a wizard who would lose his temper in such a spectacular fashion. She knew they meant well, but it was exhausting listening to them go on and on about why she should leave Antonin. Did the fact that she cared about him mean nothing? One mistake and she was just supposed to walk away from him? Would they be saying the exact same thing to Antonin if _she_ was the one who hurt _him_?

She loved her boys and thanked them for their concern. It was infuriating knowing that everyone had an opinion about her boyfriend. Even more so that they seemed unable to stop from sharing it with her. She had known all along that there would be an expiration date. It was not going to last. How could it when it was only going to be a matter of time before he pledged his life to an evil wizard and began torturing and killing innocents? Naturally she could not share the knowledge that she knew it would not last. How could she explain knowing what the future held? It seemed obvious that there was a clear beginning of distance cropping up between the two young lovers. Only a matter of time.

Hermione still had a sinking feeling in her gut that something terrible was going to happen. Every day she felt more and more like Professor Trelawney with her constantly looking for and expecting doom wherever she went. Initially she thought that the blow up with Antonin was the source of her uneasiness. His infamous temper was not easily discounted. The closer the holidays came, the more ill at ease she felt.

The shop was busy with holiday shoppers. The pub was busy with those needing a break from holiday shopping. Hermione was thankful for the opportunity to keep as preoccupied as possible. The more work she could do, the less she had time to dwell on the sickening feeling of dread in the pit of her stomach. It was also easier to avoid Antonin and his neverending apologies when she could tell him that she was working. At her uncle's request, she invited him to Christmas dinner with the Lestranges. His parents were going to Russia for the holidays and as an apprentice he was not given many days off. They were both nervous about the evening meal.

Hermione was excited about Christmas brunch at Marjorie's house again. She loved that it was a tradition with her dad. Her first year in the past it had been a lovely way to spend the earlier part of the day, especially considering how miserable dinner turned out to be. Aberforth locked up the pub to escort his daughter over to his oldest friend's home. They were running late, but Aberforth did not care. He enjoyed the slow walk through the village with Hermione on his arm. It gave them time to talk.

"Will the Dolohov boy be there?"

"Yes. Thomas invited him. Are you going to be nice?"

"Is he going to keep his hands off of my girl?"

She rolled her eyes. As much as she loved all of the men in her life, she was growing weary of their overprotectiveness. She was no weakling incapable of taking care of herself. How many months had she lived on her own with just two teenage boys as companions? How many times had she helped keep Harry alive? She'd ridden on the back of a fucking dragon, for Merlin's sake! Fought in a war. Even killed in the Final Battle. She hated when they made her feel like she was a delicate flower. On top of all of the men who saw her on a regular basis, Igor had been sending her owls on a regular basis since that night just to check up on her. She appreciated the gesture, but wished they would all just stop.

Dean answered the front door at Margie's house with a broad grin Hermione had missed. He wrapped his large arms around her small frame for a crushing hug. She missed seeing him. Every time she was around Kingsley's father she felt secure. She could close her eyes and almost imagine it was Kingsley from the future.

Kingsley was waiting for them just inside the parlor. Hermione could not stop the bright grin that crept up on her face when she saw him. Since the summer every time she saw him he was looking more and more like his older self. He did not hesitate to smile back. Once she was finally released from the hug from Dean that had her feet dangling just an inch or two above the ground, she crossed the room to hug Kingsley. He seemed surprised by the gesture, but hugged her back.

"Dolohov is already here," Kingsley stated when they broke apart. The sneer on his face made his opinion on the matter of his brother's guest clear. As if she needed another reminder that the two men hated each other.

"Oh, okay."

When Hermione did not immediately rush off to find Antonin, Kingsley smirked. She pretended she did not see.

"My cousin Sada is here for brunch. Her parents went on a trip so she's staying with Granny and us here. Last I saw she had Dolohov cornered in the other room."

Hermione snorted. Sada was fifteen years old and clearly not over her crush on the older wizard. She and her best friend Alecto Carrow liked to follow Antonin around the castle. More than once he'd made the comment that he did not miss Hogwarts because of those two girls.

She could not help but notice a change in Kingsley. Not just physically either. He seemed much more at ease with her and he had not annoyed her yet. Usually he could accomplish that in no time at all. There was a big difference in the young wizard. He seemed much more mature.

"How's school?" she asked, surprising even herself that she was not rushing off to find Antonin and get away from Kingsley.

"Very busy. NEWTs, Quidditch, Head Boy. Some days I think I need a time turner to accomplish it all."

Automatically Hermione reached up to feel the time turner she always kept around her neck. The weight of it was comforting. She usually cast a Notice-me-Not charm on it to make everyone else not even notice it. So far she had even been able to keep Antonin, Andromeda or Rodolphus from asking her any questions. Those three seemed to notice everything.

"I've already been accepted into the auror training program," Kingsley announced.

Hermione smiled brilliantly. She was truly proud of him. It was not an easy program to get into. She reached for his elbow to gently squeeze it in encouragement.

"That's wonderful news, Kingsley. I never had any doubt you would."

He seemed embarrassed by the remark. Once he smiled his eyes dropped immediately.

"Assuming I earn the required NEWTs, of course," he muttered.

"There shouldn't be any trouble doing that. See? What did I tell you? You are going to be a very highly respected auror in no time."

Kingsley smiled. Antonin entered the room with Thomas at that exact moment. He could see her hand still clutching Kingsley's elbow. Hermione stared at Antonin with an almost dare to challenge her. He clenched his jaw, but did not say anything.

Thomas hugged Hermione almost the same second he saw she had arrived. She missed her friend. Though he was in London and had spent many nights with her and Antonin, she missed getting to see him every day.

"Kingsie tell you the good news?" Thomas asked.

"Yes, he's going to be an auror. Quite an honor to be accepted."

Thomas laughed.

"No, did he tell you that he's finally moved on? He no longer entertains hopes of winning your heart."

Kingsley was visibly embarrassed by his brother's teasing. Hermione wished Thomas would stop. Their sibling rivalry could almost be as bad as Kingsley's rivalry with Antonin. Her boyfriend laughed, only encouraging his best friend. She narrowed her eyes at Antonin, showing him she was not happy.

"Kingsie's got himself a girlfriend. Pretty little thing too if I remember her correctly."

"That's great news, Kingsley. I'm happy for you," Hermione stated, hoping that she could change the tone of the conversation.

"Is it awkward for you to share the Heads' Dorm with Bones after she dumped you, little brother?"

They were interrupted by Margie announcing brunch was ready. All of the guests and family members headed to the dining room. Hermione took the seat directly to Aberforth's right at the foot of the table. Antonin sat on her other side without invitation. Sada, also without an invitation, put herself next to Antonin. He rolled his eyes and scooted his chair closer to Hermione.

Brunch was lovely. Hermione adored every moment she spent with the Shacklebolt family. Lively conversation was always expected. She had to promise Dean more than once that she would come visit them in their London house so they could argue more. It had been a long time since she had had the pleasure.

When the meal was over, Thomas made his excuses to run off. Hermione stopped him before he made it out the front door. She was curious what his plans were. It always seemed like every time they were around each other he was preparing himself to run off with no word. She stood in front of the door until he admitted that he was leaving to meet his girlfriend. Though she knew he had one because Antonin let the secret slip when they were still in school, Thomas had been very tight-lipped about her identity. He promised that he would tell Hermione all about her very soon if she would just simply step away from the door.

"Hogmanay," she stated as she stepped away. "You will tell me everything that night."

Thomas agreed with a laugh and a kiss to her cheek. When she closed the door behind him, she turned around the see that Aberforth had Antonin cornered for what was clearly a tense discussion. She wanted to interrupt. Wanted to tell her dad for the thousandth time that she was perfectly capable of fighting her own battles and did not need his input. Just as she was about to step towards the uncomfortable tete-a-tete, Kingsley entered the room.

Kingsley's deep brown eyes widened when he walked closer to the pair. Immediately he looked up at Hermione. She could only imagine what he overheard. Most likely something about the night she just wanted to forget. She was extremely embarrassed and just wanted to get away from everyone. Without even saying a goodbye to her hosts, Hermione pulled open the front door and rushed out into the front garden.

"Hermione, wait," Kingsley called after her.

She stopped walking down the street back towards her home at his deep voice and sighed. Kingsley dashed across the small space to meet her on the path.

"What did you hear, Kingsley?"

"I heard your dad telling Dolohov to keep his hands off of you. I didn't get the impression he was talking about…" He cleared his throat. "Did Dolohov hit you?"

"No!"

"Good. I'd have to kill him. They'd probably not let me be an auror if I did that."

His vehemence made Hermione laugh. It also made her entire body feel uncomfortably warm. Something in his tone revealed that he was not simply making an empty threat. She stood up on her tiptoes to kiss Kingsley's cheek.

"Thank you, Kingsley. That's very sweet."

* * *

 **6:30 pm**

Hermione spent most of the afternoon following brunch at Margie's taking a long nap. She was worried that spending the evening with three Lestranges and Antonin would make for a tense meal. Antonin followed her out into the street not long after she concluded her conversation with Kingsley. They made plans to meet again that evening just before dinner.

No matter how many dinners she attended at the Lestrange Manor over the eighteen months since she had arrived in the past, Hermione still hated the formality. She could never just pull on an old jumper and comfortable shoes to share a meal with her cousins and her uncle. It was all a production. Everyone was expected to dress perfectly, behave perfectly. It all felt disingenuous. She much preferred the meals she shared in the tiny pub kitchen with her dad still in her pajamas.

She put the finishing touches on her hair before stepping out of her bedroom. Several conversations were going on in the main section of the pub. Christmas was one of the busiest nights in the pub. If she had not already been forced to accept her Uncle Regnault's invitation to dinner, she would have stayed in to help. Evenings spent pouring drinks behind the bar with her dad were definitely some of her favorites.

Antonin was waiting impatiently at the end of the bar. It was clear that he was anxious and ready to leave. Hermione was not sure who she could trust to tell her the complete truth of the conversation Antonin had with Aberforth that afternoon. Likely neither one of them would come right out and tell her everything she wanted to know. His eyes widened and a bright smile crossed his face when he caught a glimpse of her in her deep burgundy dress. He was smartly dressed in his own dress robes.

"Are you sure you will be all right?" Hermione asked Aberforth as she kissed him on the cheek.

"Of course," he assured her. "Take the boy and go to your uncle's. Try to enjoy the dinner."

They both chuckled. Neither one of them could imagine an evening spent with the Lestranges in their formal dining room would be enjoyable. Regnault always invited Aberforth to attend as a simple matter of courtesy. Naturally, Aberforth always declined the invitation.

"I'll be home tomorrow. Happy Christmas."

Aberforth embraced Hermione once more. After a sweet kiss on her head, she finally approached Antonin. He stood taller, clearly uncomfortable under her father's gaze. Hermione leaned up to kiss him, ignoring Aberforth's loud clearing of his throat when she did so. She grasped Antonin's arm and led him out to the street.

"You look beautiful, Hermione."

"Thank you."

She grasped Antonin's arm to Side-Along Apparate him to the outside gates of the Lestrange Estate. Regnault added her to the wards when she first arrived. He allowed her to Apparate within the gates of the estate when she was alone. A passenger required her to enter through the ornate gates like everyone else. Regnault could be very paranoid. Before she could step through the entrance, Antonin caught her arm. One careful tug brought her within the circle of his arms. She had been doing what she could to avoid his touch.

"I know you are tired of me apologizing, _daragaya_ , but are you ever going to forgive me?"

He sounded so vulnerable. His remorse was not fake or simply put on for show. She knew that all of the times he was begging for her forgiveness, he was being sincere.

"Yes, Antonin. I forgive you. I _forgave_ you weeks ago."

"Then why are you being so distant?"

"Can we talk about this later? We're going to be late."

Antonin sighed. She had already promised that she would be spending the night at his London flat. There would be plenty of time to talk when they were alone. Hermione stood up on her tiptoes to brush her lips against his. It was an encouragement, a promise that she was not just blowing him off. She took his hands in hers and walked through the open gates.

More than once on the long walk up the drive they had to stop for Antonin to take a closer look at his surroundings. Hermione remembered what it was like to see the place for the first time. It could be overwhelming. Centuries of wealthy Lestranges built on to the massive manor and improved the gardens. Antonin was awed by everything he saw. He could hardly believe what he was seeing.

"I've seen pictures before, but they didn't do this place justice."

"Wait until you see the inside. It's ridiculous."

She tried to joke to make him feel at ease. It did not work. Every step that brought them closer to the ornate front door made Antonin even more uncomfortable. Too late she wished she had told her uncle that she would not bringing him for Christmas dinner. It was bad enough that she had to endure the inanity of the evening spent eating multiple courses of decadent food in almost complete silence. Forcing Antonin to join her was a bit cruel.

Rosie was at the front door to allow them entrance. Dinner was not set to begin until seven. Their early arrival was certain to score some points in their favor. When their cloaks were removed and hung up, she led Antonin down the corridor by his hand to her uncle's study. Pre-dinner drinks were a requirement she had come to expect. Unsurprisingly, her cousins and her uncle were already dressed and waiting for their guests.

All three men were initially cold to Antonin. While she could appreciate the concern they obviously felt for her, she was getting sick of it. A harsh glare sent to each of the three men in turn helped to change the atmosphere. Regnault was the first to clear his throat and offer Antonin a drink.

She naively hoped that the addition of an extra guest to the dinner might encourage more conversation. Of course, she did not take into account the fact that Antonin talked less than any person she had ever known. He was not likely to add a lot to a lively discussion if there was even one to be had. Beyond polite questions about his parents and his position at Gringotts, nothing much was said as course after course was set before them.

The customary after dinner walk was much more interesting. Regnault practically pulled Antonin towards him to have a more thorough conversation about his apprenticeship and what he hoped to accomplish when that was completed. Hermione hung back a little to walk at a much slower pace with her cousins.

"This entire evening went better than I thought it would," she admitted.

Both Rabastan and Rodolphus chortled at her comment.

"I'm assuming that if you bring a date with you each time you come, Hermione, that you won't be forced to listen to Father's diatribes about your lack of a suitable husband," teased Rodolphus.

"I will have to keep that in mind," she replied. "We were both nervous about coming."

"I don't know why you were nervous, but he _should_ be nervous around us."

Rabastan caught Hermione's eye at Rodolphus' last statement and made an exaggerated rolling of his eyes. They both chuckled. Roddy could be very dramatic if given the motivation.

"You know, Cousin, that Dolohov has never been my favorite," Rabastan began. "But I'm not worried about you. Any woman that can take Regnault Lestrange on in an argument and actually _win_ needs no help from the likes of us. You've proven you're capable all on your own."

Hermione stopped walking abruptly. To Rabastan's great surprise she threw her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly. Finally it seemed there was someone out there who did not think she was some china doll in need of careful handling. After a kiss to his cheek that made her younger cousin laugh, she released her hold. They continued their walk several meters behind the interrogation of her boyfriend.

She was pleased when they reached the front gates of the estate on their walk. After hugging and kissing her cousins goodbye, Hermione made her excuses. It was growing late. Regnault wished her a good evening and reminded her that he would see her in just a few days for their customary Thursday luncheon. Antonin was relieved to step outside of the gates away from the other Lestranges.

After apparating to the entrance to Knockturn Alley, Hermione placed her hand in Antonin's. They walked silently through the still busy and quite raucous alley to his building. While climbing the stairs to his attic flat, they were met by the slightly older witch who lived next door. Hermione could not remember her name to save her life, but liked her friendly spirit. Half-intoxicated and in an excellent mood, she handed over a full bottle of Ogden's Finest with a bow on it as a Christmas gift. Antonin thanked her for the generosity.

Once inside the stillness of his flat, Hermione grew nervous. Was he expecting them to immediately fall into bed together? He set the bottle of fire whiskey down on a kitchen counter before tugging off the uncomfortable outer robes. Hermione reached for the bottle. Alcohol was certainly not always a good idea, though it did loosen tongues and lower inhibitions.

"Remember last Christmas?" she asked.

"How could I forget? We snuck into the Shrieking Shack and I got to touch your waist."

She laughed. It had been a fun night. Much more interesting than she expected it to be. There had already been a great deal of wine served that night. She was a nervous drinker. When she was anxious and uncomfortable in her surroundings, she drank whatever was offered. It was a bad habit to get into. Ignoring all admonishments in her head, all warnings against using alcohol as a crutch, she opened the bottle and began pouring them both glasses.

"You looked beautiful that night in your dark green dress," he continued. "When you took your cloak off when we were sitting in the circle and I saw how low cut it was…"

Antonin snaked an arm around her waist, pulling her tenderly to his chest.

"… I could see straight down to your knickers. I couldn't breathe."

She snorted. They both laughed. Antonin was confident in his movements even if they were slow and careful. He acted almost as if she was some kind of wild animal in danger of being spooked. It only took a couple of glasses of fire whiskey and a few heated kisses to bring down the barrier she had constructed between them in the weeks since he reminded her what a dangerous wizard he was capable of being.

They lay awake for a long time with their bare limbs tangled. The light from the moon shone directly through the large windows, covering them both in its light. For the first time in a long time, Hermione felt completely at ease around him. She had hoped that it would be enough to get rid of the lingering disquiet that had taken residence in her gut. Unfortunately, she still had a feeling that something terrible was going to happen.

"Your uncle's house was amazing. I know I've seen pictures of large houses like that before, but I guess I never imagined people _actually_ lived there. How can you be satisfied in a hovel like this when you could be living there?"

"I live in the back of a pub, Antonin. I have no desire to live in a grand manor."

"You say that now, but what about when you're older? I could never give you a home like that."

His insecurities were laid out for her viewing pleasure. She knew that he was not comfortable with the fact that she had money. How many times had it been an issue when she just paid for their dinner without giving him the chance? Or how many times had she just bought something without even looking at the price tag? Antonin never liked to go with her into the shops. He always got embarrassed when she tried to buy him whatever he had been looking at. His pride was almost as volatile as his temper.

"I bet you could buy this entire building with what you have sitting in your own vault."

She kept her mouth shut. She did not want to admit that he was probably right. Wishing for nothing more than to end their conversation and get some sleep, Hermione snuggled into Antonin's chest with assurances that she liked his flat. She even liked his odd neighbors. They had certainly grown on her. He kissed the top of her head and promised her that one day he would have the opportunity to make something of himself. One day he would be influential and powerful and be able to give her everything her heart desired.

A sinking feeling settled in her stomach next to the dread that had been there for months. She was worried that his ambition would be what would make him seek out Lord Voldemort.

* * *

January 1, 1973

 **12:15 am**

Margie's Hogmanay party was every bit as large as it had been the year before. It seemed yet again that the entire village of Hogsmeade plus more descended on her house to enjoy the yearly festivities. Hermione had been looking forward to that night since Christmas. The week between the two major holidays passed very quickly. She and Antonin were almost back to normal again. Working in the store with a Caradoc happy and in love had been wonderful. Even Rodolphus and Aberforth had been in good spirits.

She did not waste any time cornering a moping Thomas once she arrived and made the required polite greetings to all of her hosts. Kingsley introduced her to a lovely girl called Roxanne Johnson. She reminded Hermione so strongly of Angelina Johnson that she was certain they had to be related somehow. In just the few minutes she spent chatting with the young woman, she liked her a lot. Kingsley _did_ seem happy which only made her happy too.

Thomas was sitting in the back garden as far away from the happy partygoers as possible. At her arrival, Antonin kissed her and promised to return later after she'd worked her magic to cheer up his best mate. She might have been annoyed with his abrupt exit if that was not exactly what she wanted. Her curiosity about the woman he kept disappearing to meet was strong.

"So tell me all about her," Hermione teased. "I want to know all of the details."

"Why? I'm sure Antonin's already told you plenty."

She narrowed her eyes at his petulant response. For as handsome a man as he was, pouting detracted away from his beauty. She could understand missing her loved ones. Hell, she'd been experiencing that for over a year and a half at that point. Even longer than that if she stopped to think about her Muggle parents. Most days she did not have the fortitude to linger too long in thought of them. Holidays were hard.

"I'm sorry, Hermione. I'm just feeling a little down tonight."

"I noticed. Why?"

He sighed.

"She's a Muggle. Did you know that?"

"Antonin may have mentioned that."

"Yes, well, I didn't expect it to happen. When we were stuck in London two summers ago, I met her. She's a few years younger than I am. Too young to really pursue a relationship with if you want to know the truth. Mostly we just write letters."

She did not push him for any more information. He was the kind of person that would shut down if pushed too hard.

"I worry that I will never be able to share part of my life with her. How could a Muggle really understand what it's like to have magic?"

Their conversation lasted a long time. The more they talked, the more he opened up. When he admitted that the girl did not even know his real name, she was shocked. He claimed that he was embarrassed. What kind of name was 'Shacklebolt' anyway?

"'The Shacklebolts are a proud, Pureblood family that can trace their blood purity back hundreds of years'," she said in a fairly accurate imitation of Lucius Malfoy that had them both laughing until it hurt.

"There's no harm in it, I guess. It's not exactly like anything serious could ever come of it, right?"

Antonin returned shortly complaining about Sada. Hermione and Thomas enjoyed teasing him about his young admirer. It was a much lighter conversation than the one they had been having before he arrived. Somehow the couple was able to encourage their friend to leave his hiding place and enjoy the rest of the party inside. Ted and Andromeda were there too and neither Hermione nor Antonin wanted to miss the chance to spend some time with their friends.

Just before midnight everyone rushed outside to ring in the New Year. As the fireworks exploded around them at the strike of twelve, Antonin and Hermione kissed. They each wished for another year where they would find some happiness. It was all Hermione could think to wish. If she thought it might do any good, she would have wished for the ability to change the events she knew where hurtling towards them at a frightening pace.

"Don't make me wait too long," she gently ordered before rushing off with the other women in the village to await their first footer.

Memories of the previous year kept flooding Hermione's mind as she waited impatiently for Antonin to arrive at the pub. A tall, dark and handsome man was the most desirable of all first guests. They were supposed to bring good fortune with them for the entire next year. When she finally heard the knock at the door, she smiled and rushed to open it.

The smile instantly fell from her face. It was not Antonin. Where he should have been standing was a smirking Fenrir Greyback. Knowing the danger she was suddenly in, she found it strange that her thoughts went immediately to wondering if a ginger crossing the threshold first meant bad luck for the coming year, that a werewolf must be infinitely worse.

"Miss me? I've missed you. It's been so hard to stay away from you these last several months."

* * *

July 25, 1998

 **8:00 pm**

"How long have you known that Hermione was from the future?" Andromeda finally blurted out after several agonizing minutes of silence. "Did you know before she disappeared?"

"No," Kingsley answered.

He swallowed the rest of his lukewarm tea in one gulp wishing it was something just a little bit stronger. How could he have been so foolish as to think he could keep Andromeda from figuring everything out? Who would be the next person to unravel the threads of his plan? Part of him was frightened of what he could expect, but another small part of him wanting to just blurt out the truth to anyone that would listen. If the consequences weren't almost certain stripping of his office and an Azkaban sentence for him as well as Aberforth, he would have been sorely tempted.

"I only knew she was from the future when I met her a few years ago," he explained. "She was just a couple of months shy of her sixteenth birthday. We met at your aunt's house. Sirius donated it to use as the Headquarters. I thought I was seeing a ghost. I truly believed I was losing my mind, Andy."

"Then what happened?"

Her tone was cold and exact. She needed to facts and it was clear she was trying to keep as calm as humanly possible while he delivered them.

"I ran away from her. Ran straight to The Hog's Head and threatened Aberforth's life. He told me the truth that night. Told me how she just appeared in his parlor one night with a forged birth certificate and a time turner."

Andromeda rose from the table to brew more tea. She was the kind of person that needed to keep her hands busy during periods of stress. Kingsley recognized the type. She and Hermione were very similar. All of the details of what he learned that night in Aberforth's pub and then his subsequent actions leading up to the night weeks earlier when he and Aberforth sent her back in time came tumbling out of his mouth. When he was finished, Andromeda simply stared at him with a slightly open mouth.

"You can't tell anyone this, Andy."

"Of course not. If anyone knew you were responsible, you would be in a great deal of trouble. But have you considered how you are going to explain what happened to her if… no, _when_ she finally comes back?"

Kingsley sighed. Yes, he had considered many different options to explain away her disappearance when she returned. Of course none of them were very good. He had been more concerned with simply getting Hermione there. Somehow he imagined the answer would come to him after she was safely tucked away in the seventies.

"I have an idea, but it's probably not one you will like."

"At this point, Andy, I'm sure I will agree to anything."

"Don't be so sure of that. It would involve the assistance of someone I'm certain you never want to see again."

Kingsley's stomach clenched at her words. If she was suggesting what he thought she might be suggesting…

"Whose assistance?"

"Antonin's."


	32. Chapter 32

_**Author's Note: Please be aware that this story is going to grow a bit darker from here on out. It won't all be happiness. Remember they are in the beginning of a war. Violence and other depravities are all part of war. It is my personal preference to not use trigger warnings in my stories because 1) You don't see them in published books and 2) I think they can detract from the surprise and spontaneity of the chapters. Just be aware that this story is for mature readers only.**_

 _ **This was a hard one to write. I apologize for the delay.**_

* * *

Chapter Thirty Two

January 1, 1973

 **12:17 pm**

Hermione could not breathe. In the few moments that she realized she was alone with Fenrir Greyback for the first time since he pushed her up against a tree outside of Hogsmeade, she panicked. Her brain told her to run or to fight, but her traitorous body would not move. She had grown complacent when it came to the fearsome werewolf. As her mind reeled with the shock, she was all too aware that perhaps she should have been a bit more careful.

The last time she saw the werewolf was the night she and Caradoc walked to the Apparition point together in London. He was nestled in the shadows of a nearby building. She was under the impression that she would not necessarily ever need to actually _see_ him to know when he was around. Her entire body could _feel_ his presence. Without him leering at her for entire months at a time, she almost forgot his existence. How could she have been so stupid?

Antonin was supposed to be arriving soon with the customary gifts of the First Footer. When he entered the pub and found her alone and frightened with the notorious werewolf, he would do something, right? He was a strong wizard. Gringotts did not allow just anyone to enter their apprenticeship program. She knew that in the future he would grow up to be a formidable opponent in duels. Were his skills strong enough at nineteen years old to take on such a fierce opponent? Werewolves were impervious to many of the more common spells and curses.

As if the monster could read her thoughts, Greyback grabbed her arm. One swift tug was all it took for her petite frame to crash into his much, _much_ stronger body. His lips were quirked into a terrifying grin. Clearly he was enjoying every single moment. He pointed his wand at the windows. Wordlessly, every inch of glass was covered with the thick curtains Aberforth rarely pulled shut. She did not even have to wonder if he forgot to lock the front door with magic. The sound of the lock echoed through the empty pub with a deafening click. He lowered his mouth to the outside of one of her ears. His hot breath on her neck made Hermione's entire body shudder in terror.

"I stunned your little wizard in the back. He's not coming for you. Maybe he'll even freeze to death in the snow."

She was alone in a pub with the werewolf and no one was coming for her. All hope that Antonin would be able to protect her from whatever the crazed creature had in mind burst like a popped balloon. Was she going to be bitten? Or was he just going to torture her and kill her? None of the options of their evening's entertainment sounded the least bit pleasurable.

Determined not to go down without some kind of fight, Hermione used her free arm to reach for her wand. Greyback's instincts were too quick for hers. Before the slim piece of wood was even out of her pocket, his hand closed over the handle. The fight over the wand was over almost as soon as it began. Greyback held it up out of her grasp with an amused smirk on his feral features. A single movement of his arm sent her only form of protection flying across the pub to land behind the bar with a clatter.

Her wide, terrified eyes followed the progression of the wand flying through the air. When she realized she was completely without a weapon, Greyback tightened his grip on her body. Both of his hands dug into the skin of her shoulders. Just as he had so many months earlier, he buried his nose in her hair to take a deep sniff. She could feel her entire body trembling with fear. How was she going to get out of this? Even without his supernatural strength as a werewolf, he was at least a foot taller and at least a hundred pounds heavier. She was powerless against him. Her physical strength was laughable.

"You always smell so delectable," he crooned into her curls in his raspy voice. "Good enough to _eat_."

His mouth covered hers before she had a chance to even attempt to move it out of his path. The feel of his lips on her lips made Hermione want to vomit. Greyback did not seem to understand the meaning of a gentle, tender kiss. He seemed to determine to bruise every inch of her he could with his lips. She had had passionate kisses in the past, but this was nothing like any of those. He made her mouth feel violated. After the initial horror of having the werewolf's tongue in her mouth passed, Hermione tried to struggle out of his grasp. She moved her head away from his and attempted to kick out at the monster. Instead of being angry that her feet landed their blows to his legs, Greyback was amused.

"I like my women with spirit and a great deal of fight in them."

Greyback's hands were all over Hermione's body. He did not seem to discriminate one part of her anatomy from another. She could not breathe. Each swipe of his hand across her arse or squeeze of her breasts only made her fear increase. There had been numerous terrifying moments in her past, but she was certain that she had never been more afraid of anything as much as she was afraid of the werewolf and his clear plans for the remainder of their time together.

Forcing herself to take deep breaths between his painful kisses, Hermione tried to pluck up her courage. Maybe she could distract him long enough until someone found Antonin in the snow. It would only be a matter of time before someone noticed they were both missing. _Unless they all assume that our being alone was intentional._ She tried to force that line of thinking out of her mind. _Someone_ had to know that something was wrong. Yes, there were plenty of hidden places Greyback could have stashed Antonin's unconscious form between Margie's house and the pub, but it was still a small village. She just had to distract the monster.

"So you're going to prove to me what a big, scary animal you are by coming in here and raping me?"

Fenrir laughed his obnoxious raspy chuckle that always made the hairs on the back of Hermione's neck stand up. It was an unpleasant sound to say the least. With very little effort at all, he picked up the witch and threw her down roughly to the floor. Hermione struggled to catch her breath after the harsh collision with the hardwoods. He laid the length of his body on top of hers. If there had been any doubt what he planned to do, and there hadn't, this simple act confirmed she was about to be a victim of every woman's worst fear.

"Such an ugly word. I prefer to think of it as showing you what you truly desire and don't even realize."

"You actually think I _desire_ you, Greyback?"

"The chemical reactions in your body tell me you desire me." He nipped at her neck. The teeth scraping her skin frightened her more than they actually hurt. "I can _smell_ your desire, Dumbledore. Always have been. Whenever I'm near, your body _responds_ to me."

Hermione had real concerns that she was going to be physically ill. There was simply no truth in his warped perceptions. How could anyone actually desire the terrifying monster? He was a killer. Plain and simple. Even if she did not have the memories of the night at Malfoy Manor where he whispered disgusting promises of what he would do to her when Bellatrix was done with her, she knew enough to be frightened of the werewolf. He enjoyed causing pain and destruction. His plans included biting and turning children to increase his pack and overrun wizards, for Merlin's sake! As a man he might have been attractive if she did not know what he was capable of. She was grateful that she had not ever seen him transformed into his full moon persona yet. That was the stuff of nightmares.

"You disgust me, Greyback. That's what you smell. _Disgust_."

"Disgust. Desire. They can be two sides of the same galleon, my queen."

Greyback's hand reached between their bodies to grasp the hem of her dress. Hermione's entire body stiffened at the contact. One swift tug upwards and the material ripped up past her waist. The reality of what was about to happen to her kicked her survival instincts into gear. With each further tear of her dress by the werewolf, she screamed at the top of her lungs in hopes that someone would be nearby. As she screamed she kicked out her legs, desperate to make any kind of impact with the creature's body.

Fenrir's massive hand closing over her throat stilled all her movements. It would take no effort at all for him to simply crush her neck. She felt frozen in fear, afraid to move at all. Over the years in her reading she had heard of women who were attacked by men who felt they were having an out-of-body experience. While their attackers did what they did to their bodies, they were able to almost leave their form to not experience the pain or the violation. It was something that though horrifying, intrigued Hermione immensely. As her terror made her limbs useless, she wondered if she would be like one of those women. Or would she be able to feel every single touch, every single mark?

Her violator was pleased with her sudden passivity. She could not understand why she was unable to move. Shouldn't she be trying to fight him off with every breath she had? Was she weak? Why wasn't she fighting? It felt almost as if she had no control over her own functions. Fenrir buried his nose in her curls for the second time that night.

"You smell so delicious. You drive me mad."

Time felt like it was moving at a snail's pace. Hermione could not be sure how long they lay on the floor of her father's pub. Had only minutes passed? Hours? Maybe someone found Antonin and it would only be a matter of time before she was found. Her dad would be worried if she didn't return to Margie's party. Hope even in those final seconds was fleeting.

He did not try to kiss her on the mouth again. It was a small gift. The slight pressure of his grip on her trachea was enough to keep her from even flinching when his tongue moved to Hermione's neck. She could feel the slimy path of his saliva clinging to her soft skin. He bared his teeth to lightly run them up and down her flesh in the sensitive juncture between shoulder and neck. She was deeply afraid that he was going to bite her. Though it wasn't the full moon and he wouldn't actually be able to turn her into a monster like him, she was still terrified of his teeth anywhere on her body.

She remained firmly rooted inside her body much to her dismay. Greyback's hand slithered into her knickers, ripping the delicate material from her body with ease. Hermione could feel hot tears rolling out of the corners of her eyes and still she was unable to move. His fingers slipped through her folds to test his theory that she desired him. The rough touch of his hand in her most intimate of areas made the tears flow even more freely from her eyes. Her tears and her fear only excited the monster more. Leaving his hand still attached to her neck, he moved his other hand off of her body. When the sound of the zip of his trousers being lowered made it to Hermione's ears, she panicked. Forgetting, or perhaps not caring, that he still was able to crush her throat in an instant, she started yelling at him as loudly as she could in her own raspy voice cut off by the pressure of his hand.

"I'm going to tell Lord Voldemort about this!"

It was a gamble to even assume that the werewolf would be bothered in the heat of the attack to worry what a tyrant half a world away would say or do when words of his antics reached him. Hermione wasn't even sure that Voldemort would be upset by Fenrir raping her when he had been given instructions to keep an eye on her while he was out of the country. Perhaps the wizard would not even care. She had been foolishly and naively banking on the hope that Voldemort wanted no harm to come to her because she intrigued the Dark Lord. For months she chose not to worry about the seriousness of Fenrir's stalking because she thought she was protected.

Fenrir's grip on her neck tightened at her warning. His other hand stopped adjusting his trousers. Determined that he would not get off on smelling any more fear coming off of her, Hermione stared into the creature's dark, rage-filled eyes. Part of her prepared herself to die. Though she knew that Hermione Dumbledore was alive until Christmas 1980 and the past was unable to be changed, she still worried that she was about to enter the last few moments of her life.

"My orders from the Dark Lord were only to keep an eye on you," he hissed. "He _never_ said anything about me not being allowed to touch you. You've been promised to me. Why shouldn't I be allowed a little taste?"

She lost all hope with those last few utterances. No one was going to arrive in time. Unless someone came running through that door in the next fifteen seconds, it would all be too late. Rescues like that only happened in films or in really cheesy romance novels. Reality was much harsher than that.

"Cheer up. You may even enjoy this if you allow yourself."

His words disgusted her more than even his tongue licking behind her ear. She was reminded of all of those terrible, ignorant Muggle politicians who would argue that a woman who was being raped should try to take a moment to enjoy the experience. More than once she had had a newspaper ripped from her hands when her mother read the content of the articles over her shoulder. How was anyone supposed to enjoy the ultimate violation of their person?

"Once I've marked you as mine you will have my protection."

"I don't _want_ your protection, Greyback."

He squeezed her neck tighter. If she heard the cracking of the delicate bones on the column of her neck, she would not have been surprised. Her words were making him angry and sloppy in his movements. She knew that if she continued to provoke him he would kill her without likely even meaning to. This was a being that fed and operated on passion.

When she felt his hardness brush against the inside of her exposed thigh, she choked down more tears. While she was positively certain she would never enjoy being assaulted by the werewolf, she tried to calm down and focus all of her attention on thinking about anything else. Her eyes caught the stuffed hog's head her father kept above the bar. There was a story behind the trophy. Something about the founder of the pub back in the early 1600s was almost killed by the creature when he was outside in the woods taking a piss. Aberforth told the story much better than she ever could. One wouldn't realize it to look at the man, but her dad was a master storyteller. He could even do individual voices if so inclined. She wondered how the head could still be so well-preserved after literally hundreds of years hanging on the same dingy wall. Magic still baffled her after almost ten years in the wizarding world. As well-preserved as it was, she was almost hesitant to perform any kind of special cleaning spells on it to remove the dust and cobwebs that were beginning to form in the corners of its eyes and inside its ears. Her dad likely wouldn't know any either. She would have emptied out the contents of her vault and given it all to Dolores Umbridge before she believed he knew how to perform intricate cleaning spells. Wizards could be so disgusting.

"Just a little bit longer, my queen, and you'll be mine forever," came a faraway grunt Hermione could only barely hear. "I'll mark you as mine. No one will be able to deny my claim."

She could not move her head or her body. The crushing grip on her throat was still present. All she had control over was her eyes. She would _not_ look at the monster. Her gaze reached the lanterns hanging from the ceilings. How long had it been since they were dusted? When she first arrived in the past, the layer of grime and absolute filth on the glass windows of the lanterns dimmed their light to a disturbing degree. Once they were all scrubbed clean the pub was brighter than it likely had been in the entire twentieth century. She thought it would probably be a good time to clean them again. Perhaps in the morning while Aberforth slept off his inevitable Hogmanay hangover. It was always much easier to make changes and clean his establishment when he was sleeping off a bender.

"Hermione, why's the door locked? Antonin's been attac…"

Ted Tonks' voice cut through her haze straight to her heart. All sensation to her body returned just in time for an angry, snarling werewolf to disentangle himself from her prone form. There could be no misunderstanding what the poor Hufflepuff had just walked in the middle of. She turned her head to meet his wide, terrified eyes. Their eyes could not have met for but a second or two though it felt much longer to her.

Over the initial shock of what he witnessed, Ted lit up the pub with hurled curse after hurled curse. Greyback was not an opponent to be discounted either. Though more known for his preferences in biting his enemies, he had already been a powerful wizard long before he stumbled across the werewolf that infected him years earlier. A fierce duel was going on around Hermione and for the first several curses all she could do was lie there on the ground without moving. As the feeling gradually returned to all of her limbs, she turned her body over to crawl under the streaks of light towards the bar.

When her wand was finally in her clutches and Ted was no longer the only one attempting to curse the werewolf, the tide of the attack turned. Greyback was smart enough to know when he was outnumbered and outmatched. A spell sent a table flying through the air straight for Ted. He had to throw himself down on the ground to prevent from being struck. The werewolf ran out the front door without looking back.

Hermione slid down the wall behind the bar to crumple to the ground. The reality of what happened to her did not come crashing down around her until the moment a frightened and crying Ted gathered her in his arms and held her to his chest. Tears and aching sobs shook her entire body. She had done what she needed to do to survive and yet she could not brush off the debilitating guilt that overpowered her senses.

"Hermione, we need to get you some help," Ted whispered into her hair, his voice breaking with emotion.

"No!" she almost screamed. "No, Ted. You can't tell anyone what happened here."

"But he was… Hermione, we _have_ to tell someone."

"Do you know who that was?"

She pushed herself off of his chest to be able to look the young man in the eyes. He shook his head, more tears falling out of his eyes as he did so.

"That was Fenrir Greyback," she whispered. "He's a _werewolf_. A very, _very_ dangerous werewolf. What would happen if you told my dad or Antonin or Thomas or Andromeda that he…"

She could not even bring herself to say the word. No one could know what happened that night in the pub. No one. Her loved ones would go running off to hunt the werewolf down. While she was still certain that she could not alter the past timeline in any way, she did not want to run the risk that anyone she loved would get hurt. Every single person she named and quite a few she didn't, would not hesitate to try to track down Greyback. She was afraid they would get hurt and she could not bear to have any more guilt on her conscience.

"I don't want anyone to know, Teddy," she cried, wrapping her arms back around his neck and laying her head on his shoulder.

"Shh. Shh, Hermione, nothing that happened to you is your fault. _Nothing_."

He spoke pretty, soothing words to her as he rubbed her back and smoothed down her hair. She tried to believe him when he said that nothing was her fault, but she didn't. Maybe if she had tried a little bit harder to fight him off. Maybe if she struggled just a little bit more instead of lying there on the ground frozen he would've gotten frustrated and left her alone. She was so weak.

"Or maybe he would have gotten so frustrated with you that he would've just killed you outright," Ted declared. "You are _anything_ but weak, Hermione. You _survived_."

Hermione did not even realize she had been speaking her fears out loud. He tightened his grip on the witch as she tightened hers on him. For several long minutes neither of them said anything. Neither of them even knew what to say. When her tears finally slowed down, she pushed back from Ted again.

"You have to promise me, Ted. Promise me that you won't tell anyone."

"Hermione, I don't think that's a good idea."

"Promise me!"

In the end, he could not deny her request to keep her secret. It was hers after all. She knew he wasn't comfortable keeping knowledge of what he walked in on to himself, but Hermione knew that he was a loyal man. He would honor his promise.

"We should get back to the party," she said, rising on unsteady feet.

Ted pointed to her ripped dress with a grimace. A hundred different reparos would be required to make it look presentable again. She started to cry again. Everyone was going to know something happened. Sensing her distress, Ted stepped forward and carefully wiped some of her tears away with his thumb.

"Go change, love. I'll clean up out here."

She desperately wanted to shower, but knew she did not have enough time. It was already after one in the morning. They would start to come looking for her if she did not hurry up. Knowing that her boyfriend and her father would be unable to tell one purple dress from another, she removed the remnants of her ruined dress. An incendio charm erased all evidence of its existence. After a couple of rudimentary cleansing spells on her body, Hermione dressed in another purple dress of a similar cut. She did not have time to clear away all of the bruises she sustained in the attack. Those could be taken care of later in the privacy of her own bedroom after her dad went to sleep. An effective glamour hid her true face from the world.

Ted was finishing up the last repairing charm to the broken furniture when she stepped out into the main section of the pub. At her request, he made a thorough examination of her appearance to make certain no sign of her attack was visible. He was clearly uncomfortable with being part of her lie, but did so without complaining.

"I came to find you because Antonin was attacked."

"Yes, it was Greyback."

They stepped out into the cold Scottish night together. She could feel her heart beating in her ears, certain that everyone they came into contact with could hear it too. A large crowd gathered on the pathway towards Margie's house. Antonin stood in the middle shouting at Kingsley, of all people.

"I don't know what you are going on about, Dolohov," Kingsley shouted back.

"It had to have been you! Who else would attack me when my back was turned?"

Hermione gripped Ted's hand at the realization that Antonin believed Kingsley was responsible for his attack. The longer she viewed the gathering, the more she realized they were all preparing themselves for a physical fight between the two hotheaded wizards. Andromeda caught sight of them and rushed over to them as quickly as her pregnant belly would allow.

"Teddy, do you think you can get in there and help? Thomas needs another person. He's going to jump in and tackle his brother."

Andromeda rolled her eyes at Hermione when her husband took off towards the altercation.

"They are so stupid," she stated. "Where have you been?"

"I was waiting for Antonin. I was getting worried until Ted came and told me what happened."

Her best friend narrowed her eyes slightly at her remark. Hermione did not like the way she was scrutinizing her. Andromeda was always too perceptive. She once stated that she could tell when anyone was lying. It was a gift passed down to her from her grandmother and her mother.

"Ted left to find you a long time ago."

Hermione did not how to respond to her friend's statement. Usually lying came second nature to her after a year and a half of living a lie, but it was still difficult around Andromeda Tonks.

"Really? The time must have gotten away from us. Clearly Ted didn't think it was a big deal if he stopped to share a glass of whiskey with me. I figured since we're already doomed to a year of bad luck because a blond man entered the pub first, we may as well enjoy a glass or two."

Andromeda did not push her reservations any further to Hermione's relief. They stood back and watched as Ted jumped in to tackle Antonin to the ground right as Thomas pulled his younger brother down. Most of the excitement of the evening was over by that point. When Hermione took charge of a fuming, sputtering Russian wizard minutes later, the gathering had all but dissipated. Margie's party ended shortly after they all returned to the warmth of her parlor.

"Are you sure you don't want to come to London with me?" Antonin asked as he walked her back to the pub. Aberforth had already gone ahead. "We could celebrate the New Year more thoroughly in private."

He tried not to act petulant when she told him that she wanted to go home for the night, but she could tell he wasn't happy by the brush off. Antonin was still annoyed by his attack. Nothing anyone said would ever convince him that it wasn't Baby Shacklebolt who cursed him in the back. Hermione told him quite honestly that his sour temper was really not something she wanted to be around that night. She told him to go home and calm down. They would have plenty of time later to celebrate the New Year.

* * *

July 25, 1998

 **8:30 pm**

"Absolutely not, Andy!" bellowed Kingsley. His deep voice echoed throughout the small kitchen. Too late he remembered he needed to keep his voice down not to disturb the sleeping baby down the short corridor. He rolled his eyes and lowered his voice. "I will not accept any kind of help from that man."

"Hermione was right. You two really are never going to get over your pathetic rivalry, are you?"

The Minister clutched his teacup in his hand with such a force that it broke. Though the remaining tea was not hot enough to scald his skin, a jagged piece of the cup cut into his skin deeply. Dark red blood bubbled out of the wound when he removed the shard. Andromeda rolled her eyes, tsked and grabbed his hand to perform a healing spell. She had many years of experienced clearing up all of the cuts and bruises her clumsy husband and even clumsier daughter had over the years.

"It seems to me that you don't have a lot of options, Kings. As much as you don't like to admit it, Antonin would provide the perfect alibi."

He hated that his curiosity sometimes got the better of him. More than once his thirst for knowledge had gotten him into trouble as an auror. When he returned home with an injury due to some reckless following of a hunch and a desire to see how it all ended, he used to blame Hermione for being a bad influence on him.

 _"You come from a family of Ravenclaws, Kingsie. It's not my fault you're too curious. Maybe the Sorting Hat should have put you in the same House as your brother instead of trying to make you a Hufflepuff."_

She loved to tease him when they were alone by calling him her "big, strong Hufflepuff". To the best of his knowledge, she had never shared the secret he told her the day he stumbled upon her crying in the woods outside of the village. Just because she didn't divulge his deepest, darkest childhood secret to anyone else didn't mean she didn't enjoy teasing him when no one else was around to hear. He would never admit even under penalty of death that he loved every second.

"How could he possibly be able to help us?"

"I know you don't like to hear the truth, Kings, but Antonin loves Hermione. He always has."

"You're right. I _don't_ like to be reminded of that."

"Antonin will do whatever it takes to make Hermione happy."

Kingsley sighed. He was still not following Andromeda's reasoning, but it did not really matter. Any suggestion she might have to actually encourage Dolohov to return in some shape or fashion to their lives was a bad decision.

" _When_ Hermione returns there will be a lot of questions. Even if she can head off some of the inquiries and give some false answers in the beginning, there will still be those who will want to know _how_ she ended up in the past. Too many people are still alive that remember Hermione Dumbledore. We can't pretend that she is Hermione's daughter. When she comes back she will be twenty-eight years old. How would we possibly explain that?"

"We can't."

"You're right. Someone would eventually figure out that she was sent back in time. Maybe it's best if we just come right out and announce you know what happened to her. Tell the public that you have been suspicious of her for a long time and have finally figured out that she was a time traveler."

Rolling his eyes and sighing even louder than he had before, Kingsley hoped he was getting his point across that he was skeptical of the plan. How could coming right out and admitting that she was sent back in time with an illegal time turner be the best course of action? Everyone would hate him. Forget no longer being the Minister. He would be sent to Azkaban for many, many uncomfortable years.

"No, listen. Hear me out," Andromeda continued. "Antonin was arrested in the Department of Mysteries a few years ago. That was common knowledge, right?"

"Yes. I was the arresting auror. Took great pleasure in escorting him back to prison."

"So at some point during all of that he had access to the time room."

Kingsley narrowed him eyes in confusion. The pieces of her plan were not clicking together. How was she expecting them to be able to pull off such a subterfuge without an adequate alibi?

"Are you positive that all time turners were accounted for?"

"No, they weren't. There was a large mess. Took months to figure out how to stop the looping of the falling time turners. There was talk that they would never be recovered."

"Well, who would be able to say that Antonin _didn't_ have access to one? Maybe he found one, hid it somewhere in all of the chaos and returned later to retrieve it."

"Why would he do that?"

"Anyone who has ever known Antonin before he was sent to prison the first time knows how much he loved Hermione. He was said to have gone mad after she disappeared. How many times did he try to win her back in the four years you were together?"

He sighed. Too many to count. Dolohov had been tenacious. Though he was no stranger to the beds and hearts of women other than his Hermione, Dolohov was something of a running joke in certain circles because he could not seem to take the hint that she did not want him. Kingsley would gladly admit that he took a lot of joy and comfort in the fact that his little witch wanted him regardless of the stunts Dolohov pulled.

"Antonin is already a fugitive. I'm certain that you will make sure he never is forgotten about until he's rotting away in a cell in Azkaban."

"You would be correct."

"So what's one more crime to add to his already extensive list of crimes? Who is going to argue with you when you announce that he stole the time turner and forced Hermione to go back in time? Everyone already thinks he is unstable."

"Because he is."

He stopped to think about her suggestion for a few moments before responding. Yes, it sounded like a crime Antonin Dolohov would commit. His only concern was what would happen when they finally captured Dolohov. Would he deny his involvement? He might have been under Kingsley's oath to not reveal what he knew, but there was no clause that meant he couldn't deny. If Dolohov shed any doubt on their story, they would still be in trouble.

"We can't guarantee that he would go along with the story if he was captured and interrogated."

"Antonin loves Hermione. Hermione loves Aberforth. Antonin would do what he could do in his power to keep Hermione happy. You and I both know that if it was in his power to make her grateful to him one more time in his miserable existence, he would. If he thought he could make Hermione happy by keeping her dad out of prison, I have no doubt that he would agree."

"There's only one problem with your plan, Andy. _How_ would we get Dolohov to agree? I've already told him that if I saw him again I would arrest him with zero hesitation. How would we even get an opportunity to speak to him?"

"Leave that to me."

Andromeda rose from the table. She reached for Kingsley's hand to pull him up to his feet. He did not know why he felt compelled to follow her down the staircase that led to her cellar, but he was not going to argue. It had been a long enough night as it was.

"Let's just say I've been doing Antonin a few favors lately."

His old friend flipped the switch to fill the room with light. Kingsley's eyes widened. Stacks of large wooden crates filled the entire space. Old books and relics of incomparable value were scattered around the room. Andromeda's cheeks were the tiniest shade of pink when he turned his attention back to his hostess.

"I may have agreed to help him sell off his father's possessions."


	33. Chapter 33

Chapter Thirty Three

January 1, 1973

 **3:00 pm**

Hermione did not want to get out of bed the day after the Hogmanay party that went so terribly wrong. Once she made it home after Antonin walked her back petulant and annoyed that she wouldn't go home with him, she hid herself away in the shower scrubbing all reminders of her horrific experiences away. With bright red skin from the scalding temperature of the water and the vicious scraping she'd done in a futile effort to not feel the ghosting whispers of Fenrir Greyback's touch, she stared at her naked body in the mirror. Dark, angry bruises mottled her skin. In the heat of the attack she did not allow herself to feel the pain that came from a physical tussle with a fully grown werewolf. Already she knew her body was going to be stiff the next day once the initial shock wore off.

Her neck was almost black with bruising thanks to Greyback's crushing grip on her throat. She slathered every square purple centimeter with a thick salve designed to eradicate even the most stubborn of bruises. Dissatisfied with how slowly it was working, Hermione glamoured all of her marks again. All she needed was Aberforth to see them and demand to know what happened. She knew she would feel better if she shared her secret with those she loved, but she did not want them to look at her differently. She was hurt. She wasn't broken.

Sleep was a luxury in the hours following the single worst moment of her life. Over and over she played the events in her mind to try to determine what she could have done differently. Clearly she had grown complacent in the months since Greyback disappeared from her life. She could not believe she had actually been foolish enough to believe she was somehow under Lord Voldemort's protection. What gave her that foolish idea? Yes, he claimed when they met at her uncle's party that he was intrigued by her and he was even responsible for the werewolf keeping an eye on her once she was outside of school, but there was never a solid indication that he cared one bit if anything unpleasant happened to her.

Perhaps the most frightening part of all that had happened in the earliest moments of the new year, she realized that Greyback had plans for her that were not completed. Poor Ted Tonks entered the pub before the werewolf could mark her as he planned. Did that mean he would try again? The sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach made her believe the answer was yes. She could not let him catch her unaware again. Though she did not understand his plans or his reasoning completely, she understood enough to know that the monster was tenacious. He would do whatever it took to complete his marking. She would have to be more careful.

The first day of 1973 was almost over when she heard a soft knock on the door of her bedroom. Winter evenings started so early in Hogsmeade. Hermione had been staring out the window at the heavy falling snow. The tap startled her out of her own thoughts. After she called out to the person on the other side of the door to enter, she returned her gaze to the frosted windowpanes.

"Are you feeling all right?"

Aberforth sat on the edge of her bed staring down at her prone figure with evident concern on his whiskered features. Ordinarily it would warm Hermione's heart to see how much the wizard cared about her, but in that moment, she hardly noticed or cared. Her mind was elsewhere. He had to repeat the question twice and then place his cool hand on her forehead before he got any response.

"I'm just tired," she replied.

"You don't feel warm. Did you have too much to drink last night? I can bring you a hangover potion."

"No, I'm not hungover. I'm not sick. Just tired."

The wizard was not convinced that there wasn't something wrong with her. Hermione wished he would leave her alone. Not that she did not care for him fussing and fretting over her, but because she was afraid that the more he prodded, the more likely she would be to give in enough to reveal what she was trying to keep secret. Every member of the Dumbledore family, even those only recently adopted into it, were highly perceptive, curious people. She knew he would not give up easily. Best to give him something tangible to work with.

"I've been thinking a lot about this lately," she said, pulling her time turner out from underneath the collar of her nightgown.

"I see," he sighed. "Are you missing your own time, my girl?"

His voice was so soft that she might not have heard him if the room wasn't almost silent. There were always few customers on New Year's Day until that evening. Most of the village usually spent the morning sleeping off their excesses from Margie's party. Aberforth began smoothing down her hair away from her face. Hermione closed her eyes and just took a moment to enjoy the comfort. Her Muggle father used to do the same thing when she was feeling sick or down. Thinking about him made her injured throat feel tight and tears to form in the corners of her eyes.

"It's perfectly all right to miss it," he continued. "I was a foolish, selfish old man to send you back against your will."

Hermione turned over in her bed to look at the wizard. His hand was still smoothing down her raucous curls, but his eyes were not focused on hers. He seemed ashamed by the actions that he would take in the future. Not wanting him to feel any guilt, she reached for his free hand and squeezed it.

"I understand now why I did it. Why I sent you back in time."

"Why?"

"You don't even understand the impact you've already made on my life, do you, my girl?"

Aberforth leaned down to place a light kiss on her forehead. The tears that were threatening to spill out of her eyes only moments earlier began to freely roll down her cheeks. She had already reached the point when she no longer could remember what life was like without Aberforth pretending to be her dad in it. Though his and Kingsley's interference in her life certainly caused some major problems, she was no longer angry about the forced time travel. Yes, there would certainly be some heated discussions when she returned to the present, but a large part of her was thankful to have had this experience. She would have never had the opportunity to meet and love so many wonderful people without the time turner being placed around her neck. Maybe her attack was the price the universe was making her pay. One could not have too much joy without pain after all.

"Before you appeared in my parlor, I lived a very solitary and lonely existence. It sounds trite, but I really did not know what I was missing."

His words only made the tears flow faster. Would she really be willing to give up what she had found in the seventies in order not to have had to go through the attack? A great deal of thought had already been given that morning to what her life might have been like if she had not wandered into The Hog's Head that hot June night to share a drink with the Minister and the proprietor. She couldn't say for certain that she would've have been unhappy remaining behind in the aftermath of the war. There was a lot that she could do to help. Ron and Harry were there. Though she was far enough removed from her relationship with Ron to understand that it would not have been successful had it been given time to continue, she knew she probably would have tried to make it work. Would have tried to find her parents to see if reversing the spell she cast on them was even possible.

"I feel ashamed of myself at times that I was selfish enough in the future to take you away from your life. There must be people who are missing you. You've mentioned your friends to me before, but what about your family? Who else did I take you away from?"

Hermione wiped the tears from her cheeks. More than once in the year and a half that she had been in the seventies Aberforth asked that she not tell him too much about the future. He was of the opinion that too much knowledge of one's future could bring about nothing but trouble. Any other day she might have brushed off his question with another reminder that he did not want to know too much. One look in his troubled deep blue eyes was all it took for Hermione to make the decision to share a secret with him she had only shared with a couple of people. She sat up in bed to meet his eyes more easily. With her back leaned up against the headboard of the bed, she let one more person in on her secret.

"You already know that I was in some danger in the future war."

Aberforth nodded his head in the affirmative. He would never forget how calmly she told him about breaking into Gringotts and stealing the dragon. She knew he was proud of his girl for her courage, but did not always want to hear the details. It was enough for him to know that she would make it through relatively unscathed.

"In the last year of the war, I went on a… well, I don't know any other way to call it. A hunting trip with Harry and Ron. My parents were going to be left alone and exposed. I never wanted them to know what kind of danger I was really in. I was afraid they wouldn't let me go back to Hogwarts if they knew what was really going on. Maybe it was the wrong decision."

She sighed. Aberforth reached across the bed to pat the top of her hand.

"There's nothing wrong with trying to keep your loved ones protected," he replied. "Lying is not usually the best decision, but sometimes it's necessary."

"I knew they would be targets. They would be stuck in their house living their normal lives without even understanding how much danger they were in. No one in the Order seemed to care that they were so vulnerable. Sure, they didn't mind protecting Harry's Muggle relatives who were so cruel to him for his entire life, but no one could be arsed to care about two Muggle dentists that meant the world to me."

She hated how bitter her tone was. Years had passed for her since she approached several members of the Order the summer after Sixth year to ask for their help in protecting her parents. There were sympathetic grunts and throat clearing from all of them, but the common response was there just weren't enough resources available. She wondered if Kingsley would have given her the same answer if she had had the opportunity to ask for his help. Somehow she doubted he would have. He was too busy protecting the Muggle Prime Minister during those months. She did not see him again until after she made the hardest decision of her life.

"I obliviated my parents." She did not see the need to prolong the confession.

"You what?" Aberforth blinked multiple times and had a pained expression on his face she had never seen before.

"I obliviated them. Made them think they were called Wendell and Monica Wilkins and had always wanted to move to Australia. They had no memory of having a daughter. To the best of my knowledge it kept them alive. I'm not sure where they ended up in Australia. Nor do I know if the spell is reversible. So I don't really have any family in the future."

It still hurt. Even years later when she was decades removed from her parents, it still hurt knowing that they were basically lost to her. Maybe one day they would remember who she was, but at what cost? Would they ever be able to forgive her for lying to them for so many years? For violating them? Stripping someone of their identity and their memories was no small infraction. Hermione would have been surprised if they would ever even want anything to do with her if she could restore them.

Aberforth reached across the bed once more to hug her. She did not even realize she had been crying until his arms wrapped around her back and her head was on his shoulder. For several minutes he just held her as she cried for her lost parents. Not once had she even allowed herself to grieve for their loss. Her fear was that once the tears came, they would not stop. When she did not think she could cry another drop, she carefully pushed herself out of his embrace. Aberforth would not release her until he kissed the top of her head.

"You may very well be the bravest, most selfless person I've ever know," he stated.

"I don't think I am. I just didn't know what else to do."

"Do you believe your parents were legitimately targets? Do you firmly believe that they would have been killed without your interference?"

She nodded her head.

"Then you did exactly what you should have done. You saved their lives."

"Only for them to never be the same people they once were."

"Are you certain you can't reverse the spell?"

"No, but what would I do? How could I explain what happened to them? They've been interested by magic, but afraid of it too. They would never trust me again. And then even assuming that I could do all of this when I got back to the future, assuming I do get back, how do I explain that I'm _years_ older than I was when I last saw them?"

She might not have allowed herself to cry for her parents, but she had certainly not forgotten them. Countless nights had been spent with her unable to sleep as she imagined what she would do to find them and reverse the spell. Every single possible plan had been considered. None of them managed to put her mind at ease.

"If the letter I received from my future self is to be believed, you still have several years left in this time. Perhaps you can use that time to research memory charms. You may have enough knowledge by then to reverse the spell with as few lingering side effects as possible."

"They will still hate me."

"You can't possibly know that."

Hermione sighed. She really did not want to argue. Aberforth's optimism was encouraging. At least she could be certain to have one ally on her side when she was finally able to make it back to where she belonged. Thinking about the future always made her subconsciously finger the time turner around her neck. It was almost like a talisman for her by that point. A talisman that did absolutely nothing. She'd turned it over and over again, but nothing ever worked. How was she supposed to make it back to the future if the damned thing didn't even work? Yet again the pessimism that had been plaguing her for a long time reared its ugly head. Maybe she wasn't supposed to make it back. Maybe the time turner was well and truly broken. Supposedly she disappeared in less than seven years. She could have easily just been another victim of the war.

"Do you think it is possible to change the past?" she asked. If she could not be certain that she would ever see the future again, maybe she could make some changes.

"No, I don't." Aberforth's statement was simple and without hesitation. "Since you arrived I've done a great deal of studying about time travel. Greater minds than ours have discovered time to be a loop. You said you had some experience with time travel when you were a student?"

She nodded her head just as he rolled his eyes and sighed. Likely he would never get over the fact that his brother actually allowed a child to have control over time in such a fashion. After a deep breath to control his anger, Aberforth continued with his explanation.

"If you changed something in the past, it would create an entirely different world. Another reality. One little change leads to another change to another and so on. If you were able to alter the past, you alter the future. If the future is altered, you would likely not have been in the same place to have a time turner thrust upon you. I assume you know some terrible things that are going to happen in the coming years? People are going to die? There will be many tragedies?"

Hermione silently nodded her head. She tried to not call to mind all of the horrors that would fall upon their society in the coming seven or eight years. Yes, lots of people were going to die. People she had met while she was in the past. People she knew and loved were going to make terrible decisions that put them on the frontlines of the war on the losing side. She loved many future Death Eaters and Voldemort supporters. It was a sobering realization.

"If you tried to change something that you know is going to happen, you may very well make a future where there is no war and no reason for you to have ever even met me or my accomplice. It would create a paradox. No one would be there to send you back to the past to change what you changed the first time to make a future that didn't have war. Does this make sense?"

"Sort of." In truth, it was bloody confusing! She could feel her brain physically hurt trying to wrap around the concepts of time travel.

"The seventies are your future, but they were the past of my future self. You had already been here. You had already made all of the changes that you could have made. Nothing you do in this time period will change what happens in the future. Whatever you are able to influence now has already been influenced."

"I don't think I've had enough sleep to think this hard."

"My point, dear girl, is that you are saddled with the impossible knowledge of a future that you cannot change. I do not envy you in the slightest. There is a certain amount of bliss as they say in ignorance."

Aberforth rose from the edge of the bed. He stared down at her for several long seconds with his discerning eyes narrowed. Hermione did not like the expression on his features. She wondered if he had been studying Legilimency along with the Occlumency they both had been working on since she arrived. Terrified that he might see more than she wanted him to, she snapped her strongest shields in place. His blue eyes narrowed more only slightly before he blinked. The twinkle she loved returned.

"Are you hungry?" he asked.

"No, I'm not. I think I will try to take a nap. Didn't sleep very well last night."

He looked as if he wanted to say something, but stopped himself. With one final kiss to her curls, her father left the room. She could hear the sound of a tinkling bell in the distance. His customers were finally arriving for the day. She was grateful that he would be less likely to come check on her if he was busy up front. Though she knew she should get out of bed and face the world, she didn't want to. Hermione snuggled back under her covers. A simple spell covered the window with thick, room-darkening curtains.

* * *

January 3, 1973

 **10:05 am**

A soft knock on the door to Hermione's bedroom woke her up out of a sound sleep. She was a bit ashamed to admit even to herself that she had done nothing of any value or worth since New Year's. Her entire world had consisted solely of her bedroom and her bathroom. If Aberforth had not been bringing her food and forcing her to eat, she might have eventually grown hungry enough to leave, but somehow she doubted it.

She lied to Aberforth repeatedly about not feeling well. He checked on her multiple times a day, begging her to let him call for a Healer. Each time she vehemently told him that would not be necessary. She knew he was worried about her. His footsteps outside her door at all hours of the day and night were proof of it. Her bruised body was sore and achy, but there was no reason for her to stay laying in bed other than she simply did not want to leave.

After calling out to whoever was on the other side of her door, Hermione rolled over to get a better look. Expecting Aberforth with another tray of soup she would probably pick at but not fully consume, she was startled to see Qadira Shacklebolt enter. No one besides her dad had ever come to her bedroom before. Confused and curious, Hermione sat up.

"Did I wake you?" Katie asked, her gentle, warm voice at odds with the darkness of the bedroom.

"No, I was awake," she lied.

Without waiting for an invitation, Katie sat down on the bed next to Hermione. A gentle pat encouraged Hermione to scoot over enough to allow her some space. Both women sat in silence for a few minutes before Hermione's curiosity got the better of her.

"Not that it's not lovely to see you, Katie, but uhh, _why_ are you here?"

Katie's melodic laughter rang through the room only increasing the weirdness of the situation.

"Your dad is worried about you, Hermione," Katie answered, patting Hermione's leg as she did so. "He thought you might be more comfortable speaking to a woman."

"Oh."

Hermione had to resist the urge to roll her eyes. Why could he just not leave her alone? More than once in the days since Greyback's attack she considered getting her own flat. Yes, the thought of living alone terrified her almost to tears, but at least then she would not be under almost constant observation and scrutiny. If she wanted to sleep away her days, no one would be there to stop her.

"I'm sorry that Dad wasted your time, Katie, but I'm perfectly fine."

"So there's no reason why you are hiding in the dark with half of your body covered in glamours?"

She could hear herself gulp in the silent room. How could Katie know? She had been so careful. Besides, the room was almost completely dark!

"Your father noticed them the other day," Katie explained. "And since I knew what to look for, it's clear."

Katie waved her hand over Hermione's entire body. The surge of magic over Hermione's skin made her shiver. Though she did not gasp, Hermione could tell that the older witch was trying very hard to remain calm. She knew how bad they looked. Just that morning she'd looked at them in the mirror. The salve was helping, but not quickly enough. She was afraid to ask for or brew anything stronger. Too many questions were bound to come up that she did not want to answer.

"Hermione, darling, what happened?"

Katie's arms were around the suddenly crying girl in moments. All of the emotions she had been trying to choke down since Ted held her in the floor behind the bar came crashing down on her at once. She clung to the worried witch's neck and cried without ceasing. She did not know how to stop even if she wanted. Katie spoke in soft, soothing whispers as she ran her hands up and down Hermione's back. It had been so long since she had been held like that by a mum that she did not even realize that was exactly what she needed. How many years had passed since she received the comfort only mums knew how to give?

"There there, darling. You're safe now," Katie crooned. "Do you want to tell me what happened?"

Hermione shook her head 'no'. Undeterred by her reticence, Katie carefully pushed Hermione away from her, keeping her hands on her upper arms. She removed one hand to brush some of the distraught woman's unruly curls behind her ear and to wipe some of the tears that were still flowing from her cheeks.

"I have to ask a very uncomfortable question, Hermione. Please tell me the truth. Are there more bruises I can't see?"

She nodded her head. Katie cleared her throat. Even in the dim light Hermione could see that her chestnut eyes were filled with her own tears.

"Okay, I have another one. Did Antonin do this?"

"No!"

Katie loudly exhaled. Clearly she was relieved by the answer.

"Good. I did not think it was him, but I needed your confirmation. Aberforth was ready to drag him off to Azkaban himself."

"No, Antonin doesn't even know. I'm the reason he was attacked in the street."

Hermione accepted Katie's comforting embrace once more. It felt wonderful to be able to unburden herself of the secret even if only for a few minutes. Already she could feel a lightening of the tension in her gut that had taken up residence the moment she opened the front door to find a smirking Fenrir Greyback.

"You know who did this?" Katie asked. "It wasn't a stranger."

She shook her head and whispered that it was someone she didn't even know. At least if she could lie about the identity of her attacker, she might be able to keep those she loved safe. Greyback was a monster who was willing to destroy anything and anyone in the path of his prize. Withholding his name was not an effort to keep _him_ protected, but because she did not want anyone that she loved and felt responsible for going after him and getting hurt in the process. Wasn't one battered, but still functioning body better than bloody corpses?

"Strange that they would know which wizard was yours," Katie replied, her disbelief evident in her tone.

"He must have been watching me. Maybe he saw Antonin kiss me outside of Margie's house."

"Perhaps."

Katie was suspicious. To her credit, she did not pry any further into the identity of the attacker. She simply turned all of her focus back on the sniffling, young woman still clasped in her slim arms.

"I want to take you to a Healer, Hermione."

"No."

Hermione sat up out of Katie's arms. She was not going to be dragged down to St. Mungo's or anywhere else to be poked and prodded by strangers. Wasn't her initial assault bad enough? The thought of being forced to relive and recount the events of that night for people she did not even know caused her intense anxiety. She struggled to breathe. Katie rubbed her back and encouraged her to calm her breathing before she blew up into a full panic attack.

"Fine. You are a grown woman. You can make your own decisions."

Katie reached into the pocket of her robes to pull out several small vials. They were all of varying shades and tints. Some seemed familiar.

"I have some pain and healing potions for you," she explained. "If you need more in a couple of days, come by Mum's house. We've brewed more. Most of the bruises should clear up once you take the healing potions."

She held up another vial. Smaller than all of the others, it was filled with a luminescent blue potion Hermione had never seen before. Not once in her seven years of potions had she seen that particular potion. Her inquisitive nature got the better of her.

"What is that one?"

"I brewed this one in secret. Even Mum doesn't know I did. She probably suspects. It's hard to keep anything secret from that woman. She always has a way of finding them out."

Katie pushed the vial into Hermione's hand.

"When Aberforth came over yesterday telling us how worried he was about you, I had a feeling. A terrible feeling that I knew what happened. Just to be safe I brewed this after Mum went to bed last night. It's not exactly legal. Certainly not one you would find in any books you read for class."

"What does it do?"

"This will prevent pregnancy."

Hermione was confused. Contraceptive potions were common in the Wizarding world. There had even been a special class in her Fifth Year taught by Professor Snape to ensure that all of his female students knew how to properly brew one. Though the seventies were a great deal more conservative than her time, she had been able to find the ingredients for contraceptive potions very easily. She did not understand the secrecy.

"It's a bit controversial. We've seen a few cases in the Wizengamot where it was used. None of the women spent any time in Azkaban, thankfully, but it's still looked down on by many. Unlike regular potions to prevent pregnancy, this one will actually… _ahem_ , terminate one if it has already begun."

She stared at the vial with new eyes. Yes, under normal circumstances she would be horrified that anyone would be willing to use such a potion. It was one thing to _prevent_ a baby from being conceived and a whole different thing to actively terminate one that had already been conceived. Her knowledge of basic biology was enough that she knew it was likely that even if Greyback had been able to complete what he started, which he hadn't, conception wasn't immediate. But then the thought of carrying around even a piece of that monster within her made her decision up for her. One swallow was all it took to make certain she would not have to see physical evidence of her attack for the rest of her life.

"There's some Dreamless Sleep potion too. Take that after you take everything else. Let your body rest. Let it heal."

Katie stood up from the bed. She leaned down to kiss Hermione's forehead one final time.

"Please don't tell my dad," Hermione begged in a whisper.

The older woman's hand cupped her cheek.

"Oh, darling, your dad already suspects. I wasn't completely truthful earlier about the potion. While I did have a bad feeling about what was wrong with you, I wasn't the only one."

Hermione did not know what to say. She hated that everyone who knew was going to start looking at her differently. Katie dropped her hand started for the door. Before she exited the room, the beautiful and stylish witch turned around.

"I want to see up and out of that bed by tomorrow, Hermione. Don't make me come drag you out."

Her smile tempered the force of her words, but Hermione knew the woman well enough to know it was not an idle threat. The moment Katie left her room she swallowed the rest of the potions. At least she would be able to finally get some sleep for longer than an hour at a time.

* * *

July 25, 1998

 **8:55 pm**

Kingsley could not process what he was seeing or hearing. He knew enough from his years as an auror to know that a simple scan of the contents of Andromeda's basement was likely enough to get her thrown into Azkaban. What was she playing at? Forgetting the fact that she just confessed to aiding a known fugitive, she was actually trafficking his father's extensive collection of Dark books and artefacts? Half of it was smuggled into the country from Russia and was bound to be illegal!

"No, Kingsley. You don't get to look at me that way," Andromeda chastised. "You did not enter my house as the Minister for Magic or even as an auror. You entered my house as my old friend and the almost-husband of my best friend."

"Andy, I can't just _ignore_ what I'm looking at."

"Sure you can. Just like I can _ignore_ the fact that you told me you were responsible for sending an innocent girl back in time twenty-seven years with a time turner you stole from the Department of Mysteries."

It was easy to forget Andromeda came from a long line of Slytherins until moments like those. The satisfied smirk on her lips proved she was finding the situation amusing indeed. Kingsley sighed. She had a fair point.

"Why are you doing this for him?" Kingsley asked.

"He asked me to. It's not exactly like he can just wander into Diagon Alley or Knockturn Alley himself. Besides, even though I was disowned, I have a number of contacts who would be very interested in some of the items down here. I might even be able to convince my brother in law Lucius to speak to me again for a chance at some of this."

Andromeda's first and only job since leaving Hogwarts was in a rundown second hand shop in Diagon Alley. She was never expected to have to lift a dainty finger her entire life beyond occasional liaisons with her Pureblood husband to ensure their line remained. Retail was not the most exciting of careers, but Andromeda took to it like a duck to water. In only a few years she was able to buy The Junk Shop from her employer. She was able to maintain it through two wars and the deaths of her husband and only child.

"Why are you even still speaking to him? You know he was the one who murdered Remus, don't you?"

She sighed. Kingsley immediately felt guilty bringing up such a painful topic. Truthfully, he still struggled with using his best judgment when it came to anything related to Antonin Dolohov. He knew he should grow up, move on, but it felt impossible. Only those years when he was locked in Azkaban brought him any amount of peace.

"Yes, I am aware," Andromeda replied, her teeth clenched and her rising anger clear. "I warned Remus. Begged him to stay away from Antonin, but he chose not to listen to me. Antonin had already warned him once."

"What?"

"Antonin was the one who came the night Ted died to tell me. He was there with your nephew. Witnessed the whole thing. Remus tried to attack him when he showed up with Ted's wand, watch and wedding ring. Tried to attack him a second time when he told us that Greyback was involved."

Kingsley did not know what to say. What possible motive could Dolohov have for coming to Andromeda's house that horrible night? It didn't make sense. He was a dangerous Death Eater. For her to even speak to him was a foolish decision. She had already been tortured by Voldemort's forces months earlier when they tried to find information.

"Tony is not a good man. He could've been a good man, but he made the choice not to be years ago when we were all much younger. His life could have been much different if he had only made different decisions. Despite that, he still has moments when the boy I used to know shines through. He didn't want me to hear the news accidentally from someone else. I respect that."

Still unsure what to say, he just remained silent. Dolohov might have had potential years earlier, but somehow he doubted there was a shred of decency left in the man. It bothered him immensely to know that Andromeda still had contact with the wizard, especially after he murdered her son in law. Knowing that he would not win an argument with Andromeda simply because she was too tenacious to quit, Kingsley leaned down to kiss her cheek. He had had enough of that visit. They walked up the stairs to the front door.

"I'll get word to Antonin. I'm sure he'll help us."

Andromeda closed the front door on the Minister. He would never be comfortable with her plan. Maybe it would work, but he got the feeling involving Dolohov in any scheme of theirs was only going to make the situation more complicated than it already was.

* * *

 _Author's Note: Don't forget that I currently have written a few additional scenes from different POVs of characters in this story. The night Ted died was the last scene. If you haven't read it yet, you can understand more of what Andromeda was telling Kingsley about Antonin. More additional scenes will be coming. They are available on my profile._


	34. Chapter 34

_Author's Note: This has not been edited yet. Please excuse any errors or typos. I will edit it later once I've had some sleep. It's an ungodly hour in my part of the world right now._

* * *

Chapter Thirty Four

January 18, 1973

 **12:05 pm**

Over three weeks passed before Hermione resumed her weekly lunches with her uncle Regnault in Diagon Alley. She used the same excuse she used to explain to Rodolphus and Caradoc why she did not come into the store. Antonin's frequent invitations to come to London were dismissed with excuses. They were all under the impression that she was sick with a highly contagious bout of the flu. More than once one of the men that loved her, including Rabastan, tried to come to visit her at the pub. They were worried that she was secluding herself from the rest of the world. She had not done that since she dropped into their lives unexpectedly over a year and half earlier. Aberforth played the perfect guardian. No one was allowed in to see her without her permission.

She did not want to leave the safety of her home until she was completely healed. Physically, at least. Somehow she got the feeling that her other healing would take a great deal longer than just a few weeks. After Katie's gentle threat that she would drag her out of bed the day after her visit, Hermione did not spend the rest of her time recuperating in bed. She made a few visits to the Shafiq home to visit with Kingsley's grandmother. To her great credit, Margie never once brought up her attack or treated her any differently than she had before. If it was possible, Hermione began to love the tiny witch a little bit more.

By mid-month, Hermione could no longer justify ignoring the rest of the world in favor of the safety she had found with Aberforth's protection. She lived in a frightening world certainly, but hadn't she always? Wasn't she only twelve years when she first helped Harry retrieve the Philosopher's Stone from Voldemort? When the owl came from her uncle with an inquiry regarding her health, Hermione replied back that she would be well enough to resume their weekly meals.

Arriving late for the first time since they began their weekly meals, Hermione was frazzled. Regnault was a stickler for punctuality. She knew that he would not hesitate to remind her of the importance of always arriving on time. Because they always had the same table, she did not need to be escorted to the main section of the dining room where her uncle was seated.

"I'm so sorry I'm late, Uncle," she declared the moment she approached the table.

Regnault stood to his full height before leaning down to kiss her cheek in greeting. At least he did not seem as annoyed as she assumed he would be. Once she was settled down in her chair across from his, she was surprised to see that it wasn't exasperation she saw etched on his face, but concern. Her uncle was not even hiding the fact that he was examining her in turn. His eyes scanned her up and down the visible parts of her body. It felt odd to be under such intense scrutiny.

"You appear to be feeling better," he stated. "We have been concerned about you."

"Thank you. I'm all right now."

Satisfied with her response, Regnault began giving orders to their server for their midday meal. They passed the beginning of their meal with inconsequential chatter about what was going on in their respective lives. Hermione did not have much to add to the conversation. Regnault did not seem eager to press her for details of her illness. He explained a few items that were currently up for debate in the Wizengamot that she found interesting. By the time they were halfway through their main dishes, she was relaxed.

"I had an interesting visit with Vadim Dolohov the other day," Regnault announced.

Hermione carefully set her fork down next to her plate and grasped her wine glass. A few sips of the light wine were required before she could participate in the conversation. She could only imagine what Antonin's dad spoke to her uncle about. It was no secret that he was a wizard intent on furthering his family's standing in their society. He was of the opinion that an alliance with a member of the Lestrange family was the ticket. More than one conversation with Antonin since her dismal meeting with his father had taken place regarding his intentions. Antonin was very embarrassed by his father.

"What about?" she asked, anxious to get the worst of it over with as soon as possible.

"You are aware that most witches your age are already married or engaged?"

"Yes. I've already been to five weddings of classmates since last June."

Wedding season amongst the Purebloods was a serious time. Even though she hardly knew most of the brides and grooms, as a member of the Lestrange family, she was almost guaranteed an invitation to every society wedding. It was a tedious part of life that she would not miss when she returned to the future. She already made the decision that once she was in complete control of her life again in the future, she would only attend ceremonies and receptions of people that she actually cared about.

She dreaded the day when Rodolphus finally had to marry Bellatrix. The bride-to-be would not return to their country from the Grand Tour until later that year during the summer. Rodolphus was too afraid of his father (and likely his intended) to even contemplate shirking his expectations and calling off the wedding. Hermione wondered if he might have been tempted to if Andromeda was still single. It was something else she would never get to learn the answer to.

"I know you have not wished to have this discussion with me, Hermione, but it is very important that we discuss your future."

"Is that what Vadim Dolohov wanted? Have you settled on a bride price for me yet?"

Regnault sighed. Hermione followed his example. Part of her was almost tempted just to give in and marry the first wizard he thrust in her path because it would mean she would never have to sit through another marriage discussion with her uncle. She wondered if the reason why there seemed to be very little resistance amongst the Purebloods her age was simply because they had grown up hearing the same thing over and over again and thought that marriage was the only way to get away from the aggravation.

"I will not lie to you. He is very interested in arranging a marriage between you and his son. I made it clear to him, however, that it would ultimately be your choice."

She could hardly believe what she was hearing. Had her stubborn uncle finally given in to her? It seemed so out of character for the irascible man.

"Thank you, Uncle Regnault."

"Contrary to what I am certain you believe, I do not _enjoy_ arguing with you, Hermione. I'm too old for this nonsense."

Hermione snorted. If her uncle was over sixty she would have been surprised. He was hardly even considered middle aged. Wizarding genes meant that he could look forward to at least another sixty or seventy years of excellent health before his body began to succumb to the ravages of time. Possibly even more since he made it a point to keep himself in excellent shape.

"What did Vadim say to that? I'm sure he wasn't pleased."

"No, he was _not_. Seemed to believe that I should have more control over you than I do. Where he got that idea is beyond me."

The smirk that crossed his lips made Hermione laugh. It seemed strange to be actually joking with her uncle. He was always such a serious man. Rarely did any sense of humor poke through his aloof façade. She found that she rather liked him when he was at ease enough to laugh.

"Be careful around him… _and_ his son," Regnault warned. "I do not like the looks of either one of them. And after what happened to you because of his son, I especially do not care for them."

"Uncle…"

"No, I know you asked me not to bring up the _incident_ , but I cannot ignore it. I am actually surprised to find myself grateful for Karkaroff. Certainly never expected _that_ development."

Hermione rolled her eyes discreetly. They would never see eye to eye on the subject of Igor. It was best for both of their sanity's to just never bring him up.

"I firmly believe there is some instability in that family, Hermione. If it were up to me, you would not see that boy again."

"I appreciate your concern, Uncle."

"Just promise me that you will be careful."

* * *

 **7:30 pm**

Hermione entered Knockturn Alley with a fair amount of trepidation. With the exception of a few walks through Hogsmeade to Margie's house and the walk to the restaurant she ate lunch with at earlier in the day, she had not truly been on her own since the night of the Hogmanay party. The streets were filled with other people, but she still felt ill at ease and exposed. Every few steps she stopped to take a closer look at her surroundings. There were lots of dark corners in Knockturn Alley that could easily hide an undesirable person.

She breathed a sigh of relief when her feet finally stopped in front of the warped door to Trackleshanks Locksmith. A hard push with her shoulder opened the resistant door. The familiar smells of the cramped stairwell assaulted her senses immediately. No one met her on the stairs as she climbed up to the attic. Antonin was supposed to be off of work just after seven. She hoped that he would already be waiting for her when she arrived. Something about the witch who lived next door to him made Hermione a little uncomfortable. She hated feeling uncharitable towards others, but the woman in her late twenties always made Hermione feel like she was not welcome. Almost as if she sensed that she did not belong amongst the poor sods forced to live in the less desirable Alley.

Antonin opened the door to his flat only a few moments after she knocked. Though he was ready to greet her with a small smile and a kiss, she could tell that he was not in a good mood. Hermione was hesitant to step into the flat. When he was angry or upset, he tended to be difficult to be around. He was solemn and moody on his best days. After only being inside his flat for a few moments, she was already anxious to leave.

"I picked up some food on the way home," he announced.

They sat at his dining table eating their meal in almost complete silence. He did not speak until they were halfway done. It was easier to let him lead the conversation when he was annoyed.

"Are you feeling all right?"

"Yes, I'm better, thank you."

"You were sick a long time. Your dad wouldn't let me see you."

"I was contagious."

Antonin scoffed. He rolled his eyes and took another bite.

"How was work?"

Hermione regretted asking the question the moment the words slipped out of her mouth. Her boyfriend rolled his eyes and sighed. Clearly it was a subject he was not pleased to discuss. She wondered why he seemed so miserable in his job. There was no denying that he was talented. If he applied himself and worked hard through his apprenticeship, she had not doubt that he would be successful.

Her innocent question prompted him to begin a rant on how much he hated working at Gringotts. She knew that he had been unhappy. She simply did not know _how_ unhappy. When he applied for and accepted the position of cursebreaker apprentice, he had been under the naïve impression that he would breeze through the training and be travelling the world in no time. It was only once he was inside the walls of Gringotts on a regular basis that he learned there was a great deal to learn. He likely would not even be sent on a trip abroad for the first two years he was employed. It was discouraging.

"I don't feel like my talents are valued enough in my current position," he complained. "I feel like I'm just wasting my time."

"You're only nineteen, Antonin. Most people aren't successful at nineteen. Just give it some time."

"What do you know about success? You work in a fucking pet store."

Hermione dropped her fork and stood up from the table. She wasn't going to sit there while he treated her like that. Her conversation from earlier with her uncle when he warned her that he believed that he was unstable popped back into her mind. Realizing what he said, Antonin closed his eyes and sighed.

"I'm sorry."

"I understand you're not happy right now, Antonin, but you don't get to take it out on me."

She started to move towards the door. Before she could get very far away from the table, Antonin was up and standing in front of her. He placed both of his hands on her shoulders in an attempt to get her to stop leaving. Hermione sighed. She really did not want to argue with him. It was exhausting. He placed his finger under her chin to gently urge her head up. When their eyes met, he tried to smile.

"Forgive me? Please."

Hermione exhaled softly. She was every bit as frustrated with Antonin as he seemed to be with his job. Something shifted with their relationship. It used to be fun, but no longer. In the almost three weeks since she last saw him, she was surprised to discover that she did not miss him once. When did everything change between them? Was it New Year's? Or before? Her mind wandered to the night he pushed her up against the wall outside in the Alley. Maybe that was the moment. Deep inside she knew that the problem between them started long before the night she ran into Igor in the pub.

"I've missed you, daragaya. You've been gone for so long."

"I've been sick."

"I know."

He leaned down to kiss her properly for the first time since she arrived. Their first kiss in greeting had hardly been a brush of their lips against each other. This one was a great deal more heated. Antonin's arms snaked around Hermione's waist to pull her body against his. His lips were hard and demanding. Ordinarily she liked it when he kissed her hard. It usually led to more enjoyable encounters.

She tried to ignore the niggling feelings in the back of her mind. Despite responding in the same manner that she normally did when Antonin kissed her, her mind was focused almost entirely on the last time she was kissed. Flashes of Fenrir Greyback colored every second that she kissed her boyfriend.

The flashbacks became too much. With no explanation, she broke the kiss and rushed into his lavatory. Tears were streaming down her cheeks before she could even shut the door behind her for privacy. Antonin was only steps behind her to knock on the door. His tone of voice proved that he was extremely confused by her abrupt change in mood. He called to her through the door begging her to come back out. At any moment he could have easily knocked the flimsy door down with a weak spell or a kick of his foot, but he chose not to.

Several minutes passed with her seated on the closed lid of the toilet crying and trying to forget the memories that were plaguing her wearied mind. Finally when it felt like she could cry no longer, she splashed some water on her face to hide some of the evidence of her distress. Satisfied that she did not look as badly as she felt, Hermione opened the door. Antonin was still standing just outside the tiny room.

"What's wrong, Hermione?"

"I'm not feeling well. I think I should go home."

He walked her to the exit of Knockturn Alley, begging her each step of the way to not leave. All of his pleas fell on deaf ears. She wanted to go home. Her first night out had been a failure. She kissed him one final time before she Disapparated home.

Aberforth was pleased to see her walk through the front door. The Hog's Head was busier than it normally was on a Thursday night. Knowing that he would appreciate the help, Hermione stepped behind the bar to help where she could. Keeping busy was the best way she knew to keep her mind off of frightening and upsetting memories. Despite her best efforts at keeping her hands occupied pouring drinks and her mind concentrated on mixing the right amounts in each glass, her eyes kept drifting over to the floor where she was pinned down by Greyback. She hated that she was attacked in her home. It was hard to feel safe.

Mundungus Fletcher kept her preoccupied with frequent requests for the disgusting smoking beverage he always wanted. The man, though a criminal, was essentially harmless. She and her father both had had to warn him repeatedly that they would no longer allow him to traffic his stolen goods anywhere near their establishment. His trade slowed down, but she was not foolish enough to believe it stopped completely. She often wondered what would be the final straw that made her father ban him from their pub for life.

"No one makes drinks as good as you do, darling," Mundungus slurred.

Hermione rolled her eyes. As long as the customers kept their hands to themselves, they were mostly harmless. She ignored his continued barrage of awkward compliments while she stirred up another batch. A group of almost silent warlocks in the corner of the room had been ordering the same drink all night.

She had been back home for a little over an hour and half when she heard the familiar bell tinkling over the front door announcing another new arrival. Taking her eyes off of the corner of the bar she was wiping down with a clean rag, Hermione looked up to see Antonin standing in the doorway staring. The expression on his face proved that he was not pleased to see her up and moving around the bar. Hoping to head him off before he made a scene, Hermione walked towards the frustrated wizard.

"I thought you were sick?"

His tone was every bit as angry as she expected it to be. He didn't even bother to lower it to a low level. Hermione tried to ignore the looks they were getting from her father's customers all around the room.

"Antonin…"

"Clearly you were just lying to me. Have you been lying this whole time? Lying since New Year's?"

"No, I wasn't lying."

"Did you just not want to be around me anymore? You didn't have to lie if that's the reason. You could've just told me."

Antonin's voice steadily rose in volume the more he spoke. Hermione felt embarrassed by all of the attention they were garnering. She felt a familiar presence step behind her. Aberforth's authoritative voice broke through the younger wizard's rant.

"That's enough, Dolohov. If you would like to speak to my daughter, you can either lower your voice and treat her with more respect or you may leave through the door you entered."

"This doesn't concern you, old man!"

Hermione was shocked that he snapped at Aberforth. How many times had he made it perfectly clear that he was intimidated and possibly even afraid of her dad? Many, many times. It bothered her that he would suddenly talk back to him. What had changed in such a short time?

"The hell it doesn't!" Aberforth responded. "This is my daughter and my place of business."

"Your customers are used to drinking in a pub that smells of goat shit. A couple of raised voices won't hurt them."

The fact that her father did not immediately hex the young wizard or at the very least throw a well-aimed punch to his face surprised Hermione greatly. She could almost hear Aberforth's jaw clench at the rude answer. Fearing that there was about to be violence between her father and her boyfriend, Hermione grabbed Antonin's arm. With a promise that she would only be a short time, she dragged Antonin outside into the freezing night air.

"What is your problem, Antonin?"

" _My_ problem? You're the one who lied to me, Hermione. Why did you lie?"

"I wanted to go home and I didn't want to hurt your feelings."

He scoffed again. It was a relatively new mannerism of his that he had only just recently picked up. She hated it. Every time he did it she felt the urge to slap him. Was he seriously that dissatisfied with the direction in which his life was going? If so, it was clear that she would not be able to delay him much longer from seeking out his fortunes with Lord Voldemort. A charismatic leader like the future Dark Lord was the kind of person who knew exactly how to seduce their followers by exploiting their weaknesses. The longer she spent with Antonin, the riper he seemed for the picking.

"What is the truth, Hermione? You haven't wanted to be around me since New Year's. Why?"

She hated that she could feel her eyes burning with tears she refused to shed in his presence. How could she possibly answer his question without telling him the truth? She was not sure what he would do if he found out that she was attacked by a well-known and dangerous werewolf, but she could be certain his reaction would not be positive. He would never be able to look at her the same way again if he knew the truth. She was damaged, irrevocably so. A stray thought of what Vadim Dolohov's thoughts about his desired future daughter-in-law being violated by a Dark creature almost made her laugh. At least she could be certain that he would not wish to continue with his plans to force his son into marriage with a member of a Sacred Twenty-Eight family. Or at least she didn't think he would. The elder Dolohov might surprise her after all.

"Thomas said that Ted went off to find you after I was attacked. Said you were gone a long time."

"What are you implying, Antonin?"

"What were you and Ted off doing together for so long?"

She could not believe that he was all but accusing her of cheating on him with Ted Tonks. It was absolutely ridiculous. Hermione loved Andromeda too much to even think about entering into some salacious affair with her husband and besides that, she was not even attracted to Ted in that way. From the day they met she always felt a brotherly vibe from the Hufflepuff. She loved him in purely a platonic manner. Hermione hated that Antonin was so jealous about one of their best friends. How unhinged was he? Though she knew telling Antonin the complete truth of what happened that night would put his fears to rest that she was having an illicit liaison with Ted, she was too angry to tell him. Believing that she was capable of such a traitorous act put a bitter taste in her mouth.

"Just leave, Antonin. I'm done arguing with you right now."

Antonin started to open his mouth to say something in response, but she cut him off with a simple wave of her hand. He stared at her as she walked back into the warm pub. Not wishing to spend another minute out in the main section of the pub while she was so upset, Hermione went straight back to her bedroom. She kicked off of her shoes and lay on top of her bed.

Yet again that night she wondered if perhaps Antonin had already made his decision. She wondered if he could even be saved at that point. There was no way for her to change the past, but now it seemed that she could not even delay his inevitable foray into the Dark Lord's forces. If she had the ability to make Antonin's decisions for him, she would absolutely have encouraged him to stick with his apprenticeship. Eventually he would be able to travel abroad. There he would be out harm's way. Lord Voldemort would return in only a few months with pretty promises of a new world where wizards like Antonin could expect to be on top of the wizarding food chain.

She naively hoped that he would remember how badly his mother was treated by the upper echelon of the wizarding society. That _should_ have been enough to keep him from seeking out the worst sorts of wizards. She was curious to know why he would be willing to put aside his anger at the manner in which the Purebloods treated Muggleborns like his mother. Unfortunately, she had the terrible knowledge that a time traveler possessed. It did not matter _why_ he chose to become a Death Eater. All that mattered was the he became one.

Her thoughts turned to Thomas Shacklebolt. Similar to his brother in many ways and then also very, very different in others, he seemed to fit the profile of one who would seek out the ability to gain power with the likes of a wizard like Voldemort. He was the Pureblood son of two prestigious families. His best friend would eventually become one of Voldemort's most trusted lieutenants. Because she was not sure of his future, she hoped that maybe she could help to convince him to keep out of trouble. Maybe she already was successful in keeping Thomas out of the ranks of the Death Eaters.

The door to the bedroom opening disrupted any further thoughts she had about Thomas. She knew that it would only be a matter of time before Aberforth came to check on her. While she appreciated how much he cared about her, lately he had been hovering a great deal. He checked on her multiple times a day. If he had to leave the pub for any reason, he arranged for Margie or Katie to drop by to stay with her for the duration of his absence. He would not admit that he was having them babysit her, of course, but it was clear that they weren't simply dropping by of their own free will. Over the previous few weeks she seriously considered going to spend a few days at her uncle's manor just for a little peace and quiet. She assumed that Regnault and her cousins would respect her need for privacy.

"I don't like him," declared Aberforth though it was unnecessary. His feelings on her boyfriend had already been made quite clear.

"I know."

"You deserve better than someone like that."

Hermione was frustrated. She did not want to argue anymore with anyone. She was tired. Very, very tired.

"You can make your own choices, of course, but I don't want you to not know my opinion."

"His future is not a happy one."

"I wish I could say I was surprised, but I'm not. War or not, he's the kind of man who will always find trouble."

She sighed. Though she wished she could argue with him about that point, she thought it was likely futile. He had a point. Maybe he was correct in his assertion of Antonin's character.

"Are you trying to save him, lass?"

"No… _maybe_."

"No sense wasting your time on someone with no future. You don't have to give up your happiness to try to make someone else happy who doesn't even seem to understand what that means."

Aberforth kissed the top of her head. He exited her bedroom moments later to give her the opportunity to dwell on his words alone in the dark. She could not help but think that her dad had a point. Maybe it was time to let the broody wizard go.

* * *

August 4, 1998

 **11:00 am**

By the beginning of August, the Minister still had not heard anything back from Andromeda regarding her ridiculous plan. She promised to be in touch with him the moment she heard back from Dolohov that he would be agreeable to the plan. All they needed was his promise that if caught he would not deny his culpability in Hermione's disappearance into the past. Kingsley hated the very idea of Andromeda's plan, but seeing as how he did not currently have one that would work better than her proposed plan would, he was going to go along with it.

He spent almost every free moment he possessed since the night he left Andromeda's house thinking over the logistics of the plan. No matter how much he considered and reconsidered their options, he still did not care for anything that would require their trust being put in a man that Kingsley would never trust as long as he lived.

The days following the meeting consisted of a number of meetings with various members of the disbanded Order of the Phoenix regarding Hermione's disappearance. With each one he had to keep his mouth shut that he knew exactly where she was. Once he received word from Andromeda, he would reveal at least a little bit of what he already knew. Each time he met with Harry Potter or Ron Weasley he felt an immense amount of guilt. Both young wizards were terrified for their best friend. He hated that he could not tell the truth.

Following yet another meeting with the concerned parties at the almost fully restored Hogwarts Castle, Kingsley decided to take a walk into the village. If there was anyone else in the world who could appreciate how much he hated the very idea of using Dolohov in their plans, it would be Aberforth. They had not spoken in weeks. He was surprised to find a 'Closed' sign on the front door of The Hog's Head. It was hard to remember the last time he had even seen the pub closed. Several copies of the Daily Prophet littered the area in front of the door. Obviously Aberforth had been gone for several days.

Curious about the whereabouts of the eccentric wizard, Kingsley headed towards his granny's house. She had been one of Aberforth's best friends since they were both eleven years old. If Aberforth told anyone about his plans to leave the village, he was confident that his granny would know. His granny opened the front door after about a minute of him standing in front of her house. Though still in excellent health for a woman her age, she had a bit of trouble getting around those days. Her wrinkled face split into a wide grin when she saw who her unexpected visitor was.

"You're so important these days that I wondered if you'd even make time for your old granny now."

It was a common chastisement from the elderly lady. She always claimed that her surviving grandchildren did not visit her enough. Kingsley knew for a fact that his younger cousin Sada came at least twice a week to make certain she was doing well. If he visited on a Tuesday and then returned on Wednesday, Marjorie Shafiq would still tell him he had gone too long between visits.

"I was in the village to talk to Aberforth. Looks like his pub has been closed for a few days now. Do you know where he is?"

"He's in Australia."

His grandmother's response took him aback. When he asked the question, he did not expect that answer.

"What on earth is he doing in Australia, Granny?"

"Looking for your girl's parents."


	35. Chapter 35

_Author's Note: I am currently out of the state helping my parents move into their new home. It's a sheer miracle that I was even able to post this as they don't have Internet yet. Hopefully the next update will occur a bit sooner than this one._

 _ **I'm stealing… err,**_ **borrowing** _ **Internet from the neighbors so this has not been edited yet. I will get this one and the previous chapter edited as soon as possible. Please excuse any and all mistakes. I will get them corrected very soon.**_

 _Thank you all for being such amazing readers. Your reviews sincerely make me giddy and excited. Thank you for following and favoriting as well!_

* * *

Chapter Thirty Five

January 24, 1973

 **11:35 am**

Fearing that she was at risk of never leaving her bedroom again, Aberforth encouraged Hermione to leave the pub to return to work as soon as possible. The morning after her row with Antonin outside in the snow in front of the pub, her concerned father all but dragged her out the safety of her bed to reenter the world of the living. Though he never came right out and said that he knew what happened to her the night of Margie's party, he knew enough to understand that her body was completely healed and it was time to work on healing her spirit.

"They don't really need me there," she insisted as she tried to pull the bedcovers Aberforth still held in his hand back. He startled her awake by ripping them off of her dozing body. "Both of them are perfectly capable of handling the owls on their own."

"You won't ever be able to move on with your life if you stay hidden at home."

Hermione turned over to glare at the exasperating wizard. He did not even bother pretending that her excuse for not returning to the shop was a good one. It was almost as if he did not even hear her protestations. They could both be infuriatingly stubborn at times. It would have been an endearing trait if she wasn't already so frustrated. Knowing by the fierce glint in his eye that he would never release his grip on her blankets, she forced her feet to touch the cold floor.

"Take a hot shower. You will feel better," he ordered.

She thought about arguing with him further until she recognized the fact that he was certainly not above using the Imperius Curse on her if he felt it necessary. Somehow she got the feeling that even the threat of a lifetime spent rotting within the walls of Azkaban Prison was not enough of a deterrent for him. Aberforth had enough determination to win this particular fight. With a deep sigh to make her father well aware that she was not happy with being disturbed and forced to bathe, Hermione crossed her tiny bedroom to her small, private lavatory.

"Breakfast will be ready when you get out."

Hermione hated to admit that standing underneath the stream of hot water made her feel infinitely better than just spending another day wrapped in her cocoon of thick blankets. And as much as she hated to admit that Aberforth was right, he absolutely was. How could she ever be expected to return to some semblance of what life was like before she was attacked by Greyback if she did nothing but wallow in self-pity? Pre-time travel Hermione would have been appalled by her behavior.

"Yes, well, pre-time travel Hermione was still a child in many ways," she mumbled to herself. "Even after being in a war."

She took her time washing her thick hair and cleansing the rest of her body. There was no need to rush. When Aberforth was holding her blankets hostage, she managed to get a quick look at the alarm clock next to her bed. It was only a few minutes after seven. The Magical Menagerie did not even open until nine. Though early Friday mornings could be busy with the weekly shipments from their suppliers, no one would be inconvenienced by her enjoying the feeling of the almost scalding water running down her body.

The shower was the best place to think and psych herself up for the rest of her day. Returning to London and a sense of normalcy would be difficult. She could already imagine how obnoxious Caradoc and Rodolphus would be when she walked through the front door. They each expressed their concern for her while she was at home recuperating from her mysterious "illness" with thoughtful cards expressing their desire for her to get well soon and return. Truthfully, she missed her owls and the sense of purpose just a few hours in the store each week gave her. Adrift in a time that was not her own, she often felt lost and unsure of what to do. Working with the animals was simple, uncomplicated. Perhaps that was exactly what she needed.

Once she was unable to justify standing in the shower a moment longer and her stomach began to loudly protest its lack of food, Hermione stepped out onto the chilly tile to towel off. She cast a simple charm to quickly dry her hair as much as possible. There were dozens of more effective spells that would dry and style her unruly curls into a more attractive style, but she simply did not have the same amount of patience that Andromeda had. Her best friend frequently attempted to teach her new and easier ways to fix her hair. She was never successful. It didn't matter enough to Hermione to kick up much of a fuss. She quickly dressed and left the privacy of her bedroom.

Aberforth greeted her with a warm smile when she entered the small kitchen. He was finishing up frying a few eggs. Hermione settled down in her customary seat. It had been a while since she last had breakfast with her dad. Usually her favorite time of day, she found herself missing it while she waited for him to finish. Some of their best conversations took place over toast and orange juice. She recognized the sense in Aberforth's insistence that she return to her normal schedule as much as humanly possible. She did not want the monster Greyback to alter her life any further than he already had.

"Would you like me to come up to London with you this morning?" he asked between mouthfuls a few minutes later.

"No, thank you. I went by myself yesterday."

"And that didn't turn out very well."

Hermione sighed. She really did not want to think about her argument with Antonin anymore. He was confusing and frustrating her all at the same time. Listening to him actually imply that she was having an affair with Ted Tonks had been one of the most ridiculous things she had ever heard him utter. It was almost as if he did not know her at all. How was it possible to have been so intimate and so close to someone who failed to understand her so thoroughly?

"Dad, I will be okay," she insisted. "I'm just going to the store for a few hours. As much as I love it here, I'm afraid that I will well and truly go mad if I stay here too much longer."

Aberforth did not seem satisfied by her rejection of his offer to accompany her to the city. She was appreciative of the amount the wizard clearly cared about her, but his hovering was tiresome. When she stated she feared she would go mad, it was almost entirely because of his frequent inquiries about how she was feeling and if she needed anything. It was because he had a way of staring at her as if trying to figure out what she was thinking that was unnerving. More than once she felt compelled to bring up her Occlumency shields when his focus was on her.

She practically ran out of The Hog's Head when breakfast was complete. Though she was nervous about returning to the store because she feared the intrusive questions she knew would be sent her way, she did not hesitate to Apparate to Diagon Alley. The early morning traffic of the shopkeepers and their assistants rushing to their stores before the shoppers arrived was a comforting familiarity to the anxious witch. Many of them she knew quite well. She kept her pace quick to avoid being directly engaged in conversation with any of them. A friendly smile and a quick wave was enough to pacify most.

There was a flurry of activity inside the store when she arrived. Caradoc and Rodolphus could be seen clearly through the large, clean windows moving boxes and directing the suppliers where they needed to go. Hermione took a moment to simply stand outside watching them until she felt calm enough to enter. The tinkling of the bell above the door startled both men enough to spin around almost too fast to keep a grip on their boxes. Bright smiles crossed both of their faces when they realized Hermione finally returned.

"Good morning, Cousin. We've missed you."

Rodolphus leaned down with his hands still full of a large box of owl treats to kiss her on the cheek. She smiled at him in greeting. Caradoc set his box of cages down on the floor to free his arms up to wrap her in a hug. Almost an entire month had passed since they last saw each other. It was easy to forget how much she missed them when she wasn't burrowed under the arms of one of the men. Hermione snaked her own arms around Caradoc's midsection and squeezed.

"You arrived just in time," Caradoc declared. "We ordered six new owls this week. Your cousin Roddy is bloody useless when it comes to calming the new arrivals down. He got scratched _again_ last Friday."

Feeling guilty that he was injured in the course of doing _her_ job, Hermione rushed over to Rodolphus. Without waiting for invitation or permission, she ripped up the sleeve on his left arm. Just as Caradoc said there were three long, deep scratches in his arm. A slight green tinge to the skin made her worried. Recognizing that she was examining his wound a little too closely, Rodolphus ripped his arm out of her grasp and pulled his sleeve down.

"I went to St. Mungo's. One of the spectacled owls from South America had a tiny infection. When the poor mite got startled, he scratched me and passed on the infection. I have to take a potion twice a day, but the Healer assured me I will be fine."

"I should have been here. If I had been here, you wouldn't have been injured."

Her vision was suddenly blurred with the arrival of hot tears. Before a single drop could fall from her brown eyes, Rodolphus had his younger cousin in a tight embrace. She wasn't sure what kind of infection could cause a green tint to appear on his skin, but she was certain it could not have been good. If she had not been too busy hiding in her dark bedroom, she would have been there to help unload the owls. Rodolphus was sweet with puppies and kittens. That kind of affection did not always transfer very well to the winged creatures. Most owls needed to recognize an authority figure to feel confident in their new surroundings. Roddy was too gentle to put them at ease.

"You were sick, Hermione. And it was just an accident. I'll be all right."

She hated how emotional she was being in the front of the store, especially with a worried Caradoc watching the entire display. Despite reveling in the warm and affection she was receiving from her cousin, Hermione made herself push away from Rodolphus. She wiped at her wet eyes with the end of her sleeve and took a deep breath.

"I will go meet the new owls."

By the time The Magical Menagerie opened its doors to welcome its first customer that morning, the weekly shipment of new supplies was organized and stocked. Hermione had the newest owls settled in their protected corner of the shop. Rodolphus proudly showed off his stock of kneazle kittens to the elderly witch. Without warning, Caradoc pulled on Hermione's arm to get her to follow him into the back stockroom. His usual cheerful demeanor was serious and determined. Before he would answer any of her repeated questions as to his intentions for dragging her around the store, he covered the entire back of the store in heavy silencing charms.

"Do you want to tell me the full truth, Hermione? Or are we going to continue to pretend like we believe you've been out sick for so long with a terrible bout of the flu?"

She knew it would only be a matter of time before one of them asked the difficult questions. Honestly, she expected Rodolphus to be the one to make demands that she tell the truth. Caradoc was usually so happy-go-lucky that being serious was a struggle for him. Though he truthfully wasn't much taller than her, the wizard crossed his arms and did his best to sneer down at her from his less-than-elevated height. She had to bite the inside of her cheeks to keep from giggling at him and telling him how adorable she thought he was.

"I _was_ sick, Caradoc. Did you not believe my dad when he told you to leave earlier this month? I was very contagious."

He narrowed his eyes. It was obvious that he still believed she was lying. Not one to usually press the issue, Caradoc exhaled and dropped his shoulders.

"Roddy's been very worried about you, darling. When your dad kicked us out of the pub, he was certain that it was much worse than he was admitting. Our Roddy always jumps to the worst conclusions. He loved his mother very deeply and when she died, it really affected him. And not to speak ill of your late mother, but I know his aunt leaving hurt him very much. I think he assumes that everyone he loves will eventually abandon him."

She felt her throat grow tight with Caradoc's confession. Was that true? Was Rodolphus just waiting for the day that she walked out of his life too? She _hated_ that she knew that she would eventually abandon him. Though she certainly did not know the circumstances or the details, she knew that in a few years she would disappear without a trace. Optimistically, she was hoping that her time turner would start working enough to return her to the future. At least if that were the case, she could still seek out her cousin. He was probably locked up in Azkaban in 1998. There were so many names of captured and fugitive Death Eaters that it was difficult to keep the names straight unless she had a personal run-in with them. Following the battle, she knew for certain that Antonin was on the run. Thorfinn Rowle and Yaxley were both captured. Bellatrix was dead. Greyback was…

A sickening thought crossed her mind. There had not been a confirmation that the werewolf was killed at the final battle. At the time she was slightly unnerved by the thought of the fierce creature still roaming around the Earth, but she did not pay it that much mind. Her fears were more focused on Antonin. She personally cursed Greyback at one point when he was in the middle of murdering Lavender Brown. After that he was engaged in combat with both Neville and Ron. His body was never found. There was a very real possibility that the monster survived and would be waiting for her when she got back to the future. A shudder went through her entire body.

"I'm not trying to make you feel guilty, Hermione, but you need to understand that your cousin is scared of loving you and you leaving him. When your dad made us leave, he was all but convinced you were dying. Contagious or not, please don't ever keep him out again."

She could not do anything other than promise him that she wouldn't. It hurt her to know how fearful Rodolphus was. What kind of life had he lead up until that point? She was almost afraid to know. Wishing to move the discussion on from such a serious place, Hermione put her best teasing smirk on her face and asked about Gideon. Instantly Caradoc's entire face and neck turned bright red in embarrassment.

"We had a _lovely_ visit while he was home for the holidays," Caradoc replied choosing his words very carefully.

"'We had a _lovely_ visit'," she mocked. "Are you not going to give me any more information than that? How lovely are we talking?"

Caradoc cleared his throat. Based on the fact that he was unable to look her in the eyes following the impertinent question, Hermione felt fairly confident that the holidays had been a very enjoyable time indeed for one of her two favorite Hufflepuffs. Deciding to take pity on him, she giggled.

"All right, you don't have to give me any of the details I am _dying_ to know," she teased. "At least not until you can think about them without turning bright red. I'm just glad to know that you are happy. That makes me happy."

She kissed him on the cheek just as the door to the front of the store opened. A proud Rodolphus entered the back room. Clearly he had been successful with the customer while they were in the back. He always showed an immense amount of pride when he was able to close a sale. Hermione always thought it was adorable. Making his excuses no doubt in an effort to prevent any more embarrassing moments, Caradoc rushed from the room leaving the two cousins alone.

"What did I just walk in on?" Rodolphus asked, his brow furrowed and concern etched across his handsome features. "Looks serious."

"Nothing for you to worry about," Hermione responded flippantly. "You just walked in on me teasing him about Gideon."

"Oh."

Rodolphus smirked. He seemed to be just as happy for his friend as Hermione was. It made her heart feel good. Caradoc always struck her as being very lonely. She hated that she sometimes wished Rodolphus could just give up whatever hopes he still carried around for Andromeda and all expectations he had from his father to marry a proper Pureblood witch and just fall for Caradoc.

"He seems happy with Gideon," Rodolphus declared. "I'm glad."

"I hope he can find some happiness. He's still in love with you."

She did not know what prompted her to say what she did. Many times the cousins danced around the fact that Caradoc was in love with Rodolphus, but neither of them had ever come right out and said it before. The wizard closed his eyes and sighed a deep, sad sigh.

"Do you know how many times I've wished I could love him like that?"

His revelation shocked Hermione. She never expected him to say anything like that in response.

"Really?" she asked.

"Absolutely. He's my best friend. Father would disown me which wouldn't hurt my feelings. We could fix up the flat upstairs and spend the rest of our lives running this shop together and arguing over who had to clean out the kneazle cages next. It would be perfect, but…"

He paused without completing his thought. Hermione tried to be patient to allow him to continue, but quickly grew too curious.

"But?"

"But I don't love him enough. Not in the way he wants and deserves to be loved. He deserves to be someone's first choice. Someone's only choice."

Her cousin kissed the top of her head before disappearing into the privacy of his office with his thoughts and with, Hermione feared, a bottle of fire whiskey she knew he had hidden inside.

* * *

January 24, 1973

 **11:43 am**

Settling back into a routine of dividing her time between the pub and the store became a bit easier as each day passed. By the time the next Wednesday rolled around, Hermione was ready to spend the morning by herself while Caradoc visited his grandmother. She felt terrible that he had been neglecting the elderly witch because she had been unable to mind the store in his absence. Rodolphus was always required to spend Wednesday mornings in the gallery of the Wizengamot pretending that his desire for the future was following in his father's footsteps. Both men continued to pretend that Rodolphus owned a pet store in the middle of the busiest shopping districts in their society. It was easier to live a lie than to face uncomfortable truths apparently.

She would have been lying if she said she was completely comfortable alone in the store. The animals provided an effective distraction. She was grateful that the shop wasn't completely silent when she was alone. Wednesdays were always a slow day for trade when school was in session. Very few people were wandering around Diagon Alley and even fewer were actually coming into her store. It made her a bit uneasy.

While she was adjusting the toad cages and her back was turned to the front door, she heard the familiar bell announcing a customer's arrival. Almost immediately she felt eyes staring into her back. Goosebumps erupted on her entire body at the attention she was receiving. It was such a familiar feeling that she almost did not want to turn around to see who was standing in the store with her. She was terrified that Greyback had her cornered alone again. Whoever it was did not speak to her first. With trembling hands, Hermione set down the toads she had been moving. She felt a burst of confidence that she would not allow anyone to make her afraid in the store that brought her so much joy. Wiping her hands on her apron, she slowly spun around.

Fearing it was the werewolf, Hermione visibly showed relief when she saw Igor standing at the front door with his signature smirk. More than once she thought that expression should be made illegal. It was criminal to be that handsome and that deviant at the same time. The moment she exhaled and felt the tension leaving her entire body, Igor's expression changed to one of worry.

"Did I startle you, Charodeyka?"

How could she admit that she was relieved it was him instead of a werewolf she now feared above all others, even Lord Voldemort? He would either think she was mad or rush straight to her father, her uncle and her cousins to make certain they knew the kind of danger she feared she was in. As she watched him cross the length of the store in her direction, she felt foolish. She would've known if a werewolf entered the shop because of how the animals reacted. When little Remus Lupin came into the store with his father the previous summer, all of the animals in the entire store had gone mad. Owls flapped their wings at a furious speed. The toads croaked in unison creating a deafening sound. All of the kneazle kittens and even just the regular, non-magical kittens hissed in fear. Even the gentle puffskeins were agitated.

Remus had been humiliated. With big tears in his eyes, he tried to rush from the shop. Caradoc and Rodolphus were at a loss to explain what was going on. Despite wanting nothing to do with anyone she loved who she could not save in the future, Hermione stopped him from exiting. She led the humiliated boy over to the basket where the shop pet was sleeping in its basket. An ancient Flemish giant rabbit snoozed away. He was half deaf, mostly blind and had long ago lost his sense of smell. Rodolphus was far too kind to even think about putting the creature down. He fed him at least three potions a day and made certain that the animal Healer examined him every time he came to check on the health of their stock. When Hermione picked up the fifteen pound rabbit and placed him in Remus' waiting arms, the young werewolf burst into tears. She knew he was mortified by his experience in the store and she longed to wrap the boy in her arms. The rabbit snuggled into Remus' arms, content that he was getting some much desired affection. The brightest smile she had ever seen cross her former DADA professor's face practically lit up the entire shop.

Igor reached for Hermione to pull her into an embrace. When his arms went around her back and she laid her head on his sinful-smelling chest, she sighed again. The wizard kissed the top of her head before running his hands up and down her back. Hermione hated that she had allowed her guard to fall for even a second. She carefully pushed away from Igor with a smile moments later. A few steps over from where they had been standing were the kneazle kittens. She reached down into the glass case to pick up the tiniest, fluffiest one she could find. Igor gladly accepted the creature with an excited grin.

"I'm sorry," she stated, still feeling remnants of her earlier embarrassment staining her cheeks.

The wizard snuggled the little kitten and promised her that she did not need to apologize.

"I was in another world. You only startled me because I wasn't paying attention."

He seemed reluctant to believe her explanation, but to her relief he did not push her. Igor leaned against the front counter, scratching the kitten and watching Hermione move around behind the counter in a frantic effort to keep her mind distracted from her disturbing thoughts.

"Are you finally going to take a kitten home today?"

"If I took one home, I wouldn't have an excuse to come visit you."

"Oh, I'm sure you'd still find an excuse."

They smiled at each other. It was the truth. Igor could be a very predictable man. She started organizing the receipts from the previous day that had still not been added.

"I haven't seen you in a while," Hermione declared. She truthfully had not seen many people in a long time, but Igor even longer.

"I went home to Russia after I took my Mastery exam. Just returned a few days ago."

Their discussion turned to his results. He was now a full-fledged Potions Master. Hermione was proud of him for the difficult accomplishment. Most people who tried to undertake a Potions Mastery failed miserably. It was not a field for the light-hearted. Hermione congratulated the beaming and proud man on his accomplishments. Igor explained that he was working at an apothecary just a short walk down the Alley.

"I found a flat just down the Alley," he announced with an exaggerated waggle of his eyebrows. "I would love to give you a tour."

"I'm sure you would."

Hermione rolled her eyes and smiled. With the exception of the concern at the beginning of his visit, Igor was the first person in a long time who treated her exactly the same. Even those who did not know the details of her attack or why she was out of commission for so long, they all tended to treat her as if she was something fragile about to break. It felt encouraging to be around someone who still looked at her like he always did.

"My older sister is coming to visit me this weekend," he announced. The smirk on his handsome face quickly changed into a scowl. "She promised to help me decorate it."

"That was kind of her."

"She has bloody awful taste, but my mum made me promise to be nice to her."

Hermione giggled. She never realized how much she missed being around Igor until she was in the same room with him again. Even without the benefit of a time traveler's knowledge, she knew there would never be a future between the two of them and it was perfectly all right. He made her laugh in ways few ever could. His humor and his opinions always made her roll her eyes and snort. She did not feel the need to put on some kind of Pureblood Princess show with him like she felt with other members of their society. It was nice to be able to just be herself.

"Are you here by yourself all day today?" Igor asked.

"No, Caradoc comes back this afternoon."

"What about lunch? Are you hungry?"

Almost as if on cue, the front door opened. Antonin entered like he had done countless times before with a paper sack in his hand from the café next door. Hermione had not seen him since the night he came to the pub and yelled at her. They were both giving each other space to calm down. Seeing the familiar sack in his hand, she wondered if he was trying to bring some sort of peace offering. Whatever his initial intentions had been, however, were quickly disregarded when his dark brown eyes fell on Igor's form.

"Antonin, what a surprise," Hermione said, rushing out behind the counter in an effort to put her body between the two men. Igor was amused by Antonin's anger. He continued to stroke the tiny kitten as he casually leaned up against the counter. "I didn't expect you."

"Clearly," Antonin spat. His eyes narrowed in on Igor for several tense moments. "I didn't mean to interrupt."

He spun around and started to head back for the door. Though she still had some anger towards Antonin that was threatening to make a reappearance, Hermione moved quickly enough to stand in front of the exit. Antonin jaw was clenched. She feared that he would not be above making another scene like he had that night in Knockturn Alley when he walked in on her alone with Igor the first time.

"Let me pass, Hermione."

"Why are you leaving so quickly? We haven't seen each other in almost a week."

"You'll forgive me if I don't want to be in the same room with my girlfriend and her lover."

Hermione rolled her eyes. No matter how many times he said something to the contrary, Antonin was never going to forgive her for that night in Seventh year when she was lonely and made a terrible mistake. Igor would always be a sore subject between them. It used to make her sad. In that moment all she felt was anger and frustration. The darkest part of her longed to bar the door with the strongest locking spell she could imagine or perhaps use Antonin's own spell against him by freezing his feet to the floor and then pouncing on Igor. She did not even have to wonder if Igor would be a willing participant. Anything to make Antonin angrier was likely something he would jump at. Many times in her life she longed to be the peacemaker. She did not care anymore.

"I will say this only once, Antonin, and then I will never say it again. There is _nothing_ going on between Igor and me."

"Not for my lack of trying, however," Igor piped in, smirking at the glare Hermione shot in his direction.

"There is nothing going on with Igor and me. There is nothing going on with Ted and me. There is nothing going on with _anyone_ and me. I'm exhausted of having this argument."

Antonin did not appear pacified in the slightest by her assurances. Hermione quite simply no longer worried about his feelings. She had known there would be a moment when she had to make a difficult decision in regards to the man who would turn out to be one of the cruelest Death Eaters in existence. She was simply surprised that he was making it so much easier for her.

"I will come by your flat when you get off of work," she stated. "I will be there at half past five. We can discuss this and anything else you desire at that time."

She stepped away from the front door to allow the fuming wizard to exit. Antonin slammed the door behind him. When she turned back around to face Igor, Hermione was half-tempted to curse the pleased smirk off of his face.

"You were not helping," she declared.

"No, but it's fun to watch Dolohov squirm. I don't like the boy. I never will."

Igor spent only a few more minutes in the store. As soon as she was alone again with her thoughts, her stomach began to twist itself into anxious knots. She was not looking forward to what the meeting with Antonin would entail.

* * *

 **5:32 pm**

Knockturn Alley was no longer the frightening bastion of Dark Magic that Hermione always imagined it was. Several months of visiting the area multiple times a week gave her a brand new perspective. The witches and wizards she would have avoided like a victim of Spattergroit, she now looked forward to seeing in the street. Though she was not naïve enough to believe that none of the friendly souls were dangerous, she was glad to know that there were still good, kind people in the midst of darkness.

Antonin had given her permission to enter his building whenever she wished. Adding someone to the wards was the Muggle equivalent of giving them a key. Hermione nodded her head in the direction of the elderly wizard with the rats as she climbed the narrow staircase. Every step that brought her closer to his flat only made her even more nervous. She was still not one hundred percent clear on what she was going to say to the man when she arrived.

His door was cracked open when she reached the top of the staircase. It was an unusual enough occurrence that Hermione felt nervous. She removed her wand from its pocket just in case there was a need for it. There were muffled sounds coming from inside the flat. Someone was definitely inside. Based on the differences in the cadences she could hear, she knew there had to have been at least two different people inside. A guttural grunt from within made her even more anxious. Fearing that something terrible was happening inside, she pushed open the door, ready to attack.

She immediately lowered her wand to her side. Antonin was not in any danger whatsoever. His next-door neighbor was sprawled on top of his dining table completely naked. She had her long, shapely legs wrapped tightly around Antonin's bare back. Long, red fingernail marks marked her boyfriend's back with an intricate series of crisscrosses and patterns. Clearly they had been engaged in their present activity for longer than a few minutes.

Hermione stood in the doorway at a complete loss as to what she was to do. It felt awkward to be just staring at two people fucking on the dining table. She assumed that she would be angry to see the wizard she was supposedly in an exclusive relationship with piston in and out of the slag from next door, but strangely, she was not even mildly annoyed. When Antonin caught her staring from the doorway and had the audacity to smirk, she felt even less emotion about the scene. He did not even slow his motions when he realized his girlfriend was bearing witness to his infidelity. Obviously this had been a set up. He _wanted_ her to see that he was just as capable as she was of finding someone else. All she could think of was that he was a sad, insecure, little boy playing at being an adult.

She could almost feel his disappointment that she was not willing to cause a giant scene. There was an expression of hope in his eyes that she would at the very least send a painful hex in their direction. Maybe he wanted to see her jealous enough to hurt the woman who was likely an unwitting pawn in their relationship drama. Hermione would not play into his hands. She simply turned around without speaking and headed back down the stairs.

Her mind was still trying to wrap itself around what she had just witnessed as she walked down Knockturn Alley. She wondered if he would try to contact her later to justify his actions or something equally ridiculous and appalling. Nothing he would say or do would smooth it all over. Their relationship had run its course. It was over.

One building away from Diagon Alley, she felt an arm reach out from the dark place between two buildings. A single tug and she was in the darkness pressed up against the dingy bricks by a familiar figure. Hermione struggled to breathe. Roaming hands moved up and down her terrified and frozen body. Fenrir Greyback placed his entire face in her hair to take a deep sniff.

"You smell so good it should be criminal," he purred.

She naively hoped that she would never run into the monster again. Less than a month had gone by since he last had her pinned against his dangerous, unyielding body. They were only steps from a very public area. Foot traffic was heavy at the mouth of the Alley. Anyone could walk up on them, but she would never dismiss the idea that he was there to complete what he started earlier. He did not strike her as the kind of person who required absolute privacy when his mind and body were set.

"I have been longing to see you again."

"Leave me alone, Greyback." Every word was a struggle, but she was proud of finally finding her voice.

"Oh, I don't think you actually want that."

He took a deep sniff of her hair again as he rubbed the evidence of his arousal against her. Hermione fought the urge to vomit. Memories rushed to the surface that she longed to purge from her mind forever.

"We will finish what we started. I promise you that. I've been longing to mark you as my own since I heard and smelled you come all over Karkaroff's cock. Just a matter of time, my sweet."

Greyback pressed his mouth against her for a forceful, painful kiss. It was over almost as soon as it began. He released his crushing hold on her to disappear back into the darker corners of Knockturn Alley.

* * *

August 4, 1998

 **11:15 am**

Kingsley did not even understand what his grandmother was saying. Why would Aberforth go halfway across the world to search for Hermione's parents? He thought they lived just outside of London. At least that was what she told him once when they were drinking tea at Number Twelve Grimmauld Place. His confusion must have been clear to the elderly woman. Margie rolled her eyes.

"Do you not even know what she did to keep her parents safe?"

He was not even able to shake his head 'no' before his granny went into an explanation of how Hermione could no help from the Order to protect her parents. By the time Kingsley understood the extent that his witch had gone to to keep her biological parents out of the clutches of the Death Eaters, he felt sick to his stomach. If only she had been able to contact him when he was working for the Muggle Prime Minister. He would have done everything in his power to keep her loved ones safe.

"I didn't know," he stated, his voice hardly above a horrified whisper. "Will they be all right?"

"Abbie has been studying and practicing memory charms and memory charm reversals for about twenty-five years now. He wanted to be certain that he could learn everything he could to help her parents."

"That is very kind of him."

"I've known that man for over one hundred years and I've never seen him love anyone as much as his girl. He will do anything to make her happy even if it means stepping back from her life to let someone else be her dad."


	36. Chapter 36

_Author's Note: I have been working on a prequel of sorts to this story. It won't be very long. Maybe only a few chapters. Be on the lookout for_ Greenhouse Seven _. Add me to your Authors Alert if you want to know when it posts!_

 _Tomorrow I will be editing this chapter and the previous couple of chapters. Maybe one day I will post at an acceptable time of night. I already felt guilty making everyone wait so long for this update that I didn't want to delay it any longer._

* * *

Chapter Thirty Six

May 20, 1973

 **9:00 am**

The months passed quickly for Hermione. She was determined to move on from the upsetting events of January. Her loved ones were pleased that she seemed to almost be her old self again. Aberforth did not ask her any questions about why she never spent the night in London any longer or why she never mentioned the Dolohov boy. Hermione knew that he wasn't likely to come right out and tell her that he "told her so". She just simply did not want to talk about Antonin. He'd made his decision. Part of her felt a little guilty that she had not disclosed the entire truth to him, but not that guilty. If he cared about her as much as he once claimed he did, he should have been able to trust her.

Caradoc and Rodolphus were pleased to have her back in the store on a regular basis. When she wasn't working at the pub, she was at the store. Only her weekly lunches with her uncle Regnault were the exception. Occasionally she was persuaded to spend the evening at the Shacklebolt London house for dinner and much needed conversation. Though she missed being able to spend more time with Thomas, she never wanted him to feel like he had to choose between his best mate and her friendship. It wasn't fair to him.

"You've been avoiding us," Andromeda stated without heat or emotion.

Hermione struggled to not roll her eyes at her friend's remark. Mostly because she knew that Andromeda was not wrong. She _had_ been avoiding the happy couple. It wasn't exactly rational, but she felt like an intruder at times in their happy marriage. She worried that the circumstances of her own foul, depressive mood would leak over into their world. They were young, in love, and preparing to welcome their sweet daughter into the world. Neither of them needed her bringing her dark cloud of negativity around. Of course, that was only half the reason. Hermione did not want to admit to herself that she didn't want to be around the Tonks family because she could not bear to look at Ted. He knew her secret. Knew why she stepped back from everyone. She feared that being in Ted's presence would only bring back memories she was trying to suppress.

When Andromeda sent her an owl early that Sunday morning informing her in no uncertain terms that her presence was required at Diagon Alley, Hermione knew she could not avoid her very pregnant friend any longer. Andromeda was several days overdue and miserable. Her Healer advised her that there were several things she could try to speed along the birth. She did not hesitate to give Hermione more details about her active sex life with her husband than she ever desired to know. Spicy curries had not helped either. Andromeda was desperate enough to walk the entire length of Diagon Alley as many times as it took. She used the fact that Ted had to go into work that morning to guilt Hermione into showing up.

"I haven't been avoiding you," Hermione replied.

"Don't lie to me, Hermione. I know you too well."

Hermione sighed.

"All right, yes, Andy. I've been avoiding you."

"Why?"

The women continued walking down the almost deserted Diagon Alley without speaking for several awkward moments. Most of the stores were only open a few hours on Sunday afternoons. Shoppers would arrive later in the day. Hermione knew that Andromeda was too perceptive. It could be grating at times. She would not be able to keep lying to her for much longer.

"I'm jealous of you and Ted," she blurted out.

"'Jealous'? Whatever for?"

Hermione stopped walking. She turned to face Andromeda and garner her full attention. If she wrapped up her lie in a nugget of truth, perhaps her friend would believe whatever she said. She raised her eyebrows in a defiant and somewhat frustrated expression. Andromeda furrowed her brow, completely clueless as to why Hermione had any reason to be jealous.

"Why would I be jealous of the young, happy couple disgustingly in love? Why would I be jealous of the fact that you are married to the love of your life and possibly only _hours_ away from having your first child?"

"Hermione…"

"No, Andy, I haven't wanted to be around the two of you because I didn't want my foul and jealous moods to darken what should be the most exciting time of your life. Have I missed you both? Of course I have."

Andromeda did not say anything in response to her confession that she was jealous. It wasn't even a lie. Hermione had had to bite down a rising bitterness many times since her two friends started dating in their Seventh year. She wanted to find that kind of happiness. She wanted to find someone actually worthy of sharing her life with. If Kingsley was to be believed, she would eventually find at least a fraction of that kind of love with him. Part of her hoped that that day would come sooner rather than later. She wasn't sure that she could handle much more heartache. Antonin was always going to be a temporary relationship. She knew that from the very beginning. How would it be anything more than a passing flirtation when she knew what a dangerous man he was going to become?

"Oh, darling, I'm sorry. I never even thought about how you must be feeling."

She wrapped her arms around Hermione's frame for a tight hug. Hermione resisted the urge to sigh in relief. Clearly her lie wrapped in a truth was enough to satisfy the inquisitive witch for the time being. When they ended their embrace, both women resumed their fast paced walk through the alley. Andromeda was determined that her daughter was going to make her appearance in the world sooner rather than later.

"He's been coming by a lot lately to visit Teddy. I think he thinks he's made a mistake. Asks subtle questions about you."

Hermione sighed and rolled her eyes. She really didn't want to talk about Antonin. The further she was removed from the solemn wizard, the less she missed him. They certainly had passion together, but it wasn't always the _best_ kind of passion. Her scar itched. She knew it was likely all in her mind. It always seemed to burn or itch when she thought about Antonin. Almost like her body was reminding her of the level of violence he was capable of. He wasn't a monster yet at nineteen years old. That would come later. And if her fears were correct, not _much_ later.

"He made his decision," Hermione replied. She did not really want to divulge the exact details of how they ended their relationship. It was both embarrassing and crass. Antonin had not even sent her an owl in apology or proven to her at all that he felt the least bit of shame at how he behaved. She was surprised to hear that he was asking about her to Ted. "We did not end in the best way."

"Teddy's asked him what happened, but he hasn't given him any details either. Must have been terrible."

"He came to the shop and found me alone with Igor. Stormed out, but not before I told him I would meet him at his flat at half past five that evening to talk. When I showed up at his flat, the door was open. Stepped inside to find him fucking his neighbor right there on top of the table we used to eat at."

Andromeda's eyes widened and she gasped. Hermione could feel her cheeks begin to heat up with the renewed sense of mortification that she always felt when she remembered that moment. She still couldn't understand what made the irritable wizard think that was an acceptable way to bring their ill-fated romance to a close. Was he hoping that he would feel less hurt if he could attempt to hurt her just as much? She had been deceptively calm when she discovered him. It was only later that night when she was alone in her bedroom attempting to fall asleep that she felt the ramifications of his actions. She had to throw up a hasty silencing spell to keep her cries from being overheard. Even though she knew they would not last, it didn't mean that she hadn't been heartbroken by the callous manner that he proved she wasn't that important to him.

"What an idiot," Andromeda muttered with a ferocity in her eyes that made even Hermione shiver with fear. She _never_ wanted to find herself on Andromeda Tonks' bad side. It was easy to forget sometimes that she was Bellatrix's younger sister. In that moment, however, all of the resemblances between the two sisters became perfectly clear. " _Why_ would he do that?"

"I was going to end it when I went over to his flat that night anyway. I was just tired of all of the arguing. All of the suspicions on his part. He's never going to forgive me for that night with Igor. Never. It wasn't fun for me any longer."

"You have a bad history of walking in on idiot wizards trying to make you jealous, don't you?"

She rolled her eyes again. How could she forget the night she walked in on Kingsley pounding into Amelia Bones in her favorite study room? He knew she liked to study there and knew there would be a high probability of getting caught. Not for the first time Hermione figured that the reason why Kingsley and Antonin couldn't stand each other was because they were both so similar. She told Antonin once about Kingsley's performance in the library. Perhaps that was exactly why he did it himself.

"I like Tony, don't get me wrong, but I think you can do better. He's too serious and his father sounds like a nightmare."

Hermione agreed. If she could make it the rest of her life without being in the same room as Vadim Dolohov, she would be content. Part of her felt a great deal of sympathy for Antonin that he had to deal with a man like that for his father, but the rest of her was just pleased that she did not have to be around him again. Andromeda reached for Hermione's arm to show her friend a bit of support as they continued their walk.

"I wanted to talk to you about something serious, Hermione," Andromeda declared after several minutes of near silence.

"Oh?" She hated that her stomach dropped at the somber tone of voice that Andy employed. Her mind went wild with different explanations for why she really wanted Hermione to accompany her that day.

"Teddy and I have been talking about who we want to be little Nymphadora's godparents."

If it were possible for Hermione to change the events of the past, she would have done everything in her power to convince her best friend to _not_ name her daughter after her favorite great-aunt on her mother's side. Andromeda only had one blood relative left who actually spoke to her after her disownment. Nymphadora Yaxley was over one hundred years old, widowed, and no longer cared one bit what her relatives thought of her choices. Though Andromeda certainly never admitted so, Hermione had a feeling that the young couple was being at least partially supported by her eccentric aunt. Her daughter was going to _hate_ her name, but there was no convincing Andromeda to pick something else.

"If it was my decision entirely, Hermione, I would choose you as her godmother in a heartbeat."

"That is very kind of you."

"But it's not my decision. Teddy wants… Teddy doesn't want…"

Whatever she wanted to admit to was apparently quite difficult. Andromeda stopped and stuttered many times before she finally blurted out the real reason why Hermione was not going to be chosen as their daughter's godmother.

"Teddy is afraid that your family would have an unhealthy influence on Nymphadora if something were to happen to both of us. He doesn't like the Lestranges. Rabastan tormented him through seven years of Hogwarts. You know he loves you, right?"

"Of course I do."

"He doesn't want there to be a chance that she might become a part of your family. I'm sorry if that's hurtful. He would be mortified to know that I'm being this blunt with you, but I feel like you have a right to know the complete truth."

"It's all right, Andy. Truly."

Hermione chose to take the fact that she had even been considered for such an important role in their daughter's life as the compliment that it was. She could understand Ted's reluctance to ask her to be godmother. If both of them were killed or incapacitated in some manner, it would be her responsibility to raise Nymphadora. Of course she would come into contact with the Lestranges. She had it on good authority as a time traveler to know that their fears were not necessary, but she couldn't blame Ted for wanting to protect his daughter from the small-minded and dangerous people in her extended family even after his death.

"I'm still going to spoil her. You realize that, don't you?"

"Thank you, Hermione. I've been dreading this conversation with you for months. Everyone assumes that you'll be godmother. Ted's asked his favorite cousin. She's sweet. I think you'll like her. As Muggle as they come, naturally, but I like her."

"It seems to me that I get the best deal out of this. I get to have all of the fun and none of the responsibility."

Andromeda turned to smile brightly at her friend. Hermione was pleased to know that she was no longer worried about her feelings being hurt. Truthfully, she could not blame Ted not wanting her to be godmother. If something terrible happened and both of her parents were dead, Nymphadora would be loved and cared for without question, but she would also be exposed to the Lestranges. There would be no way for Hermione to prevent that. No, she knew the Tonkses made the right decision.

They were just about to approach the Magical Menagerie when the front door of the beloved store opened. Rodolphus only kept the store open on Sundays during the summer to accommodate the back to school shopping. The rest of the year the store remained closed. She was surprised to see her cousin emerge from the shop into the bright sunlight. Andromeda's arm tensed when she met a startled Rodolphus' eyes.

"Good morning, Roddy," Hermione greeted. She knew that she would likely have to be the one to smooth the awkwardness between the two out. Neither one of them seemed to be in a rush to speak. "What are you doing here so early?"

Rodolphus tore his eyes away from Andromeda to address his cousin with an obvious amount of reluctance. He smiled before he responded.

"Feeding the stock. What are you two lovely ladies doing out right now? I didn't think anything was open this time of morning."

Andromeda's hand tightened on Hermione's arm. She took it as a subtle request that they move away from her cousin as soon as possible. Hermione knew that despite loving Ted tremendously, there were still some hurt feelings when it came to Rodolphus. Her best friend freely admitted that she had been in love with the wizard for years. It was impossible to simply turn off those feelings without feeling side effects.

"Andy's Healer suggested she take a long walk to try to encourage labor."

Rodolphus' cheeks flushed bright red at the explanation. His eyes sought out Andromeda's heavily pregnant form. Hermione did not miss the way his gaze lingered for several seconds on the large belly. A wave of sadness seemed to be coming off of the man. Andromeda's hand tightened to a painful degree. She turned to stare at her friend and witnessed her gritting her teeth.

"Andy, what's wrong?"

"I think the walking worked."

The next several minutes passed in frantic activity. Andromeda was clearly terrified of what was about to happen. Hermione imagined she was trying to be strong while desperately wishing her mother was there. Thankfully Rodolphus was there to help keep her calm. He held her hand and spoke soft, soothing words to her while Hermione sent her patronus off to Ted at work. With Rodolphus' help, Hermione led Andromeda to the nearest Apparition point. She did not know if magical births differed any from Muggle births. Though she hated being confronted with subjects she did not know all of the answers to, she had not given herself the opportunity to research in the preceding months.

Ted was already waiting for them at St. Mungo's. His eyes were wide and torn between being frightened and excited. Once Andromeda saw her husband she pulled away from Rodolphus' grasp to reach out for Ted. Hermione did not miss the disappointment present in Rodolphus' expression. Feeling sorry for her cousin in what must be a painful moment to witness, she reached for his hand and squeezed. The Welcome Witch wasted no time in directing the parents-to-be where they needed to go.

"If you two will just wait here in the reception area, we will let you know when you can visit," ordered the witch.

Hermione led Rodolphus over to an empty pair of uncomfortable-looking plastic chairs. They settled down to wait. Neither spoke for a long time. Hermione kept her eye on the clock, watching as the hours passed. She knew with Muggle births that the first baby usually took a long time to be born. By the third hour, Rodolphus finally spoke.

"That should be my baby being born."

The words were spoken so softly that Hermione almost missed them completely. Her heart broke for her cousin. She reached over to take her hand in his to lend him some support because she knew her response would not be necessarily kind. Sometimes the truth hurt.

"You're right. It should be. You missed your chance, Roddy."

He sighed. Dropping her hand, he covered his face with both of his hands. Hermione worried that perhaps she had been too harsh when he said nothing for a long time. Finally, he spoke again. Rising from his chair, he leaned down to kiss his cousin.

"I'll regret it for the rest of my life."

Rodolphus left her alone to await the new arrival, but Hermione did not begrudge him the action. She understood. While she could not understand exactly what it felt like to have to watch the person she loved live their life with someone else, she knew it must be excruciating. Somehow she knew that her cousin was going to spend the next several days at the bottom of a bottle if left to his own devices. She requested parchment from the Welcome Witch and penned a quick note to Igor. If anyone knew where to find Roddy, it would be one of his best mates. She knew better than to ask Caradoc. He might be falling steadily in love with Gideon Prewett, but that didn't mean he was emotionally prepared to comfort the man he had been in love with for years.

She resumed her seat and waited for the happy news that little Nymphadora was born. Because Ted's family could not visit the hospital as Muggles and because none of Andromeda's family would be there to welcome the new baby, Hermione stayed. She was thankful that she always kept a book or a dozen in her beaded bag. At least the long wait was not unbearable.

By seven that evening, Hermione had her answer as to whether or not magical births took just as long as Muggle. No one had come out to announce the birth of the baby Hermione knew was a girl. It was a bit disappointing to her to learn that witches gave birth on a similar time scales as Muggles. At some point she dozed off in her uncomfortable chair. A light tap on her shoulder startled her into consciousness. She blinked her eyes several times before her tired eyes recognized the person standing over her.

"I didn't mean to frighten you, Charodeyka."

Hermione rubbed at her eyes and tried to imagine a scenario that would explain why the Russian wizard was in the St. Mungo's waiting room. He certainly didn't know the couple well enough to justify his presence. Ignoring her confusion, Igor lowered his tall form into the chair next to hers.

"Rabastan and I have been looking for Rod all day," he explained. "I wasn't sure if you would still be this late."

She glanced up at the clock. Midnight was quickly approaching. How long had she been asleep? Afraid that there had been some complication, she started to stand up. Igor's hand exerted a tiny amount of pressure to keep her seated.

"I checked on Mrs. Tonks before I woke you up. She is doing well and so is her daughter. She was born about an hour ago, but some unusual scans caused some concern. The Healers are testing her to make certain there is nothing seriously wrong."

Hermione sat up straighter. She hoped that the anomalies they were concerned about were just Tonks' Metamorphmagus abilities. It was a rare set of skills that few possessed. They were bound to turn a few heads.

"Why are you here?" she asked, stifling a yawn.

Instead of being offended, Igor laughed.

"I knew you were worried about Rod. Wanted you to know that we haven't found him yet, but Rabastan has a good idea where he has gone. There's a hunting cabin that their grandfather used to use. Apparently, that's where he goes when he wants to be alone."

She sighed. At least they knew the secret of where Rodolphus went. Many times he disappeared for a few days at a time and she worried about him the entire time. She hoped that his younger brother would be able to find him. It saddened her that he kept his problems hidden.

"Rabastan should be there by now. He's been worried about his brother too. Has it gotten that bad?"

Hermione nodded. She knew that a combination of factors were affecting her cousin negatively. He was saddened by his loss of Andromeda. Every time he worked up the courage to ask after the woman, he seemed to grow even more despondent when he learned she was happy and in love. Bellatrix's return was looming ahead. In just a few weeks his fiancée would be back in the country causing him even more stress. Their wedding was an event he was not looking forward to. Regnault wanted to throw a large party similar to what they had when Hermione first arrived. He wanted to welcome Lord Voldemort and his fellow traveler back. Just thinking about an evening like that made Rodolphus jittery and upset. He was disappearing more frequently. Hermione was at a loss as to what could be done.

"Thank you for looking for him, Igor."

He leaned over to kiss the top of her head. His arm snaked around her shoulders and he pulled her closer. She sighed into the embrace. It had been a long day and she was exhausted. Her eyes felt heavy, but before she allowed herself to slip back into sleep, an excited Ted burst into the room.

"Hermione! It's a girl."

Ted was all smiles. Her exhaustion was forgotten in moments. Igor helped her to her feet to allow her the chance to embrace the proud papa. He was anxious to drag her into the room to see Andromeda and little Nymphadora. After an assurance from Igor that he would be waiting for her there, she followed Ted down the corridor.

Andromeda was drained and exceedingly happy. Hermione kept her visit brief to allow the new mama a chance to rest after a grueling day. Once she held the baby that would one day become the clumsy auror that she knew and loved in the future, Hermione relinquished control of the already pink haired baby to her best friend. She kissed each member of the Tonks family and headed back into the corridor.

As her feet travelled back to the reception area, her mind travelled to the future. It was easy sometimes to forget that she had a whole other life in the nineties. The longer she was stuck in the past, the harder it was to remember what life used to be like. She had just held a baby in her arms that would grow up to be just another fatality in the war she could not stop. Ted would be dead too. Hermione's eyes fell on the lounging form of Igor Karkaroff and remembered he would be just another minion of the Dark Lord until eventually he was murdered for his cowardice. She never knew who it was that killed him in the future. If she learned later that it was Antonin, she would not have been surprised.

"How's the happy family?" he asked with a cheeky grin that made her smile.

"Beautiful and exhausted."

He rose from his chair and took her hand.

"Much like you, Charodeyka."

She tried to hide a yawn behind her palm. Igor chuckled.

"It's late. Let me take you home. You shouldn't Apparate."

Hermione allowed Igor to lead her out of the hospital. Each step was harder to take. Her entire body was stiff from sitting in that Merlin-forsaken plastic chair for the entire day. Even her short nap did not help. Once out in the cool night air, Igor grasped her arm and Disapparated away from the area. She was surprised to find herself standing in front of an unfamiliar building on Diagon Alley instead of her father's pub. Igor muttered a few words before pushing the door open.

"I thought you were taking me home, Igor. This doesn't look like home."

"I never said _whose_ home I was taking you to."

His wink only made her roll her eyes. She stepped into the lobby of the small building. As soon as the front door was closed and secured, Igor led her over to the staircase. They climbed up to the first floor without saying a word. She knew she should just Apparate herself back to Scotland, but the thought of expending that much energy made her even more tired.

Igor's flat was large and luxurious. It was the exact opposite of Antonin's shabby Knockturn Alley flat. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes at the thought of what he would say if he saw where Igor lived. Likely it would be yet another tick in the column of inadequacy she was almost positive he kept track of.

"What do you think you are doing, Igor? You've been trying to get me in your flat for months now and I've said 'no' each time."

"I'm not doing anything, Hermione. I promise. You can say here tonight. Hogsmeade is a long distance. You're not up to making it. In the morning we can find out if Rabastan found your cousin."

She really was too tired to argue. Her eyes were drooping and each step she took was difficult. Igor gave her a quick tour of the flat. Though large, it only had one bedroom. _Convenient_ , she thought to herself with a mixture of amusement and annoyance. If he thought he would be able to take advantage of her, he would be sorely disappointed. He showed her to the lavatory where she decided to take a short shower before bed. The smell of St. Mungo's seemed to cling to every fiber of her clothes and every pore on her body.

The hot water felt heavenly on her tired muscles. Igor's shower was large enough to allow at least three other people to share in the same stream of water if she so desired. She had never been in a more lavish shower before. He was clearly a man who appreciated the finer things in life. When she felt clean and like she no longer reeked of industrial potions, Hermione turned off the water and wrapped herself in a fluffy towel. A pair of Igor's pajamas lay on the counter next to the sink. She rolled her eyes and snorted. Of course he wouldn't resist the urge to sneak a peek at her when given the opportunity.

He was already in bed when she stepped into the bedroom. She turned the light off in the bathroom before crossing the large space.

"Is this all some elaborate plan to get me back in your bed, Igor?"

"You know you are always welcome in my bed, Hermione, but no, that wasn't my plan. I can sleep in the other room if it would make you feel more comfortable."

She lifted up the covers on the unoccupied side of the massive bed. They would not even have to touch because the bed was so large. She knew his reputation, but she trusted him. He would never force her to do anything she was not ready for. And as tired as they both were, she had no doubt that sleep was all that was on the agenda. As soon as she was settled, she turned over on her side to face her host. Igor was staring at her in the dimness.

"Thank you for letting me stay. Now be a good boy and stay on your side."

His laughter rang through the bedroom. Minutes later they were both deep asleep.

* * *

August 4, 1998

 **11:25 am**

Kingsley sat in his grandmother's kitchen while she bustled around to make them tea. It seemed that no matter how old he got, he always felt like he was a child again when he was in his grandmother's kitchen. Many hours had been spent seated at that very table listening to the elderly woman give him advice that he almost never took. He was too stubborn to listen to her even if she was the only other Gryffindor in a family full of Ravenclaws and the odd Slytherin. Somehow he never seemed to trust that she knew what she was talking about.

"Have you heard anything from Aberforth about his trip?" he asked, unsure if he wanted to know the answer. His stomach was still churning with the knowledge that he had allowed his little witch to make such a drastic decision to keep her Muggle parents safe. If Aberforth was not successful in restoring their memories, he was not sure he would ever be able to forgive himself. "Do you know if it will be successful?'

"No, I haven't heard anything. After I found out the truth about Hermione, Abbie and I had a long talk that first night. He told me everything that he had been keeping from me over the years. Or at least, what I _assume_ he has been keeping from me. That wizard has a great deal of secrets."

A disturbing thought that Kingsley wished had not popped up in his head took up residence. He wasn't sure he wanted to know the truth even if he did ask the impertinent question. Realizing he would never get a moment's rest in his restive mind, he grit his teeth and asked.

"Granny, is there something going on between you and Aberforth?"

Marjorie Shafiq stopped making tea to spin in place slightly to look at her grandson. She tilted her head to the side as she tried to make sense of his inquiry.

"What are you asking me, Kingsie? Abbie is my oldest friend."

"Is there something… _more_ than just friendship between the two of you?"

She did not respond for several long, awkward moments. Her eyes did not even blink. When his words finally hit his mark, she burst out in loud, raucous laughter until tears were streaming down her cheeks. Kingsley feared slightly that he might have been the catalyst required to finally encourage his granny to lose her mind. Many witches even younger than she had gone completely mad.

"Thank you. That was the best laugh I think I've had in years, child."

Marjorie wiped at her eyes with the sleeve of her robe.

"No, there is nothing between Abbie and me. You aren't going to have to worry one day about your wife being your step-aunt."

Her renewed laughter warmed Kingsley's heart. It didn't take long before he joined in too.


	37. Chapter 37

_Author's Note: I recently posted Part One of_ **Greenhouse Seven** _. This story will be prequel of TMS, following Professor Sprout and Aberforth several years before this story begins. Want to know more about their history? Check it out. There's no set update schedule on that one, but it's kind of sweet and sad and fun all at once. I will also be adding an additional scene when I update TMS with the next chapter. My intention was to do it this time, but there are some spoilers in it for next chapter I didn't want to share just yet._

* * *

Chapter Thirty-Seven

May 21, 1973

 **3:20 am**

She wasn't entirely sure why she was running. All Hermione knew was that she was unsafe. Someone was following her, waiting for her to trip and fall. The street she was running down was empty but the cobblestones felt hard on her feet. Footsteps just behind her were getting closer and closer. She knew it was only a matter of time before whoever it was that was chasing finally caught up. If they grabbed her, she knew it was all over.

A tightening in her chest made it difficult to breathe. How could she possibly keep running if every single breath was a struggle? Each step she took air was harder to suck in. Shouts of her name could be heard just behind her, but she did not dare stop. No. She was dead if she was caught. Hands gripped her arms. It was too late.

"Hermione! Hermione, wake up!"

Someone was gently shaking her shoulders. The voice calling her name got louder and louder as the street melted away. Instead of a dark and ominous cobblestone lane, Hermione found herself in a warm and comfortable bed. It wasn't familiar, but nothing about it was sinister. She hazarded a glance at the concerned figure hovering over her prone figure trying desperately to wake her up.

"Hermione!"

Igor was clearly worried. His brow was furrowed and she had never seen him quite so disheveled even during the times she had seen him partially undressed. He ran his hand through his hair completely ruffling it and causing it to stick out at weird angles. Though he was about as different from Harry as it was possible to be, the simple act and the messy hair made her heart clench. Just as she had in her dream, she found breathing to be harder than it should be. Against her most fervent desires, she could feel the tears streaming down her cheeks.

He did not ask her for permission. Just simply wrapped his arms around her back and pulled her into his broad and firm chest. Hermione was still a bit out of sorts since waking up. Of course she recognized Igor, but his bedroom was unfamiliar enough that she forgot where she was for a long, tense moment. The upset wizard ran his hands up and down her back as he spoke to her in a soft, soothing tone. She hated that she had woke him up. It wasn't what a good houseguest did.

"Do you have nightmares a lot?" Igor asked when they had both calmed down several minutes later. She could still hear his heart pounding in her ear as she lay her head right on his sternum. No doubt her heart was beating loud enough that the entire building could hear it.

"No, not often," she replied, embarrassment settling in now that she was calmed. "I'm so sorry."

"Nothing to apologize for whatsoever."

Igor began to play with her hair in an effort to occupy his hands and to provide some kind of comfort to the woman. Loving the feeling of his hand in her hair, Hermione snuggled closer to his chest. She was grateful to have the comfort of his presence. He was a man that, at least to her, inspired confidence and security. Igor tightened his embrace on her still shaking form only slightly. Hermione knew that she would likely not be able to go back to sleep any time soon.

Nightmares had never been a big part of her life. She knew that many people who suffered in traumatic ways often revisited those moments in their dreams. It had long been a fear of hers that after the horrific night she spent on the floor of the drawing room in Malfoy Manor that the crazy bitch Bellatrix Lestrange would haunt her nightmares. Harry had nightmares almost every night whether he would come right out and admit them or not. One did not live with another person in a tent for months at a time without learning that fact. Sometimes Ron had them too. More than one night she had had to wake Antonin up when he was mumbling in his sleep and clenching his teeth so hard she was afraid they might break.

Before New Year's it had been a very long time since she had one. After that night, she had them at least twice a week. Always the same dream with the same details.

"You were muttering in your sleep."

"I'm sorry I disturbed you, Igor. I know you were just as tired as I was after searching for Roddy all day."

Igor brushed his lips against her temple. She almost shivered at the unexpected contact.

"I meant what I said earlier, Charodeyka. I wasn't looking for an apology. I am, however, concerned about you. Do you want to tell me what your dream was about?"

Hermione was hesitant to respond. It was one thing to have the dreams that left her stomach twisted in knots and her blood feeling like ice water running through her veins. In the dark of her own bedroom she could always calm herself down enough to eventually find her way back to sleep. A mantra she repeated to herself reminding her that it was only a dream usually worked. But to come right out and tell another person what terrifying thoughts and images plagued her when she tried to sleep? Somehow it made it all the more real. She wasn't sure if she wanted someone else to know what she saw. It made it harder to ignore.

She felt more comfortable with Igor than just about anyone else she had met in the past. It seemed strange to her that that was the case. Part of her could not understand why she felt like she could trust him more than just about everyone else. She certainly never felt that comfortable around Antonin. If anything, she felt more on guard around Antonin than she did with anyone. Maybe it was because she knew what his future was like. Igor Karkaroff would not grow up into a good man by any stretch of the imagination, but still she felt like she could be honest with him. He would never hurt her intentionally.

Igor was the only person who treated her exactly the same no matter what the situation was. He was possibly the only person she knew who did not treat her any differently after her mysterious "illness" that kept her quarantined at home for so many weeks. Even after he stopped Antonin from hurting her in such a public manner, he didn't treat her like a china doll ready to break from the slightest mishandling. He sent her an owl asking if she was all right and then proceeded to drop the subject. Not like Caradoc and Rodolphus and even her father who seemed to take some kind of pleasure in reminding her how worthless her ex was.

"It's always the same," she explained with a deep sigh. Igor moved his hand from her hair to rub her back as she spoke. "I'm running down what I think is a dark alley or a deserted street. All I know is there are cobblestones and I'm always in danger of tripping on them. Someone is chasing me, but I can't tell who it is. I run and run until I can barely breathe. Sometimes I get away. Other times I don't. When you woke me up, I had just been caught."

"What happens when you get caught?"

Tears rolled out of her eyes once more at his gentle question. She felt better talking to him. Just then she wondered if he would still treat her the same if he knew the whole truth of what happened to her so many months earlier. Would he still flirt shamelessly with her and tease her about always being invited into his bed? Would he still beg her to run away with him in that same joking manner? Or would he think she was broken and undeserving of his attention? She couldn't bear it if Igor stopped treating her how he had since the first moment they met.

A spark of courage deep within her gut flared up just enough to make her decision for her. She _wanted_ to tell him. Maybe she would even feel better that she had one person out there in the world she could be completely honest with. She was growing weary of carrying around such a big secret. Ted obviously was aware of what happened, but he had not said a single word to her about it since that night. Somehow she knew he never would. He was the best example of a Hufflepuff and had made it clear to her on numerous occasions that he loved her too much to do anything to hurt her. Her father and Margie certainly suspected what happened. Katie knew the bare minimum, but none of the details.

"Can I tell you something, Igor? Something I've never told anyone?"

"Of course you can."

His tone held a definitive note of sincerity that she could not miss. She had learned the difference when he was joking around and when he was completely serious.

"On New Year's just after midnight I went home to the pub to wait for Antonin. Are you familiar with the tradition of the First Footer?"

Igor nodded his head in the affirmative. His right arm was still around her slim back and his large hand was just resting on the small of her back in a sweet gesture of comfort. He moved his left hand to the arm that she had flung across his chest. As he rubbed her arm, she felt the nervousness and anxiety begin to slowly fall away. She appreciated the gesture more than she was sure he was even aware of.

"There was a knock at the door. He was running a little late. I went to the door, opened it and…"

Hermione paused to take a deep breath. Though she wanted to share the details of that night, she needed a moment to compose herself.

"And what, Charodeyka?"

"It wasn't Antonin. This _person_ laughed and pushed his way inside. Told me that he'd stunned Antonin in the back. No one would be coming for me."

She could actually hear Igor's heartbeat increase as the beginning of her story continued. The moment she relayed what Greyback said to her she could feel Igor's entire body tense. She was afraid to look at his face. Afraid to see what angry expression he was bound to have. Hermione took another deep breath. She closed her eyes and breathed in Igor's scent in an effort to calm and ground her before continuing. He did not push her to continue or interrupt.

"I tried to fight back, Igor. I swear I did."

She could not stop the deluge of tears that erupted. Hermione was too upset to even feel a tiny bit of shame at sobbing in front of the man. Igor wrapped both of his strong arms around her shaking body and held her tightly to his chest. She clung to him, grateful yet again for his unwavering support. He began to speak soft words to her as she drenched his nightshirt. She could not fully understand what he was even saying to her. The language did not even matter.

"I'm just too weak, Igor," she cried. "I couldn't fight him off and then I was scared. Maybe if I'd tried harder, maybe if I'd struggled more, but I was just too fucking weak."

Igor carefully pushed her away from his chest just far enough that she could see his face. When she couldn't lift her eyes out of fear of what she would see on his face, he gently forced her head up. His dark blue eyes were full of sheer rage and unshed tears. If she did not know the wizard, she would have been very frightened of him in that moment.

"There is not a single part of my charodeyka that is weak. Not even her tiniest of toes. Would this man have killed you if you fought harder?"

Hermione nodded, unable to trust her voice. Tears continued to stream down her face.

"Then I am selfishly glad you did not, Hermione. You endured what was necessary to survive. That does _not_ make you weak. Never say that again."

She was startled by the sudden flickering of both lamps on the end tables next to the bed. The overhead light began to flash on and off. When the glass in the windows began to rattle, she turned to Igor for some kind of explanation. His eyes were closed and he was trying to still his rapid breathing. Hermione realized that the lights and the shaking windows were due to his accidental magical outburst. Moments of intense emotion could make even seasoned witches and wizards lose control of their magic temporarily. Igor was very upset, but was trying very hard to control his magic on her behalf.

Knowing that Igor was feeling so strongly about something that had happened to her warmed Hermione's heart. His anger and fury was because _she_ was hurt. It was a heady feeling knowing he cared that much. She felt comforted by that fact. Slowly they both began to calm back down. She laid her head back down on his chest. It was her turn to provide him with what comfort she could. She ran her hand lightly across his torso. Several minutes passed before either of them spoke again.

"Did you know this man?" he asked.

Hermione simply nodded, unable to trust her voice again.

"But you aren't going to tell me his name, are you?"

She shook her head 'no'. Displeased with her response, Igor sighed. Hermione knew without a shadow of a doubt that he would storm out of his flat that moment to track down Greyback if he learned he was her attacker. It would not end well. Keeping silent would keep him safe and keep Rodolphus safe. Maybe it wasn't rational and maybe she would come to regret her decision.

Hermione was humiliated enough that he knew something happened to her in the first place. She was certain that she could not handle the shame if he knew it was Greyback. Besides, he'd already warned her to stay away from the werewolf. She was afraid that he would be angry with her for not heeding his advice.

Accepting the fact for the moment that he would get no further answers, Igor sighed. He kissed the top of her held and simply held her close without speaking. She could feel his frustration, but she was not going to tell him no matter how upset he got. It was her worst secret.

"Will you please not tell Roddy? He would… he doesn't need that right now."

Igor sighed again but nodded his head in agreement.

"Let's try to get some more sleep. Neither one of us had nearly enough."

Hermione started to move away from Igor to return to her side of the bed. Before she got very far, he reached out for her. He spooned up behind her and enveloped her back in his arms. She settled into his embrace. It felt good to have someone lend her their strength. They eventually were able to fall back asleep. She had no more nightmares that night.

* * *

 **8:05 am**

Sunlight streaming through the windows in Igor's bedroom was what finally woke them both up hours after their emotionally fraught middle of the night discussion. Monday mornings were usually quiet mornings for both of them. Hermione almost always stayed at home in Hogsmeade all day tidying up the pub following what were usually busy weekends. Igor set his own hours at the apothecary. As long as he kept the stock full and order complete, he was free to come and go as he pleased.

Waking up in his arms for only the second time was an experience Hermione was surprised to find she liked. There might not be anything romantic going on between the pair, but sometimes it just felt wonderful to be cared about. Thoughts of how they woke up together the morning in the Leaky Cauldron rushed to the forefront of Hermione's mind. Igor had been quite creative in his efforts to ensure he wished her a proper good morning. Though she imagined early morning sex was the absolute last thing on Igor's mind following her confession hours earlier, she did not want to make matters any more uncomfortable than they already were. Careful not to jostle the bed too much, she slipped out from under the covers.

She dressed back into her discarded clothes from the night before. A few charms made them look at least somewhat presentable. By the time she emerged from his washroom, Igor was seated on the edge of his bed rubbing his eyes. He was certainly not a morning person. It took several large yawns before he was able to stand up.

A tapping at the bedroom window startled them both. Igor rushed to relieve the owl of its delivery. In his haste to read the message, he ignored the owl. Hermione recognized it as Rabastan's just as the offended creature clipped Igor in the head with her wing. Dissatisfied with her reception, the noble bird flew out the open window in the same graceful, haughty manner she usually did. Rabastan was seemingly the only person she held any true affection for.

"Rabastan's found him," Igor announced, relief clear in his tone. "He's at your grandfather's hunting cabin just as he suspected. He needs some help bringing down the wards. Rod cast them pretty thick to keep him out."

"Did he ask Regnault for help?" she asked. Her uncle was not only a powerful wizard in his own right, but as the Head of the Lestrange Family he could tear down wards on any of their properties easily.

"No. Rabastan doesn't want their father to know."

Hermione could not argue with that logic. Regnault would be far from pleased to know what his eldest was up to. He came from a time and a society when a person's emotions were never taken into account when choosing their spouses. No doubt her uncle would be less than sympathetic. His opinion on Rodolphus' reluctance to marry Bellatrix Black was well-known. It was a topic he enjoyed almost as much as badgering Hermione about her romantic prospects. Regnault would be inclined to hex his son for behaving in a manner that was unbecoming of the Heir of their Noble House. Hermione rolled her eyes just imagining the monologue.

Igor dressed quickly. Only minutes after receiving Rabastan's notes they were exiting the flat. Hermione trusted her companion to get her to the location. He had been there before several times when the friends were looking for a quiet place to escape for a few hours. With her hand firmly in his, Igor Disapparated them away from London to woods Hermione did not recognize.

She bit down a snort when she laid eyes on her fake late grandfather's humble hunting cabin. Only a Lestrange would consider the monstrous wooden structure tucked in amongst heavy trees a "cabin". If the lodge had fewer than eight bedrooms, she would eat Rabastan's cantankerous owl.

Her younger cousin was pacing outside of the front looking more disheveled than she had ever seen him before. Unshaven and exhausted, Rabastan's shoulders visibly relaxed when he saw the new arrivals. Only a few strides of his long legs were needed to bring him straight to Hermione. He threw his arms around her to hug her tightly. Though he usually kissed her cheek in greetings and farewells, Rabastan reserved full embraces for only the most emotional moments. He was very unlike his usual arrogant, confident self. Hermione provided what comfort she could.

"He's never blocked me out before. I'm really worried, 'Mione," he whispered in a thick, heavy tone that she'd never heard him use.

More than once since she found herself thrust into the Lestrange family quite against her will, Hermione found the relationships between the two brothers to be odd. She did not have a brother herself to compare to, of course, but Rodolphus and Rabastan never seemed to fit together well. Rabastan was without a doubt the younger version of their father Regnault. Rodolphus seemed to be all on his own. Hermione always assumed that shad she ever been able to know Elanor Lestrange née Rosier that she would have discovered a person she adored every bit as much as her eldest son. It was a pity that the lovely members of their society seemed to die well before their time while the hate-filled, dangerous ones lived long after they ceased to be useful.

Hermione had always been under the impression that Rabastan hated his older brother. Surely it would have made everyone in their dwindling family happier if Rabastan had been born first. Seeing the concern he had for his brother's safety and well-being warmed Hermione's heart. Perhaps Rabastan wasn't completely unredeemable as she feared.

The three of them were able to combine their strength to bring Rodolphus' wards down fairly easily. Hermione clung to the shred of a hope that maybe he hadn't been trying _that_ hard to keep everybody out. She knew that Rabastan and Igor had been very worried that he might try to do something to himself that could not be easily healed. Truthfully, she never even once entertained the possibility that her Roddy might turn the might of his own wand against himself. Of course she was forgetting that she had the gift, or curse depending on the situation and how one viewed it, of the ability to know the future. Rodolphus would be found this day safe. He had many miserable years locked up in Azkaban to look forward to.

Igor rushed to the unwarded front door the first chance he got. Before he was able to enter, Hermione stopped him with a gentle hand on his arm.

"It's my fault. I wasn't very kind to him yesterday."

"You didn't say anything to him that wasn't the truth, Charodeyka."

She was not willing to argue with him any longer about her choice of words. Despite being perfectly honest with her cousin, Hermione could have conveyed the same message without being so harsh. Rodolphus _knew_ he'd missed his opportunity for a life with Andromeda without Hermione bluntly telling him so. Truthfully there were times she wished she had better control of the words that were always falling out of her mouth.

Igor stepped aside to allow her to enter the grand hunting lodge first. Something about the place unnerved her. She couldn't explain what it was, only that she was anxious to leave the moment she entered. Determined not to let the lingering melancholy in the aura of the house distract her from her mission, Hermione marched in a with a purpose.

The massive wooden door to the ground floor lounge was open. Streams of light escaped through the crack. Hermione took a deep breath before entering the room. Only a single step was needed to see Rodolphus seated inside. A blazing fire was roaring in the enormous fireplace designed no doubt to roast whole elk within. He did not look up when her shoes began making a loud click-clack across the stone floor. In his hand he held an almost empty bottle of fire whiskey. She could smell the spirit long before she arrived at his side.

"I take it the baby was born."

Hermione crossed the last several feet of the room to the sofa he was seated on. Even as she sat next to him on the leather, he did not look up from the fire. Simply brought the bottle back to his lips and took a long pull. She clasped her hands in her lap to resist the urge to reach across the hurting man to snatch the bottle away.

"Yes. Little Nymphadora was born late last night. She and Andromeda are both doing well."

"And the wizard?"

She cleared her throat in an attempt to stall time. Rodolphus rarely mentioned Ted when their conversations moved back toward the witch he was grieving for. Knowing that speaking the truth or staying silent would still hurt her cousin, she spoke.

"Ted is excited and already very much in love with their daughter."

Rodolphus took another drink from the almost empty bottle but did not speak for a long time. Hermione was at a loss. She wanted to fix what was wrong. The only problem was she did not know how. Her heart was breaking for Rodolphus and she could feel icy tendrils of fear course through her veins. Was this what finally pushed him towards Lord Voldemort?

"I'm sorry for what I said to you yesterday, Roddy. It was unkind."

"You weren't wrong though, were you? I missed my chance. Andy isn't mine. If I'd been braver two summers ago… If I'd not been afraid to defy my father, that could be _my_ family. Yes, our families probably wouldn't have been happy that we ignored our agreements, but they would've gotten over it. Andy would be my wife and she wouldn't have lost her family all because I was a bloody coward afraid of my own fucking father!"

He swallowed the rest of the liquid in the bottle in one gulp. When it was empty, he hurled the bottle at the stone fireplace. Hermione jumped at the loud crash and gasped. The sounds of the shattered glass were still echoing through the room when the door was pushed open and both Igor and Rabastan rushed in with anxious expressions on their faces. Rodolphus spun around to see his brother and best friend standing there with their wands in their hands unsure what to do next. His loud, almost manic laughter filled the silence.

His laughter quickly disintegrated into wounded cries. Hermione didn't waste a moment pulling his hands away from his face. She threw her arms around him desperate to calm him down. If it had been anyone else that she had known in the world who was so upset about a lost love, she might have been tempted to slap him and tell him to just 'get over it'! Knowing that he had nothing in his life to look forward to except for a lifetime with Bellatrix Black, her sympathy for the man only increased. He threw away his chance to be truly happy with the woman he loved with both hands because he was afraid. She had loved deeply in her life and been hurt as well, but she knew that happiness would find her in the future. Eventually, she would discover the kind of love that would make a man put everything on the line to have her return to him. Roddy didn't have that waiting for him.

"We don't know what the future holds, Roddy," she lied. "You will find happiness."

She despised herself in that moment for lying to the man that was already so hurt. All he had ahead of him was pain and suffering.

"Don't be foolish, cousin. There's no happiness in store for me with Bellatrix. Even a blind man can see that."

Hermione could not argue any longer. Rodolphus pushed back from the circle of her arms and laughed a bitter laugh that chilled her to the bone.

"I suppose I can wait around for Andy to become free. Wizards only live to be one hundred and fifty at the most. Maybe I'll get lucky and Tonks will die before I do."

Her stomach began to churn at his angry words spoken in jest. Yes, Ted _was_ going to die before Rodolphus. Not that it would matter much. Her cousin was going to spend the rest of his life in Azkaban. When she got back, _if_ she got back, it would be a cruel twist of fate. Both Rodolphus and Andromeda would be widowed, but it wouldn't matter. They still would not be together unless Hermione could find some way to prove Rodolphus was innocent. It was a task that seemed impossible.

* * *

August 8, 1998

 **3:08 am**

He could feel the bed dip down slightly behind him. Slim, familiar arms wrapped around his back, cradling his much larger frame in her smaller. Kingsley felt the corners of his mouth twitch into a satisfied grin at the embrace. It had been so long. So fucking long since he felt her touch.

"I've missed this," he declared, almost frightened to break the silence.

"'Missed this'? I haven't been gone that long," she teased. Her arms tightened around his chest and her lips brushed the pulse point of his neck. Just where he liked to be kissed.

"You've been gone a lifetime, Little Witch."

Her melodic giggle made his heart swell. They used to spend hours in bed together wrapped in each other's limbs just talking and laughing. The sex had been amazing, of course, but that was never what he enjoyed most about their relationship. Their ability to just _be_ in each other's presence was his favorite. He never had to worry about trying to be someone he wasn't. Though he knew she had been keeping a major secret, possibly several, from him, he knew that she felt the same.

"A 'lifetime'? How cruel of me."

With each playful word that dripped from her mouth, she punctuated them with a soft kiss to his neck. He allowed his witch her little game. Her mouth travelled up and down his neck, the pressure from her lips increasing slightly each time. When her tongue flitted out to touch his skin, he couldn't take it anymore.

Kingsley rolled them both over in one swift, practiced movement. He hovered over her shocked and then smirking face for several moments. Staring into her whiskey colored eyes he knew he would never grow tired of seeing her lying beneath him. She was so beautiful with her wild, untamable curls and those lips he could never feel enough of. How had he survived so long without his Hermione in his bed?

"I'm going to make you pay for that," he promised.

"Good."

His eyes focused on her grin. He would enjoy every moment of her 'punishment'. When their lips finally met again for the first time in too many years to count, Kingsley groaned softly into her mouth. He was in no hurry to further or deepen the kiss. They had all the time in the world. He would never let her out of his sight if he could help it. He wanted to simply relearn the feel of her mouth.

Her lips opening slightly in a sigh was all of the encouragement he needed. Dipping his tongue inside to languidly explore the once familiar mouth felt deceptively like Heaven. Hermione's small hands brushed up his bare chest to rest on his back. Kingsley settled his heavy body over hers, carefully placing most of his weight on his arms to prevent crushing the petite woman.

A nudging against his head quickly became distracting. The more invested he got in reacquainting himself with the woman of his dreams, the more insistent the nudging became. He swatted at whatever it was with his hand, but it didn't stop. Growling and frustrated that something, _anything_ , would have the audacity to ruin such a moment, he sat up abruptly.

His bedroom was completely dark except for the shimmer of a wolf patronus hanging in the air. Kingsley stared down at the bed where only moments before he had a warm, gorgeous witch sighing his name to find it empty. Just another fucking dream. He punched at the empty mattress. Several punches followed the initial one as the patronus waited patiently. When his full attention was on the wolf patronus that he recognized as belonging to Auror Iain Proudfoot, the familiar voice echoed through the silent room.

" _Sorry to wake you, Kings, but your nephew's been arrested. Thought you'd want to know."_


	38. Chapter 38

_Author's Note: I have added a new additional scene tonight. Sorry that there was such a delay. Life, you know? But this scene is dedicated to_ _ **Gaerven**_ _for being the 1000_ _th_ _reviewer. Thank you! Don't forget you can always send me requests for additional scenes you'd like to see through a review, PM or even through Tumblr._

 _This one was kind of hard to write. Healing is never easy, is it?_

* * *

Chapter Thirty-Eight

June 7, 1973

 **11:53 am**

A light rain shower seemed to pop up out of the sky above Hermione's head the moment her feet touched down in Diagon Alley. It was the appropriate weather for her mood that morning. Thursday luncheon with Uncle Regnault was an appointment she was never able to cancel or avoid. Perhaps if there was something life-threatening she might be allowed to stay home. Even then he would still send her a strongly worded owl that would make her feel guilty and eager not to disappoint him in the future. How had so much changed between them that she actually cared what the haughty Pureblood wizard thought of her?

Regnault was reaching for the door to their usual restaurant at the moment she arrived. Her uncle greeted her with a half-smile that was as warm as any other expression was likely to be and a kiss to her cheek. They were led through the restaurant to their usual table to begin the meal that was almost an exact copy of the one the Thursday before and a dozen other Thursdays before that.

They each ordered from the menu and waited patiently for their glasses of wine to be filled before beginning any sort of conversation. Hermione thought it strange that she intimidated her uncle every bit as much as he intimidated her. Perhaps he was not used to strong women asserting their opinions. Aberforth told her that it was remarkable how much like Roesia Lestrange she resembled even though they were completely unrelated strangers. More than once her adoptive father made it clear that she was more like his former love than not.

"How is everything in the shop?" Regnault asked over salads. Though he continued to pretend like he was unaware that his eldest owned a pet store for Rodolphus' sake, he never forgot to inquire after it when he was with Hermione. Secretly she thought that he was fascinated and rather proud of his son. "Last week you said there was an issue with the kneazle kittens. Was that resolved?"

"Oh, yes, it was. Roddy is amazing with the animals. Well, except for the owls. It's honestly a miracle he hasn't lost an eye or a finger yet."

Regnault chuckled softly into his napkin. He was of the similar opinion and shared it once with his niece. His eldest had always been frightened of even their most docile of post owls. Rodolphus had been spending a great deal of his time since the morning after Nymphadora Tonks was born at the shop. Hermione wasn't sure what happened after she left a short time after arriving. Rabastan and Igor had both thought it best that she leave him alone in Igor's capable hands once their discussion over his lost love hit a certain point. She had initially been insulted when Rabastan offered to take her home. As time had gone on, however, she realized that they had a point. Whatever Igor was able to say to the grieving man had worked wonders.

Over their main course Regnault seemed to fidget just a slight bit. Hermione thought the action strange. Her uncle was usually a self-possessed man who rarely seemed unnerved. Well, unless she was refusing arranged marriages and standing alone in her bedroom with a young wizard she wasn't married to, of course. He cleared his throat a couple of times before speaking. Clearly it was a topic he was not looking forward to discussing.

"I will be throwing a rather large social engagement later this summer," he announced.

Hermione thought his declaration was rather anti-climactic. He had "social engagements" on a regular basis. It was an almost constant complaint of Roddy's and something that Rabastan enjoyed whole-heartedly. Thankfully as just a secondary member of the family she was able to avoid most of the stuffy, boring dinner parties. Why her uncle was trying to make this into a large, uncomfortable announcement was beyond her.

"It will be a combination 'Welcome Home' and official engagement party."

"'Engagement party'?"

"Yes, your cousin has finally agreed to set a date for his nuptials. It's only taken five years," muttered Regnault.

Her stomach dropped. Yes, she knew that they were all living on borrowed time. Rodolphus would marry Bellatrix at some point whether she liked it or not, but realizing that the day was coming sooner rather than later made her a bit ill. Foolishly she hoped that Roddy would take longer before binding his future with the horrid Black girl. Bellatrix and the rest of the travelers were scheduled to return the next month barring any unforeseen events. Hermione was more than a little worried what would happen. The war had clearly begun if one knew where to look. Most of the tragic events had been taking place behind the scenes out of the view of all but the most observant. She knew that once Voldemort returned to the country to begin further recruiting for his cause that it would begin in earnest.

"Rodolphus and I met with Miss Black's parents earlier this week. They will be married next June on the manor grounds. Traditionally the bride's parents would host the wedding, but since Rodolphus is the Heir and our home is much larger, we will."

"What does Roddy think about all of this?"

"He has always known what was expected of him. He has been betrothed to Miss Black for most of his life. This may come as a surprise to you, Hermione, but I am not an unobservant man. I'm well aware of the feelings that Rodolphus believes he has for Cygnus' middle daughter. If he had come to me about them earlier before she was disowned, I may have been able to convince Cygnus to change daughters. All he really cares about is that _one_ of his girls becomes a Lestrange. He's never been particular which one."

Hermione stared at her uncle with wide, unblinking eyes. She was torn between affection for him because he would have been willing to alter the marriage agreement and anger that he had never thought to do it on his own initiative. So much unhappiness could have been avoided if he had simply approached Cygnus Black with a proposal to have Rodolphus marry Andromeda instead. Bellatrix would not have minded in the slightest.

"Of course it seems like I made the right decision in remaining silent on the subject. If the girl was willing to throw away everything all for a filthy Mudblood of no consequence, she clearly doesn't deserve to belong in any proper Pureblood family."

She clenched her hands into fists underneath the table. Arguing with her uncle over their lunch would serve no purpose other than to annoy them both. Ted and Andromeda were two of her very best friends. Her uncle was aware of that fact. He knew that she continued to maintain a relationship with the disgraced Andromeda. Hermione took a few deep breaths before she said anything.

"My feelings on arranged marriages have not changed, Uncle. They are barbaric in my opinion."

"Yes, my dear, I am _well_ aware of your opinion. It changes nothing. Rodolphus will marry Miss Black next year. There will be an engagement party where the official betrothal bond spells will be performed. You will be there acting as the female representative of our House to cast the required spells."

Hermione's confusion must have shown on her face. She had no idea what her uncle was talking about. Realizing her ignorance, Regnault sighed softly and rolled his eyes.

"What do you know about betrothal bonds?" he asked.

"Nothing." She hated to admit that there existed a subject she didn't know everything about.

"Oh, Si-si, of course you wouldn't educate your daughter properly," mumbled Regnault with a louder, more defeated sigh. "I will send a book over to you this evening. I know how much you value the written word. You will receive all the details then, but for now, I will tell you the basics. Every time a Pureblood marriage is arranged and agreed upon there is a betrothal bonding ceremony. It happens exactly one year and one day before the actual marriage is set to take place."

"Like a hand-fasting?"

Regnault's facial expression lightened considerably at her inquiry. With a small satisfied nod to his niece that wasn't completely hopeless, he continued.

"Yes, very similar in many ways. The couple agrees to be bound together for this time period. It's not as serious as the actual marriage, of course. Historically, this was an opportunity for an ill-suited couple to discover that they were not going to work. They continued for the betrothal period and then at the end of the time period they went their separate ways. Now the betrothal bonds are mostly symbolic. Rodolphus and Miss Black will not live together during their engagement period like it was done in the past."

"So what's the point?"

"We do not shirk our traditions just because they no longer seem to fit our lives, Hermione."

His tone was quickly becoming harsh. Hermione recognized the signs. If she continued to push her uncle, they could have one of their infamous rows right there in front of the other diners. Contrary to his belief, no doubt, she didn't actually _enjoy_ arguing with him either. He once expressed the same sentiment to her over lunch. Knowing that she was pushing him too far, she attempted to relax before responding.

"You said that _I_ have to perform the bonding spells?"

"Yes, your assistance will be required. Ordinarily it would be done by the Head of the House and his lady, but as your Aunt Elanor is no longer alive and you are quite literally the _only_ female in our family, it will have to be you. It is a way for our family to welcome the witch into our family."

"Sounds fascinating."

She wasn't even lying. Customs and traditions had always interested her from a purely intellectual point of view. Hermione had no intention of following through on many of the same traditions in her own life.

"I think you will find that this next year will go by quite quickly with all of the excitement."

The rest of their meal passed by with discussion about the party. Much like her debut years earlier, it was shaping up to be the largest social event of the entire summer. Her uncle never did anything by halves. When she heard that Lord Voldemort would be there as an honored guest, she had to resist the urge to run out of the restaurant. She knew that she would be likely to cross his path again in the past, but hearing it confirmed made her palms sweaty and her heartrate increase.

By the time she kissed her uncle's cheek in farewell outside of the restaurant, Hermione was feeling overwhelmed. He hadn't been kidding when he said there would be a number of events involved over the next year. Regnault gave a rundown of all of the traditional parties and ceremonies associated. It was enough to ensure that whenever she decided to get married in the future, she would do so by running away to the registrar's office or just forgo the ceremony completely. Pureblood wedding traditions were ridiculous and tedious in her opinion.

She had nowhere else to be for the rest of the day. No one was expecting her at either the store or back in Hogsmeade at the pub. The rain had not let up during her prolonged meal with Regnault, but she didn't care. Hermione ignored the downpour to stroll down the almost empty Alley. Everyone else, it seemed, had more sense than she did to come in out of the rain. The walk was exactly what she needed to clear her head. She felt reasonably calm when she arrived at the front steps of Gringotts. It had not even been her intention to walk towards the bank. Afraid that she would run into Antonin, she avoided the place as much as humanly possible.

Antonin had not even tried to contact her since the day they ended their relationship. Hermione assumed that at least part of him was embarrassed by how petty he was in the end. If Andromeda could be believed, he was still curious about her wellbeing. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes at the thought. Surely if he cared about her in the slightest he would not have been such an arse. Wanting to put as much distance as possible between herself and the bank, Hermione turned away from the marble monstrosity to continue down the Alley.

Her mind had been on less positive subjects when a door to one of the shops opened abruptly as she passed. A smirking Igor stepped out into the rain. She stopped walking when she saw him. He reached for her arm to carefully pull her inside the warm, dry apothecary.

"I saw you through the window when I was bringing up some potions from the back," Igor explained with a laugh. "What are you doing walking outside in this kind of weather?"

Hermione shrugged her shoulders.

"Needed to clear my head."

"Did it help?"

"No," she laughed.

The elderly wizard at the front counter glared in her direction. Hermione had been inside the apothecary a couple of times before since Igor earned his Mastery, but the shopkeeper had never been particularly friendly. Igor wrapped his arm around her shoulder and led her to the back of the store.

"Ignore him," Igor said loud enough for the man to hear. "He's only jealous that he doesn't have a young, desirable witch here to visit him."

She rolled her eyes which in turn only made him laugh. Igor's private potions laboratory was filled with numerous familiar scents. Hermione took a deep breath to savor the smells. Half-convinced he had a cauldron of calming potion gurgling away in the corner, she could feel all of her leftover anxiety from lunch melt away. Igor dropped his arm from her shoulders to check on one of his copper cauldrons. The large room was filled with many tables covered in dozens of cauldrons of varying sizes and materials. How anyone could keep so many different potions straight in their heads was a mystery to Hermione. Igor had to possess a well-ordered mind to even remember everything he was working on. She supposed that one didn't earn a Potions Mastery without picking up a few skills.

"What's in that one?" she asked, carefully looking around him at the bubbling turquoise potion.

"Nothing terribly exciting, I'm afraid," he answered with a laugh. "Order from St. Mungo's for a disinfectant."

"Oh. Well, it's a pretty shade."

She pulled out the chair at the desk covered in parchment. Though his mind might have been well-organized, his desk was far from it. Hermione resisted the urge to start piling the discarded paper into neat stacks.

"You have quite a few going. I hope I'm not interrupting anything."

"You are _never_ an unwelcome interruption, Hermione," he replied with a wink. "Most of these are under stasis charms or are just waiting to cool off."

Igor returned his full attention to the turquoise disinfectant. Not wishing to disturb his concentration, Hermione sat as still as possible in the chair to watch him. Brewing potions was something of an art. Not everyone was capable of making it look as easy as Igor did. She remembered the times she was privileged enough to witness Professor Snape brew. Though she could certainly follow instructions better than anybody, Hermione lacked something of the intuition every Master needed. Her talents were in other disciplines. She wasn't sure how much time passed with neither of them speaking.

"See something you like?" Igor asked, smirking over his shoulder. "You've been staring at my arse for a long time, Charodeyka."

Hermione rolled her eyes yet again.

"I wasn't staring at your arse, you idiot. I was watching you brew. It's impressive."

"That's not all I have that's impressive."

His waggling eyebrows made her snort out a laugh.

"You're incorrigible."

"You're not arguing with me, so I'll take that to mean you are just as impressed with some of my _other_ talents."

She knew that it was unlikely that she would ever spend any amount of time alone in a room with Igor without him making crude remarks to try to get some kind of reaction out of her.

"If your head grows any larger, Igor, you won't have enough room in here for your cauldrons."

They were interrupted by the elderly wizard from the front. He had some questions for Igor. Annoyed that he was being disturbed, Igor sighed and told the man he would be up front shortly.

"Do you mind stirring this while I deal with whatever ridiculous crisis Felix has imagined up front?"

Hermione laughed as she rose from the chair. Igor handed her a glass stirring rod.

"If you'll give it three counter-clockwise stirs and then four clockwise stirs. Hopefully this won't last long."

She began stirring the disinfectant under his watchful eye. Satisfied that his difficult potion was being properly handled, Igor left her alone. He seemed to be gone for a long time. Whatever was happening up front must have been important. Or she had a terrible sense of time.

 _Three counter-clockwise stirs. Four clockwise stirs._ Hermione repeated the mantra to herself as she counted out the stirs. It had been so long since she was behind a cauldron brewing. Somehow she did not expect that she would have missed it in all that time. Other than potions class her final year of Hogwarts, there had been no other times she needed to brew in the past. There was a sense of power inhaling the fumes from the copper cauldron that she almost feared she would begin to float off in the heady air.

Large hands grasped her hips. The initial gesture caught her enough off guard that she yelped and almost dropped the stirring rod. Igor pressed the length of his much broader body behind hers. The hammering in her heart and the gentle hands rubbing circles up and down her sides made her completely lose count. It didn't seem to matter. The Potions Master removed a hand from her body long enough to pull the stirring rod out of her trembling hand. He set it carefully next to the bubbling cauldron.

"That's enough stirring, Chardodeyka," he purred into her ear. "It needs to simmer for twelve hours before I add the next ingredient."

"Twelve hours?" she asked, horrified that her voice came out as more a squeak than her normal tone.

"Yes. _Twelve_ hours. So much time. What should we do until then?"

She recognized the cheeky voice he was using. A smirk crossed her lips. It had been a long time since they had been alone long enough for him to use it. Igor's hand returned to her body, but instead of lightly resting on her hip like the other one, he brought his hand to her flat stomach. One careful pull of his hand and she could feel him cover every inch of the back of her body. If his tone had not been a good enough indication of how he wanted to spend at least _some_ of the next several hours, then she could feel the physical evidence pressed into her back. It was always a powerful feeling to know when she was capable of making a man desire her.

Igor pressed his lips to the outside of her ear. Every breath he exhaled onto her flustered skin caused more and more goosebumps to prickle over her body. Did he understand the effect that he had on her? Was that why he was so quick to torture her with that knowledge? He slowly, deliberately traced the sensitive appendage with his sinful tongue. By the time his lips made it down to nibble on her ear, Hermione could hardly think straight. The moment his mouth travelled down her neck and his tongue swiped at her collarbone, she groaned. Igor's soft chuckle seemed to travel in an electric current straight to her core. She wanted him.

But she was afraid. With the exception of the one night when Antonin tried to kiss her at his flat and she had to lock herself in his bathroom, she had not been touched since that horrible night she was trying to forget. Though over six months had passed, she still felt at times like it had just happened the night before. And then other times it felt like it was a moment in someone's else life that she had never experienced. Hermione struggled with the disturbing thoughts back and forth constantly.

The wizard's hands no longer were satisfied to remain in one place. His left found the bottom of her jumper. Slipping in slowly without waiting for permission, Hermione gasped when his hand went straight for her breast. He didn't seek to get under the lacy garment, but there really was no need. The simple act of his thumb tenderly brushing across her rapidly hardening nipple was enough to make her sigh. Emboldened by her response, Igor increased his kisses to her neck and found the waistband of her skirt with his free hand.

He hadn't even moved into her knickers before Hermione's heart clenched with terror. Her heartrate increased and her breathing become more labored. Igor continued the slow descent of his hand until he felt her body tense. He had not become as skilled as he was in certain areas without paying attention to his partner's signals.

"Is this all right, Hermione?" he asked in a concerned whisper.

She barely managed to nod her head in the affirmative before he removed both of his hands from underneath her clothing. Clearly he did not believe her when she said she was all right. Hermione could feel tears forming in her eyes. Would she always feel this way every time a man tried to get intimate with her? She had no reason to believe that Igor would ever harm her, but yet the moment his touch grew bolder, the more frightened she became. There seemed to be no hope for the future.

"You know I would never make you do anything you were not comfortable doing, right?"

There was a note of desperation in his voice that just begged her to believe his words. While she appreciated his candor, Hermione wished there was no need for him to say anything at all. Igor carefully rotated her in place until they were face to face. She struggled for a moment to gather enough courage to look him in the eye. One look in his deep blue eyes and she could see the sincerity in them that she already expected. Igor might not develop into the best of men following his eventual following of Lord Voldemort and his marking of his left arm, but there was still good in him. If she had learned nothing else living in the past, Hermione knew that nothing was as simple as black or white. They were all living within their own individual shades of grey.

"I know, Igor."

"Then tell me when something is not all right. Don't lie to me."

She nodded her head again except that time she actually meant it. Igor leaned down to kiss her forehead. His sigh went straight to Hermione's stomach like an arrow of guilt. Part of her worried that her fear and the lingering memories of what it had been like to have Greyback violate her would haunt her the rest of her life. For the briefest of moments, she thought she might have been ready to move on.

"Let's go back to my flat," he suggested. "I can make you some tea."

Igor grasped her hand to lead her to the large fireplace in the corner. His flat had a constant floo connection to the apothecary. He had to be there at odd hours to add ingredients, stir or simply check on the progress of the potions he brewed. A pinch of powder turned the flames green. Igor lightly patted her arse to get in the fireplace first. Their renewed friendship meant that she had been over to his flat many times since the night she slept over for dinner or tea or long talks. Rodolphus had even joined them a few times. He'd adjusted his floo to allow her to enter his flat any time she wanted. Hermione called out his address and instantly felt the pull of the magic.

She stepped out onto the rug in front of his fireplace only moments before the tall Russian exited behind her. Igor's eyes held worry, but his bright smile was almost successful in distracting her from that fact. Hermione followed him into the spacious kitchen where he pulled out a kettle to begin the process of making tea. Their afternoon of flirty banter seemed to have taken a turn for the worse. All she wanted when she allowed him to pull her into his potions laboratory after her lunch with her uncle was someone to just be herself around.

She'd wondered why Igor seemed so different to everyone else several times when sleep eluded her. After careful consideration, she decided that the reason why she felt so comfortable around the man was not only because she never felt the need to perform, but also because she really did not have to worry about his opinion of her in the future. If she stopped to dwell on the fact that when, _if_ , she returned to future he would be dead, she felt sadness. The Igor she knew would be gone long before his physical body ceased to exist. Her only consolation was the fact that Igor was murdered on Voldemort's orders during the time that Antonin was locked up in Azkaban following the debacle at the Department of Mysteries. At least she did not have to worry that her ex-boyfriend was the wizard who finally killed him.

"Do you think I'll ever be able to…"

As soon as the words came out of her mouth, Hermione wished she could pull them back in. Igor turned his full attention to his guest with a concerned expression on his features. He removed the kettle from the heat and crossed the kitchen to where she stood. Hermione dropped her gaze to the tiled floor only moments before he stepped into her line of vision. Her eyes began to fill with tears that she did not want him to see.

"What are you trying to ask me?"

His voice was so soft and so full of worry that her mind immediately went back to the night he woke her up from a nightmare. If she had already been brave enough to share her biggest secret with him, she shouldn't be afraid to be honest with him about her fears.

"Do you think I'll ever be able to be with a man without thinking about _him_?"

Igor exhaled a deep breath he had been holding. When he did not immediately respond, Hermione felt like running out the front door. Her host stepped closer to her to place both of his hands on the outside of her upper arms. Determined to be brave again, she ignored the tears rolling down her cheeks to meet his worried eyes.

"I can't even pretend to understand what it must be like for you after that, but I don't think you have to consign yourself to a _tragic_ , sexless existence."

The emphasis he placed on the word 'tragic' made her chuckle. A pleased grin on his face also made her smile. She felt a lessening in the knots twisted in her stomach the more she was honest.

"Antonin tried to kiss me and I panicked. I had to hide in his bathroom. I couldn't breathe."

Igor pulled her into his chest. She rested her cheek against him in a very similar embrace to the night she was plagued with nightmares. He wrapped his arms around her back and just held her for a few quiet minutes.

"Did Dolohov know something happened to you?"

She shook her head, afraid to speak. Igor sighed.

"I don't like the boy, but how could he know he was upsetting you if you didn't tell him?"

Hermione did not know what to say, so she remained silent.

"Maybe you need a positive experience with someone you trust to prove to you that you aren't broken."

Her eyes shot up at his words. That had been her greatest worry. That she was somehow broken. Igor's sage statement proved that she was right in trusting him with the knowledge of what she experienced. When their eyes met she felt the rest of the knots in her stomach loosen. All that remained was a pleasant ache in her belly.

"You will be in control," Igor continued. "If at any moment you feel scared or uncomfortable, we stop. Just talk to me. I'll prove to you that you're still my Charodeyka."

His lips pressed against hers hesitantly. It was the antithesis of their first kiss when he pressed her up against the hedge in her uncle's garden. That had been nothing but fierce, almost angry passion. He had been so jealous that night after her dance with Lord Voldemort. Standing in his kitchen with Hermione pressed lightly up against his kitchen table, he allowed her to set the pace. She willed her rapidly beating heart to still before she deepened the kiss. They stood in the kitchen simply reacquainting themselves with the other's mouths. Neither of them rushed the action or tried to push the other any further. The kiss was so unlike Fenrir's bruising attack on her mouth that she found herself pleased to learn that she was enjoying the affection. Perhaps there was hope for her after all.

"Would you like to move to the bedroom?"

Hermione still did not trust herself to speak. She settled for nodding her head. Igor took her hand to lead her towards the bedroom. Once inside all of her confidence seemed to have disappeared. Her palms felt sweaty for all of the wrong reasons. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest. Breathing was difficult. Her first instinct when Igor began to slowly pull her jumper over her head was to run away. Forcing herself to remain in place to prove she was strong enough not to allow one monster's actions color the rest of her life, she closed her eyes and tried to focus on the pleasant sensations of Igor's lips on her bare skin.

He seemed anxious to pick up right where he stopped inside his laboratory, but was respectful enough to slow his motions. Hermione allowed him to remove the rest of her clothing slowly. He stopped several times to ask her if she was okay, never wanting to rush her or make her uncomfortable. She returned the favor by undressing the wizard. Neither of them were in a hurry. As far as they were concerned, they had all of the time in the world.

Igor laid her on top of the plush comfortable bed to continue his careful and deliberate motions. So much of what he did was similar to their first night at The Leaky Cauldron that Hermione was almost able to close her eyes and pretend like they were back in the rickety bed two years earlier. His practiced hands and lips worked in tandem to bring pleasurable sensations to her body. Her mind was distracted. It was difficult to focus on much of anything with his face buried between her shaking thighs.

She had her first real jolt of fear the moment his languid licks with the flat of his tongue were sped up and a single finger inserted into her body to heighten the experience. Though he had been gentle, the initial intrusion startled her enough to make her tense up. Igor peppered the insides of her thighs with soft kisses between pleas for her to take deep breaths and open her eyes. He was patient, watching her face constantly for any hint that they needed to slow down or stop completely. Her first orgasm caught her completely by surprise. Relieved tears rolled down her cheeks as she laughed through the remaining tremors.

"I want you on top," Igor declared through heated kisses. "You'll be in control and I don't want to frighten you."

He laid down on the bed and stretched out his arms toward her. Once on her body again, his hands did not cease their tender caresses. Igor seemed determined to touch every square inch of her skin before they were finished. Hermione's nerves returned in full force as she hovered over the exceedingly patient man. She was trembling so hard that she was certain she was jostling the mattress. A surge of courage welled up inside of her. She hadn't been Sorted into Gryffindor the first time for nothing.

"You are so beautiful, Hermione. And so strong," Igor crooned. "Remember what I said? There's nothing about my charodeyka that is weak. Not even…"

His words ended in a loud hiss when she slowly lowered her form onto his large and rigid erection. Feeling him completely inside of her once again made every muscle she possessed stiffen. She closed her eyes tightly and tried to slower her breathing before she had a full blown panic attack. Igor sat up, cautious to keep from slipping out of her body. He placed both of his hands on her wet cheeks.

"Open your eyes. Look at me."

She did as she was told. All of the concern in his eyes washed over her in warm waves. There was no reason to be afraid of him. Hadn't he promised that he would never hurt her? With her eyes locked onto his and her hands on his shoulders, she experimented to find the most enjoyable rhythm for the both of them. Any time she felt her eyes begin to close, Igor's hand was on her cheek.

"Keep them open. Keep looking at me."

They both found their release soon after they began. Emotions had been running high the entire experience. Hermione crumpled onto Igor's sweat slicked chest and cried quietly into his shoulder. She would never forget what happened to her the night Greyback pushed his way into her father's pub, but she understood that it was possible to move on. There was no reason that she could not have healthy sexual experiences in the future. Her fears would always be there, tucked away in the back of her mind. She also wasn't naïve enough to believe that she would never be triggered again into another panic attack.

As Igor cradled her to his chest, her mind wandered to what she imagined would happen to her if she lived in the Muggle world. Mind Healers simply did not exist. If a spell could not be utilized, the poor witch or wizard simply continued to suffer. They did not have a good grasp on how the human brain worked. She knew that if she had been living amongst Muggles and forced into some kind of therapy, she would be advised that healing would be a lifelong process. That afternoon had simply been an important first step.

"How does a hot shower and a long nap sound?" Igor asked before kissing the top of her head.

"Heavenly."

Their activities in Igor's decadently large shower only consisted of lingering kisses and helping the other soap up their hard to reach parts. Neither of them were in a hurry for round two. Once they were dried off and dressed in sets of his pajamas, they both easily fell asleep.

Hermione was the first to awaken. The clock on his nightstand showed they'd been asleep for a couple of hours at least. Igor continued to snore quietly. She wasn't ready to leave the flat just yet and didn't think that she could fall back asleep even if she tried. Remembering the large bookcases in the front room of his flat, Hermione carefully extricated herself from the sheets without disturbing the slumbering wizard.

Igor's collection of books had some volumes that Hermione was almost certain would have been outlawed by the Ministry in her time period. They focused a great deal on Dark Magic. She was not surprised considering he attended Durmstrang where their idea of Light and Dark Magic was considerably different than it was in Britain. Quite a few looked interesting enough to read regardless of the potential politics associated with each volume. When her fingers brushed the spine of a book on werewolves, she physically shuddered.

Almost an hour later Igor emerged from the bedroom to find his guest curled up on his sofa with a large book about the dark creatures spread open on her lap. Hermione couldn't explain why it called out to her, but it did. Unlike many of the books available to her as a student, Igor's book appeared to have actual useful information about werewolves. It described many of their habits that she had never heard about before. Clearly there were parts of the world where there was more information about lycanthropes beyond the myths.

"That's a bit of heavy reading, isn't it?" Igor asked, settling down next to her to get a better look of the book.

"I was curious."

"From what I've learned talking to Rod, the Hogwarts curriculum is woefully lacking on the subject of Dark creatures. Almost like there's a mentality of they don't exist if no one actually talks about them. We are really open about werewolves in Russia and especially at Durmstrang. Fascinating creatures, if extremely dangerous."

"I'm afraid you're right. We learn next to nothing about them that is any use at all."

Hermione's mind went to the night she walked in on Antonin fucking his next door neighbor. She had been so focused on what she had just seen upstairs that when Greyback pulled her into the alley, she hadn't expected it. He had left her alone since that night, since promising her that a day would come when he would mark her as his.

"What does it mean when a werewolf wants to mark someone as theirs?"

She hadn't intended for the question to come tumbling out like it did. Igor's eyes narrowed in suspicion. He didn't answer her right away. Just continued to stare at her as if she was some kind of puzzle he was anxious to solve. All at once a flash of fear crossed his face.

"Fuck," he declared. "It was Greyback, wasn't it?"

* * *

August 8, 1998

 **3:20 am**

It took Kingsley several long minutes to fully comprehend what message Iain's patronus was conveying. How was it possible that Dean had been arrested? He was a good kid who had never been in any kind of trouble beyond the war. Cursing inwardly once more the interrupted dream, Kingsley rose from his bed to dress.

The arrival of the Minister for Magic to the Auror Office at the Ministry for Magic at almost half past three on a Sunday morning was cause for a small bit of excitement amongst the poor sods stuck on the graveyard shift. Proudfoot met the still quite confused Minister at the front of the office when he arrived.

"Where's Dean?" Kingsley asked immediately.

"I've got him in one of the empty offices in the back of the department," explained Iain.

Without waiting for any further explanation as to what crime his nephew was accused of committing, Kingsley headed straight for the office in question. Iain was of a similar height and just barely able to keep up with his long strides. He reached the door of the office being used as a temporary holding cell within moments. Dean could be seen through the glass door with his head lying on top of the empty desk.

"What was he arrested for?"

"Muggles picked him up in a dodgy section of London. He was drunk and causing a bit of a scene. There was minimal accidental magic involved. I sent an auror with one of our Obliviators just to make sure everything was all right. The moment he used magic, we knew we had to take him into our custody."

"That's it? He was drunk and accidentally used magic in front of a Muggle?"

That was hardly a reason to wake the Minister for Magic up in the middle of the night. Usually offenders of that sort of crime spent the night in a holding cell before being released the next day with a sizeable fine. Of course, the Minister's nephew was probably a special case. Kingsley thanked Iain for his help before opening the door.

Dean's eyes opened at the sound of Kingsley's heavy boots striking the floor. Instead of widening in fear as his uncle expected them too, Dean's eyes immediately filled with amusement. His loud laughter caught the Minister off guard.

"Sorry they had to wake you up in the middle of the night, Uncle Kingsie," he slurred. "I didn't mean to use magic."

"Dean, what happened?"

"Nothing too serious. Nothing to get you up out of bed anyway. Just had too much to drink and had a _disagreement_ with my godfather."


	39. Chapter 39

_Author's Note: Thank you for your patience as it took me a little longer than I wanted to get this chapter out. For specific reasons feel free to check out my Tumblr where I may have ranted about it earlier today. And for those who haven't read it, may I just take a moment to impart a little bit of wisdom that will be helpful no matter if you continue to read this story of mine or not._

 _And at the risk of sounding like a complete bitch…_

 _ **Sending a fanfiction writer (who doesn't get paid to write by the way and only does this in their spare time for the love of writing) repeated "reviews" from an anonymous account demanding updates immediately is not an effective manner in which to motivate a writer.**_ **In fact, demanding updates and asking repeatedly if a story has been abandoned when the last update was less than ten days earlier is actually an excellent way to ensure the writer loses all motivation and takes even** **longer** **to update.** _ **Please don't demand updates like spoiled, petulant children. No one wants to be like Dudley Dursley.**_

* * *

Chapter Thirty-Nine

June 7, 1973

 **7:30 pm**

The temperature in the flat seemed to drop twenty degrees in the blink of an eye. Hermione couldn't suppress the shudder that went through her entire body. She didn't know what to say to Igor, but she also didn't want to lie anymore. Her initial reaction was to simply remain silent. Traitorous thoughts began to fill her brain. Maybe she would feel better if she was completely honest with the wizard. Hadn't he already proven that he was worthy to be trusted?

"Your complete lack of a response tells me all I need to know," he sighed.

"Igor, you're not going to do anything foolish, are you?"

No longer content to remain seated in one place, the tall, solemn wizard began pacing the room in silence. Hermione could tell that he was very angry. He kept clenching and unclenching his fists as he moved. She knew he was doing what he could to keep his emotions under control. Finally after a long, uncomfortable stretch of silence, he spoke.

"One thing you won't read in that book is about a werewolf's mating habits. Even that book, which could earn me at least a large fine if one of your Ministry officials ever caught wind I had it and raided my flat, doesn't cover it. Too salacious. Too frightening to young impressionable witches and wizards."

Igor rolled his eyes dramatically at his own remark and crossed the room to sit next to her on the decadent leather sofa.

"My father's library is extensive. I might never be able to get you out of it."

It was Hermione's turn to roll her eyes. An almost strangled laugh erupted out of Igor. The sound was strange in the tense atmosphere.

"As a child I was terrified of werewolves and vampires. My older sister Elya was quite mean to me when we were younger. Used to torment me with lies about the creatures so I resolved to learn everything I could about them. I would sneak into my father's library when he was gone to read the more dangerous volumes."

Hermione couldn't help but think the image of a frightened young Igor sneaking into a library was adorable. The thought of the tall, imposing man having an older sister who picked on him made her smile. Igor reached across the sofa to take one of her hands in his. The act made the witch nervous. It felt as if he was preparing her for something truly awful.

"When a fully grown werewolf finds its mate, or at least the one he _wishes_ to make his mate, he must claim her in an act of submission."

Hermione's stomach twisted at his words. Her mind rushed back to New Year's when she laid on the floor of her father's pub completely frozen in fear. Simply lying there and allowing him to do what he did was definitely an act of submission. He held her throat in a crushing grip until she complied. She didn't want to know anymore, but she needed to know everything she could. If Greyback had plans to try again, she needed to be prepared.

"Once he claims her, he marks her by biting the spot where her neck meets her shoulder right as he orgasms. Did Greyback…"

"No, Ted walked in before he could."

Igor's sigh was dripping with heavy relief.

"He will try again. You know that, right?"

Hermione did not trust herself to speak. She simply nodded. The silence returned between the two lovers. A disturbing thought occurred to Hermione that she knew she had to share with Igor whether she wanted to or not. Before she could talk herself out of it, she was telling him all about Greyback stalking her to Antonin's flat. He clenched his jaw when she described the fearsome creature pulling her between the two buildings to promise her that the day would come when he would mark her as his mate. Igor was once again very upset.

"You're not safe, Charodeyka. Not as long as that monster is out there."

She didn't want to know the full truth. There was some bliss in ignorance after all. Was she not terrified enough already without possessing all of the details of what Greyback wished to do to her given the chance? Despite believing she might be only slightly happier with the unknown, she knew deep down that she needed to know all of the truth. It might mean her life or the life of someone she loved.

"What happens if a werewolf is successful?" she asked, almost afraid to breathe while he answered.

"Ideally, this process would take place under the Full Moon. I think he used New Year's as a convenience, but if I know the monster like I'm afraid I do, he will try next when it's a Full Moon."

A terrifying fear possessed the young woman.

"Like when he's transformed?"

His first attack was bad enough. Imagining it happening again when he was already transformed into his werewolf form was the stuff of nightmares. Hermione was certain she would never be able to remove that fear from her mind. Her question came out in a shriek.

"Just before moonrise, but yes. It would ideally happen in time that his chosen mate would experience their first transformation before the wound in her shoulder heals and before the _act_ is complete."

She could not sit still any longer. Hermione jumped up from the sofa, the book crashing to the floor with a deafening thump. As quickly as her legs could carry her, she ran to his bathroom. She only just barely made it in time to thrown up in his toilet instead of all over the expensive marble floor. The rich meal she shared with her uncle only hours earlier made its reappearance into the world.

Igor rushed into the bathroom only steps behind her to be a silent support. When the heaves ended and every ounce of food in her stomach was gone, he handed her a towel. Hermione burst into manic tears when she no longer had vomit to occupy her thoughts. Greyback raping her _had_ been the worst possibly event she could imagine. It happening again and him marking her as his mate and turning her into a werewolf was worse than she could have ever believed. Igor pulled her into his arms in an attempt to calm her cries.

"There's a little over a week until the next Full Moon. I'm going to owl my sister Sveta. She studies werewolves in Russia for the Magical Party. She'll know what to do. Stay home all day and don't go outside for any reason. He might try to catch you in the daytime and hide you away until night."

Hermione began to wonder if she would ever be brave enough to go outside again. She briefly considered telling Aberforth about the predicament she found herself in, and almost instantly decided against it. Her dad was the kind of person who rush out to confront the werewolf and get himself hurt. Igor might have been angry, but he was not rash. The Sorting Hat would _never_ put him in Gryffindor.

"I should've known he was going to do something to you. After he saw us in Hogsmeade out in the woods, he started asking me about you every time he saw me. It was like he was obsessed."

"There's something else I need to tell you, Igor."

She wanted to lay all of the cards out on the table and have zero secrets between them about Greyback.

"That night when you and I…" she began, her confidence disappearing more with each word that tumbled out. "When you and I… up against the goat pen. Do you remember?"

"How could I ever forget?"

He smirked at the memory.

"He saw us. He _watched_ us."

The smirk fell off of Igor's face.

"When you went back inside and I was feeding the girls, he came around to the outside of the fence and told me what he witnessed. He sniffed the air and told me that if he was going to hurt me I would already be screaming. Then later, after I left Hogwarts, he followed me out into the woods and pinned me up against a tree. I know he was watching me several times when I was in Diagon Alley after that. When he cornered me in Knockturn Alley, he…"

"He what, Hermione?" Igor's fury was evident.

"He told me that he had been longing to mark me as his ever since he smelled me come all over your cock."

Igor carefully pushed the upset woman away to allow him to stand back up on his feet. From his lofty height, he stared down at Hermione still seated on the cold marble. His dark blue eyes were filled with anger and unshed tears.

"You can't keep things like that from me, Hermione. Do you understand?"

All she could manage in response was a nod of her head. He gestured to the sink.

"Clean yourself up and I'll make us some tea."

Hermione took her time washing her face and cleaning out her mouth. For yet another time in her life she was thankful for the presence of mind to always carry around an extra toothbrush and toothpaste in her beaded bag. She could almost hear her Muggle parents' advice to always be prepared ringing in her head as she cleaned all evidence of her sickness from her mouth.

Igor was standing in the middle of his kitchen pouring out tea when she finally joined him. The time alone in the bathroom had given her plenty of opportunity to compose herself. Yes, Greyback was a complication she did not need in her life, but at least with Igor she knew she would not be alone. Hadn't she faced worse already? At least he didn't seem eager to _kill_ her. That was more than the Death Eaters she confronted in the last war were willing to offer.

There was a definite feeling of awkwardness between the two. Somehow it didn't feel possible that only a few hours earlier they were both naked in bed together. How could so much change just because of a conversation? She hoped that their friendship was not irrevocably changed. In a complete surprise, she had come to value Igor Karkaroff's friendship immensely.

They sat across the kitchen table from each other sipping their tea in silence for several, long minutes. Hermione was anxious for anything to say. What did one follow up a confession-filled discussion up with? Talking about the weather seemed a ridiculous option. She knew what his work was like and he had visited her at hers countless times. Finally, she blurted out what seemed like a safe question.

"Is your sister Sveta the one who helped decorate your flat?"

Completely caught off-guard by the question at first, Igor stared at her for a few seconds before chuckling.

"I wish. She wouldn't have picked that ugly green carpet in the bedroom. My sister Katya has deplorable taste."

"How many older sisters do you have?"

"Five. I'm the baby and the only boy."

Suddenly a lot of his past behavior made an awful lot of sense. Hermione laughed.

"It's no wonder you're so arrogant. With that many sisters you must have been an absolute spoiled terror."

Igor smirked again and joined in her laughter. The tension that had hung in the air dissipated quite quickly once they were able to find something to talk about less serious than homicidal and obsessive lycanthropes.

"I have become accustomed to getting what I want."

Hermione felt her cheeks heat up under his suddenly intense gaze.

"And what is it that you want?"

Removing his wand from the pocket of his pajamas, Igor banished their empty teacups across the room to the sink. Another wave of the wand cleared the rest of the newspapers and letters. An almost feral grin crossed his full lips.

"Right now I think I would like to test how sturdy the top of this table is."

* * *

June 28, 1973

 **6:50 pm**

Apparating to her uncle's estate had become almost second nature to Hermione. In the weeks leading up to Rodolphus' engagement party or betrothal bonding or whatever the unnecessary Pureblood custom was called, she had been there more times than she could count. Regnault insisted that she learn the required spells to the degree that he was personally satisfied with. The Head of the Lestrange family was a complete perfectionist. He quizzed her on the most arcane Pureblood betrothal customs just to be certain that she had actually read the book he sent. Three additional volumes followed after the first. She could safely say that she was an expert in the archaic customs that should have been done away with centuries earlier.

She had been dreading the night since she knew it was going to happen. Her uncle's repeated lessons and tests did not help. Since the invitations went out to all of the right people, her cousin had not been himself. Rodolphus had been miserable even if he exerted a great deal of effort in pretending otherwise. Even when she cornered him alone he would not admit the truth that he was upset. He began spending a great deal of time at the shop immersing himself in the day to day running of his pride and joy. Caradoc urged her not to push him too hard. Roddy was doing what was within his power to do to keep his mind off of his impending nuptials. She had only reluctantly agreed after Caradoc threatened her more than a few times.

Hermione was later arriving to the estate than she should have been. More than once Regnault ordered her to be there no later than half past six. A second late was a black mark in his eyes. Tardiness was not something the man could abide. Several of the guests were already entering the gates when she arrived. Regnault was not pleased. His younger son caught his cousin's eye and smirked. Rabastan may have been eerily similar to his father, but he did not think punctuality was as dire an issue. In fact, he always found it amusing when his cousin flouted his father's orders about when to arrive.

"I understand your feelings about this, Hermione, but that is no reason to shirk your duties as the lady of this family," Regnault admonished her only moments after his lips brushed her cheek.

"Will the lovely Miss Black be the lady once they're married?"

"Yes, her status as the wife of the Heir would make her the preeminent witch in the Lestrange family."

"Thank, Merlin."

Regnault narrowed his eyes at his niece's cheeky response. Hermione half-hoped that he would kick her out. She hated greeting all of the self-important guests as a representative of the family. There were a number of invited distinguished guests that she never wanted to cross paths with again.

"Why don't you go check on your cousin? He still hasn't come out of his room. Rabastan and I can greet the guests."

Hermione was grateful for the opportunity to flee. She practically ran into the manor when given the chance. Ignoring the few guests that had already begun to assemble in the stately rooms on the ground floor, she picked up the train of her deep purple gown to rush up the stairs. One knock on Rodolphus' door was all that was required before she heard his voice giving his permission to enter. She was surprised to find Igor standing in the room dressed in his finest dress robes.

"Are we engaged and I didn't realize it, Igor?"

The Russian wizard's eyes widened at her playful remark. They had been spending a great deal of time together since the afternoon he pulled her into the apothecary out of the rain, but they certainly were not serious. She couldn't help but laugh at his discomfort.

"I was under the impression that my uncle wasn't going to allow you back in his home until you made an honest witch out of me and agreed to marry me."

Understanding she was only teasing him, Igor laughed. Rodolphus rolled his eyes and stood up from the edge of the bed he was sitting on to greet Hermione with a warm hug. She tried not to make it obvious that she was using the affectionate gesture as an opportunity to smell him for any trace of alcohol. Since the horrible morning at the lodge, she hadn't seen any evidence that he was drinking, but silently feared that it would only be a matter of time before he started up again. Thankfully, he did not appear to be drunk or even on his way to being drunk in that moment. Maybe that was why he hadn't yet summoned up enough courage to make his way downstairs to face his bleak future.

"I'm going to pretend I don't know there's anything going on between you two again."

Both started to protest, but Rodolphus held up a hand to silence them.

"I'm not stupid. All either one of you talk about lately is the other."

Igor caught Hermione's eye and he smirked. Rodolphus rolled his eyes again. Clearly they weren't being as discreet as they thought they were. Her cousin straightened his robes and headed for the door. Before he stepped out, he turned around to stare at them both.

"I'm going downstairs now. Please don't do anything in here that would make me need to incendio my sheets."

They both laughed at his disgusted face as he left them alone. In order not to tempt the wizard who had made it his personal missions over the previous three weeks to prove to her that she was capable of having a _very_ healthy sex life again, Hermione stayed close to the door.

"You never answered my question," she teased, deftly stepping aside when he drew closer. "Should I be expecting to be dragged to another one of these events as the bride soon?"

Undeterred by her movement away from him, Igor used the length of his arms to his advantage. He easily caught her by the waist and pulled her body against his. Appreciation for the low-cut of her neckline was clear as his eyes raked over her attire. She felt her stomach swoop in anticipation.

"No, we are not engaged to be married," he replied, his voice dropping to low tone that seemed to cut straight through the silk of her knickers. "Your uncle invited me personally and offered to put all past unpleasantness behind us."

"How generous of him. He's not a man who changes his opinion lightly."

"Apparently, my value in your uncle's eyes went up quite a bit once he heard about me defending you against the Dolohov boy's rather harsh handling of you in Knockturn Alley. He thanked me for protecting you and keeping you out of harm. I am welcome _any time_ I wish to come to the manor."

"That's wonderful news."

Igor's grip on her waist tightened. He leaned down from his lofty height to brush his lips against hers. The kiss lasted only a moment before he stepped back.

"I've actually been needing a minute alone with you."

He reached into the pocket of his robes to pull out a small velvet box the size of his palm.

"Sveta owled me yesterday. I didn't tell her al of the details, but she sent this. Some of our beliefs in Russia can seem a bit odd to those who don't know much about Dark creatures. It would be impossible to find this in Britain. Sveta had it specially made for me."

Igor opened the box to reveal a beautiful silver locket. It was absolutely stunning with its intricate runic engravings and its delicate silver chain. Hermione gasped when he picked it up out of the box to place around her neck.

"The inside of the locket holds a mix of rye, aconite, mistletoe and a few other plants known to repel werewolves that she wouldn't name. It's solid silver and has been imbued with a number of powerful anti-werewolf spells."

"Igor, this is too much. It must have cost a fortune."

"And are you not worth a fortune, Charodeyka?"

He leaned down once more to kiss her. She could feel her eyes tear up. Almost as soon as the second kiss began, he ended it to hand her a clean handkerchief with a smile.

"It's Unbreakable and only the wearer is able to remove it. If Greyback tries to get near you again, he will not like what happens."

"Thank you, Igor."

His third kiss was a great deal more passionate than the previous two. They stood in front of the door to Rodolphus' bedroom for a long time exploring the familiar sensations of their fervent kisses. Yet again, Igor was the one to step back.

"I think we should go downstairs before poor Rod needs new sheets."

The couple stepped out of the privacy of the bedroom together. Already the manor house was filling up with the sounds of a number of guests milling around downstairs. Orchestral music could be heard wafting up the stairs as well. Threats of rain all day moved the party from outside under a tent like her debut to the spacious formal rooms inside. It was a good thing that the manor was large enough to host the four hundred guests quite comfortably inside.

"Where are you staying tonight after this is all over?" Igor asked as he led her down the main staircase by the hand.

"I thought I would just stay here."

His arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her body close enough to allow him to whisper directly in her ear.

"Come home with me."

Her laughter ran through the main entrance hall to the manor. They were only half a staircase away from reaching the ground level. Several guests turned their heads in their direction when she laughed. Quietly, she agreed. Certainly she would have a great deal more fun after the dismal party was over if she could slip away to Igor's flat instead of sleeping down the corridor from her uncle. Somehow she doubted he had removed the "anti-shagging" charms from her bed.

Igor's grip on her waist tightened slightly with just a little bit of extra possessiveness. Hermione did not dare to look up into his eyes in that moment. She was almost afraid of what she might see. They were trying to keep their relationship as carefree and easy as possible. Neither one of them believed there was a future there, but for the moment, they were simply enjoying being young.

She looked up ahead as they walked down the last few steps. The front door opened again to allow even more guests inside. Remembering her duty as a representative of the family, Hermione plastered her warmest, insincere smile on for the people she loathed. Just as she reached the bulk of the guests, her eyes fell directly on a familiar pair of intense dark brown eyes. Antonin entered the entrance hall with a tall, pretty blonde on his arm.

 _Shit_ , Hermione thought. It would be damn near impossible to avoid her ex-boyfriend for the entire night. The slight tightening of Igor's fingers on her waist made her stomach clench. There was no way that night was going to end without some kind of confrontation between the two wizards. As much as she cared about Igor, he was an instigator of the worst kind. He would not give up the opportunity to show Antonin just what he thought of him.

Just when she thought the party and the betrothal ceremony could not get any worse, it did.

* * *

August 8, 1998

 **3:30 am**

Trying to control the anger that he was afraid was about to come bursting out of him in bright bursts, Kingsley crossed the office to sit down next to Dean. He was furious that his nephew would be foolish enough to have any kind of contact with Dolohov. The wizard was dangerous and unhinged. It was a terrible combination. Kingsley wanted to come right out and demand to know what he was thinking, but he did not want to frighten the boy. Dean was still navigating his way through their family.

"You said you were with your godfather?" Kingsley asked after taking a deep breath.

Dean simply laughed at the question at first. He was clearly still very drunk. Kingsley tried to choke down the sudden realization of how much Dean reminded him of Tommy in that moment. Of course he had noticed some hints of his brother in his only child, but the drunken laughter brought the Minister back to a number of memories he possessed of his brother that made his heart hurt.

"Maybe I shouldn't admit to the Minister for Magic. Ehh, but I guess I've already been arrested."

"What were you doing?"

"Got a cryptic note with an address and a request to meet. Probably shouldn't have gone to the address, but I was curious." Dean shrugged his shoulders in an almost perfect imitation of his father. "I was almost certain it was him."

Kingsley took several more deep breaths before speaking again. Maybe it was the late hour or maybe it was because the thought of Hermione was so fresh in his mind since his interrupted dream, but he was finding himself to be even more emotional than usual. How had he not realized how much Dean looked like Tommy? He had twenty-six years with his older brother. No one, except Hermione, knew him better. How had he been around Dean so many times in the past without realizing who he actually was? It didn't seem conceivable in that moment.

"He's a very dangerous wizard."

Dean's smile dropped off his face completely. His eyes were hard, harder than he had ever seen Tommy's. No longer did his nephew look like a young boy.

"I _know_ dangerous wizards, Uncle. I met plenty of them in the war."

Kingsley closed his tired eyes and sighed. Of course the young man was right. He had seen more horrors than most of the people who had been fortunate enough to spend the entirety of the war safe inside their own homes. At only seventeen years old he had been forced out of his home and on the run. Now at eighteen, he had been through more than one person should ever endure.

He _hated_ that he had been unable to protect his blood. It felt like a betrayal to his brother. If Tommy had been alive, he would have been so disappointed in how little his younger brother did for his son. Kingsley tried to choke down the feeling of failure. It took him a long time to calm himself down to the point where he felt he could speak again. Dean was remarkably patient.

"What did Dolohov want?"

"To give me his house."

Whatever he had been expecting his nephew to say in response to his inquiry, that was certainly not it. Unsure what to say to the admission, Kingsley simply stared at Dean waiting for him to continue. It all made little sense.

"He apologized for being a shit godfather my entire life. Said that he failed my dad, but maybe he could make it up to me somewhat if he made sure I was taken care of now."

"That was very generous of him."

His words were spoken through such a tightly clenched jaw that Kingsley feared his teeth would crumble into dust. He would likely never reach a moment in time when he was able to speak kindly about the Death Eater who had been an unwelcome fixture in his life since he was less than two years old. There was too much history there and none of it was good.

"Mrs. Tonks has been selling his books and other possessions on the side. He's only keeping a little of the money and giving me the rest."

At least the reason why Andromeda was helping made sense. Old friend or not, she would never get involved in some nefarious plan of Dolohov's. She knew how much Dean thought of Ted. She would see it as a some kind of sense of honor to help Dolohov provide what he could for his godson. It truly was a generous gift even if Kingsley was having difficulty imagining Dolohov would ever be completely selfless.

"You said you had a disagreement? What was it about?"

"I told him to stay the hell away from Hermione. He didn't like that."


	40. Chapter 40

_Author's Note: Have I mentioned that the readers of this story are probably the most amazing readers that exist? Because I certainly believe so! The tremendous amount of support I received from the last chapter was overwhelming and literally makes me emotional. Thank you to everyone who took the time to let me know you are enjoying the story. This has not been the easiest story to write and I've gotten more hate from this one than anything else I have ever written. It means so much to me to know that I have amazing readers out there who love it. Thank you again!_

* * *

Chapter Forty

June 28, 1973

 **7:25 pm**

All thoughts of Antonin and the new witch on his arm were forgotten the moment Hermione caught sight of the dark eyes belonging to the man who would eventually become the Darkest wizard their world had ever known. Only steps behind her ex-boyfriend, Lord Voldemort entered the vast entrance hall with an air about him that made everyone else in the immediate area take notice. Even Antonin's dark brown eyes moved from Hermione to the wizard he would one day soon pledge his very life to. The air suddenly felt thicker, breathing was more difficult.

The Dark Lord, or so his future followers would call him, caught Hermione's gaze across the hall. She met his eyes for only a second before she remembered to look away. Of course she should have assumed that the wizard would be an invited guest. Regnault was anxious to worm his way into favor with the man and the bride-to-be was practically in love with him. Voldemort smirked when he saw how swiftly Hermione averted her eyes. He seemed to be amused by her reaction. Ignoring every other person present in the entrance hall scrambling for his attention, Lord Voldemort crossed the marble floor to stand directly in front of the one person present who wished to never speak to him again.

Hermione made sure that her Occlumency shields were in place before she hazarded a glance up at the wizard's smirking face. He was every bit as handsome as he had been two years earlier when they shared a dance, but there was something different about his countenance. Something _less_ human. She assumed that while he was away from the country in the previous two years that he managed to make at least one or possibly two horcruxes. Remembering that she was not alone and under a great deal of scrutiny from the very dangerous man, she struggled to keep from shuddering at the uncomfortable thought that there were even more innocent victims in his quest for immortality.

"Pleasure to see you again, Miss Dumbledore," Voldemort stated clearly for everyone to hear. He had no worries about their conversation being overheard.

Two years as Regnault Lestrange's niece provided Hermione with a thorough education in the appropriate behaviors expected of the members of the Pureblood society. Though she would always be something of an outsider because of her Half-blood status, she followed the rules to a 't' when around her formidable uncle. She dropped her entire body into a deep, formal curtsey and kept her eyes downcast like a proper Pureblood princess. Igor tightened his grip on her waist slightly when she rose to her full height. Just the gentle reminder that she had support helped calm her hammering heart. It was a possessive gesture on Igor's part whether he was cognizant of that fact or not. He had done the exact same thing when they spotted Antonin across the hall. Hermione could not help but remember the night of her debut when Igor was so jealous of her dance with the Dark Lord. She hoped there would not be a repeat of the awkwardness of that evening.

"Thank you for honoring our family with your presence, my lord."

Every single word that dripped off her tongue made Hermione's stomach churn. Just the very act of being in his presence made her skin crawl. It had not been _that_ long since she wore the wizard's foul horcrux around her neck and had to listen to its whispers of hatred and suspicion. A small part of her could almost swear she could hear the whispering again when he was around. She was grateful when the wizard turned his attention to her escort instead.

"I understand congratulations are in order, Igor. You passed your Mastery while I was gone."

Igor released his hold on Hermione long enough to give his future master a stiff, formal bow. His hand sought her waist out again almost immediately.

"Yes, my lord. Thank you."

"I wish to meet with you soon, Igor. Watch for my owl."

The nausea already present in Hermione's stomach increased ten-fold at the last statement. She knew it would only be a matter of time before Igor joined Voldemort as one of his Death Eaters. The exact timing of his decision was still unknown to her, but she knew there would come a day when he would torture Muggles, with Antonin of all people, on their Lord's orders. Knowing that she would not be able to save him after all he had done to help her after her attack made her sad and weary deep down into her bones. What was the point of being able to travel back in time if she couldn't actually make any changes to better the lives of the people she was learning to love? It was enough to make getting out of bed in the morning too difficult.

"Very interesting necklace, Miss Dumbledore."

Hermione almost jumped when his voice was directed back at her for a second. Naively she had hoped that the Dark wizard would find nothing of any interest in her and quickly move on to someone else. Before she could brace herself for the unexpected touch, Voldemort's fingers were underneath the silver chain of her new locket. Her first thought when the cool skin of his fingers brushed against the bare skin at her neck was that she was grateful she had the presence of mind to slip the time turner into her bag that evening instead of wearing it around her neck with a disillusionment and a notice-me-not charm. She got the impression that he would not be fooled. The last person who needed to find out she had a time turner was that particular wizard. She had no idea what she would ever say if the Dark wizard ever figured out she had one.

Voldemort's fingers rested on her collarbone for a short moment before he ran his fingers down the length of the chain down to the locket that rested between her breasts. His skin felt cold against hers. She hated that he was touching her in such a familiar manner. Igor's grip on her grew tighter the longer it took the wizard to reach the end of the chain.

"Intriguing enchantments," Voldemort said in a much softer tone. He leaned closer to whisper just outside her ear. "What need do you have to ward off werewolves, Miss Dumbledore?"

She did not know what to say. Everything about that moment in time felt bizarre and surreal. She ran through all possible responses in her mind. None of them seemed right. Igor spoke up for her in a low voice.

"The beast Greyback has been bothering her, my lord. This was a gift."

"From _you_ , Igor?"

"Yes, my lord."

Voldemort's laugh rang through the entrance hall. The sound made Hermione's entire body erupt into goosebumps. It was similar to his future laugh enough to give her chills. Realizing she was growing upset, Igor's thumb began to rub soft circles into her side. The last time she heard the sound was when she thought the maniac killed her best friend. Harry lay lifeless in Hagrid's arms. She did not want her mind to return her to that day.

"That's a very serious token to give a witch," replied Voldemort.

"Yes, my lord."

The evil man stared at both of them for several uncomfortable moments. Hermione kept her eyes focused on his tie, determined not to look in his eye. Just before the silence became unbearable, Voldemort dropped the locket and lowered his voice.

"Perhaps it is time I renewed my acquaintance with Fenrir Greyback."

Without another word, he walked away from the couple towards the ballroom. All of the other guests that were lingering in the entrance hall followed after him. When he was out of sight and they were almost completely alone in the front of the manor, Hermione released her breath in relief. Igor gave her a funny look. He seemed concerned.

"Does he unnerve you that much, Charodeyka?"

"I never feel like I can completely relax around that wizard, but I shouldn't say such things about Uncle Regnault's friend."

"What do you think he meant by renewing his acquaintance with Greyback?"

"I have no idea."

She truthfully did not have the first clue what the wizard meant. He could have meant anything. Wasn't he a man who enjoyed speaking in riddles? Even his true last name gave an indication that he was a man who did. She knew that Voldemort was the reason why Greyback was watching her. He was clearly lying about not knowing him well. Part of her wondered if he was going to use his influence to make Greyback leave her alone, but she was also afraid that Voldemort was going to allow Greyback to claim her. She remembered the night he penned her against the tree in the woods between the castle and Hogsmeade.

 _"I would make you my queen. The_ second _our mutual friend gives me permission, I will."_

It wasn't a huge stretch of the imagination to believe that Voldemort would make good on his promise to the monster. Hermione feared what might happen in the future. Before she could get too carried away with the speculations of what the actual meaning of their cryptic conversation with the Dark Lord was, Igor grasped Hermione's hand in his to lead them towards the ballroom where the betrothal ceremony would take place. She allowed herself just a few moments to worry and fret. Once inside the lavish ballroom filled to the brim with guests, she forced herself to be calm.

Regnault was standing in the center of the ballroom with a clear impatience in his eyes. Though he was playing the role of the consummate host and had an easy grin on his face, Hermione knew he was frustrated that they had not already begun the ceremony. He was a man who valued punctuality. His frustration with his niece being the last one to enter the room was evident even if only to her. Igor released her hand when they reached the middle of the room. With an encouraging smile, he slipped back into the crowd of guests.

"I hope whatever delayed your appearance was important," Regnault hissed directly into her ear so none of their guests could sense his displeasure.

"I'm very sorry, Uncle. I was stopped in the entrance hall on the way here by your friend, Lord Vol…"

"Oh, well, that's all right then. Your cousin and I were worried."

She turned her attention to her cousin Rodolphus standing next to his father in his uncomfortably starched robes. He looked like he would rather be just about anywhere else than where he was standing. Not that she couldn't blame him, of course. He was about to take the next step towards the rest of his bleak life. There would be more celebrations and ceremonies over the next year and a day to further cement the intertwining of his future with the horrid Bellatrix Black. Hermione was grateful that she had not yet crossed paths with her cousin's intended more than once, but knew it would only be a matter of time before she could not escape the woman if she wanted to spend any time with her cousin.

Regnault signaled to the wizards he had stationed at the doors to the ballroom with a nod of his head. Once the sound of the doors closing reached the other guests, everyone knew that the ceremony was beginning. Hermione was required to study everything she could about a traditional Pureblood betrothal ceremony. She had known that there were similar ceremonies in other cultures, but was fascinated by the intricate details of the wizarding version. Her uncle sent her many books with the necessary information. She was aware of many of the details, but knew she would miss out on some the subtler intricacies because she hadn't been steeped in the culture from birth.

The guests stood in a large circle in the center of the room, surrounding the groom-to-be, his father and his cousin acting as the female representative of their family. This was to create a protective barrier around the participants in the ceremony with their own bodies. An additional step of protection around the outside of the ceremonial circle was male members of each family standing with their backs to the circle and their wands extended prepared to do battle if necessary. Rabastan represented the Lestrange family in this role while Orion and Alphard Black represented the Black family. It was an homage to earlier times in their history when wizards were at constant risk from Muggles and other less friendly wizards. Though no one would actually be foolish enough to gatecrash at the Lestrange manor, they still had the traditional circle guardians.

It was fascinating to watch the three guardians cover the room in symbolic protection spells. Similar ceremonies would have once been performed out in the open. Indeed, if the weather had been cooperative that evening, they would all likely be standing out in the formal gardens. Each of the three wizards coated the room and the circle in spells. Flashes of bright lights filled the space with an awe-inspiring beauty. Hermione was enthralled with the process. More than once she had spent an evening with Rabastan sharing their mutual frustrations of his father's perfectionist nature regarding the betrothal ceremony over firewhiskey. Her younger cousin was the perfect partner to sulk with. The longer they were outside of Hogwarts, the more she liked him even if he could be obnoxious and prejudicial towards those he deemed of lesser blood.

Once the spells were cast, the bride-to-be was escorted to the center of the circle by her parents to where the groom and his parents (or in Rodolphus' case, representative) were waiting. Though they were about to become members of the same family, Hermione had been fortunate enough to stay out of the company of Bellatrix Black. They had only spent a few uncomfortable minutes in the other's company two years earlier at Hermione's party. Bellatrix had grown angry after her dance with Voldemort and refused to speak with her the rest of the evening. Not that Hermione cared one bit about that fact. Now that she was about to be forced to be in the company of the woman who would one day in the future hold her down on the floor of the Malfoys' drawing room for an exciting evening of torture, Hermione was determined to not allow the woman to have the upper hand. She would not let Bellatrix believe that she was afraid of her in the slightest.

Bellatrix seemed as unenthusiastic about the proceedings as Rodolphus. Dressed in the long traditional white robes that were intended to symbolize her purity and innocence, she had to almost be dragged into the center of the circle by her formidable parents. Hermione stared at the woman's face, still surprised to see so much of her best friend in her features. How could two sisters end up so different? A rather depressing thought flitted into Hermione's head that she quickly tried to squash. If Regnault approached Cygnus years earlier with a suggestion to change the bride to Andromeda instead of Bellatrix, this would be a much more joyful ceremony. Both participants would be smiling and excited to begin the year-long run up to the official wedding. It made her both angry and sad to know that so much could have been different for so many different people with a simple decision.

She tried to stop thinking all of the depressing thoughts that were plaguing her mind. This was not a time to dwell on the futility of 'what-ifs'. Some ritualistic words were exchanged between the fathers. As a sign of respect and as yet another way to honor their heritage, the entire rite was performed in a form of almost archaic French that no one had spoken for hundreds of years. Hermione knew her part well enough, but the rest was just gibberish. Part of her was afraid that she would upset her uncle if she was unable to complete her role.

Regnault stepped forward in the center of the circle to hand over the traditional bride price. He had a large pouch stuffed full of gold galleons to give to Cygnus. The father of the bride accepted the pouch, opened it up and took out a large handful of the coins. He handed the coins in his hand back to Regnault. This was to symbolize that the bride's family was not greedy and that they were willing to share the wealth between the two families. Bride prices had gone out of style with everyone in their country except for the most traditional societies. Hermione fought not to roll her eyes at the thought that at least they weren't exchanging livestock for the girl's virtue.

Cygnus offered his daughter to her new family by placing her hand in Regnault's hand. Regnault then handed her over to Rodolphus. Neither party seemed happy with the prospect of holding hands through the ceremony. If this was their reaction during the betrothal, Hermione could only imagine how awful it would be when they were actually married. A small, irrational part of her hoped that it would not come to that, but she knew it would. This was part of the past even if she was living it in the present. Everything that happened in this room had already happened. One more frustrating reality in the loop of time she was stuck inside.

A spell from Regnault's wand bound the two clasped hands together in a series of intricate ropes. It was a stunning display of magic even if Hermione's heart was not in it. As Regnault promised as the Head of the Lestrange Family that Bellatrix would not starve, go naked or fail to be protected, Hermione scanned the crowd. The archaic language was hard to follow. She tried not to make it too obvious that she wasn't paying attention. Regnault would be furious with her if she appeared less than completely invested. Sometimes representing the family she usually had no desire to a part of could be exhausting.

The guests usually separated into two groups. Guests there supporting the bride's family would make up one half of the circle while the guests of the groom would make up the other. She knew that Igor would be standing only a few steps behind her as the best friend of the groom. Her eyes looked over the Black side. Many of its members were familiar to her in one way or another. She fought more than a few on opposite sides of the war. Some of them she recognized from school. Thirteen year old Sirius was easy to find. He might have been the only person even more bored than she was. The younger boy standing next to him must have been Regulus. It never grew less awkward to see people she knew were dead in her own time while they were still alive. Even if she crossed the room right then to tell both of the young Black brothers what their fates would be, nothing would come of it. Regulus would still die in his quest to steal the locket horcrux and Sirius would still fall through the Veil in the Department of Mysteries.

Antonin was standing towards the back of the circle with the Black family guests. He appeared to be interested in the proceedings, but she knew him well enough to know that he was just as bored. Sometimes when he was trying to show he was interested when he really wasn't, he would cease blinking. She picked up on that trait early on in their seventh year when she sat next to him in Ancient Runes. Her curiosity about his presence and if she was perfectly honest, the woman he was with, was quite strong. He had to have known that coming to her cousin's betrothal ceremony would put him directly in her path. There might be over four hundred guests gathered in that single room, but avoiding each other would be damn near impossible. She had a number of questions for him. Mostly she was worried that there would be some kind of altercation between him and Igor before the night was over. Igor made no qualms about the fact that he couldn't stand her ex. One serious look in her direction would be the only incentive Igor needed to cause a problem.

Antonin's dark brown eyes clamped onto hers. For a few moments neither of them looked away. Hermione wished she knew more about the history she would one day have with Antonin. Though they weren't together, she had the uncomfortable feeling that they weren't completely over. Would he continue to pop back into her life at awkward times to derail her and confuse her? She sincerely hoped not. Perhaps it had been a mistake on her part from the very beginning to attempt to have any kind of relationship with the man who would one day curse her. She should've known better. Should've known that it would be rife with complications and strife.

As Regnault made the public declaration that all children born of the future union of his heir with Miss Black, Hermione removed her eyes from Antonin's. Her part in the ritual was coming up soon. Regnault would be most displeased if she faltered in his pursuit of a perfect betrothal. Though she was not looking in his direction, she could still feel Antonin's stare. Every time she entered a room she knew when he was watching her. It used to make her feel excited. Now it made her feel ill at ease.

The end of the betrothal ceremony began the moment when Rodolphus slipped the ornate engagement ring that belonged to his late mother onto Bellatrix's ring finger. Hermione's simple role beyond standing with Regnault as his support was to cover Bellatrix's shoulders with an intricately embroidered cloak and to kiss both of her cheeks. As representative of the matriarch of the family, she was the one to welcome the newest female member to their family. The act of brushing her lips against the hated woman's cheek made her stomach churn. It was an act of sheer will that prevented her from spitting on the witch instead.

Regnault and Hermione cast multiple spells on the couple with the aid of Cygnus and Druella Black to seal the betrothal. All in all, the ritual took less than twenty minutes though it felt to Hermione that they had been there for longer. She would never grow used to the stuffy Pureblood traditions. At least she had the comfort to know that she would not be required to go through the same customs while stuck in the past. Kingsley would have surely made mention that the witch he loved was married once before, wouldn't he? Even if he didn't, it was no matter. She had no intention of vowing to share her life with anyone while in the seventies. It would have been unfair to the potential husband she left behind.

"You performed your part well," Regnault whispered to her as the circle began to disperse. He kissed her cheek in a rare warm gesture. "Thank you."

The guardians removed the protective spells to allow the guests to move out of the ballroom into other parts of the manor. An impressive buffet had been laid out in the dining room by the house elves. She stood with her uncle to watch the room begin to clear out. There was no hurry to leave with the others. She certainly had no appetite and wanted to avoid being caught unawares again by either Antonin or Voldemort.

"I'm pleased you believe so, Uncle."

"Should we prepare ourselves for a similar ceremony between you and the Karkaroff wizard any time soon?"

She was grateful that he kept his tone quiet enough that no one was able to hear his question with the pounding of footsteps echoing through the room. Igor was not the kind of wizard a witch married. He was good for having a great time and for being an amazing supportive friend, but she could not imagine ever making a permanent vow with the man. Not even if she wasn't from the future and had no idea what he was going to get involved in.

"No, Uncle."

"I noticed him escort you inside the ballroom earlier. You both seemed _friendly_."

"We are, but no, we are not getting married."

He chose to drop the subject to her great relief. With Rodolphus formally betrothed and an agreement already made for Rabastan's bride, she knew that she was the last one of his that he felt responsible for. Likely he would not rest until she had her own spells cast over her hands. As the host of the event, Regnault nodded in her direction and headed out into the crush of his honored guests.

"Want to skip dinner and go straight to dessert in my flat?" Igor whispered, placing his hands on her hips to pull her back into his chest.

"Do you ever say anything that isn't a complete cliché?" she teased.

His deep chuckle rumbling through his chest made her smile. Like earlier when she was speaking with Lord Voldemort, her entire body was covered in goosebumps. Unlike earlier, however, she actually enjoyed the sensation. There was a promise in the way he held her body against his that needed no interpretation.

Anything else that might have been said was interrupted by the unhappy groom-to-be approaching them both. Out of respect for his friend and because they were still in view of quite a few nosy people with wagging tongues, Igor released his hold. Rodolphus pretended not to notice how close they had been standing. Realizing that her cousin needed some support from his friend, she made her excuses to leave the ballroom.

Her first stop was the nearest refreshment table in the corridor. Dozens, possibly even hundreds, of bottles of wine and champagne were available for the guests' consumption. Hermione ignored all of those. She reached straight for the hard liquor. If she was going to be forced to endure another evening with the Pureblood elite, she would need some assistance. Besides, she was still a little rattled from the earlier discussion with the Dark Lord. She did not like to think what was going on in that wizard's mind when it came to her well-being. It was bad enough that Greyback was obsessed with her. She did not need the wizard to find her fascinating too.

There was always a great deal of unnecessary conversation during one of those grand affairs. Hermione was stopped many times in the corridor and in the grand reception rooms where the guests were gathering to be engaged in meaningless chitchat. Everyone seemed to have an opinion on either her attire or her execution of the binding spells or of a dozen other aspects of her personal life that did not require a personal judgement. After the fifth or sixth elderly witch she did not know or like asked her when she would be betrothed because she was steadily growing past some imaginary expiration date in their minds, she was exhausted. She grabbed two full glasses of firewhiskey off of a floating tray and snuck down the corridor into her uncle's private study.

She expected it to be empty. All of the doors to rooms on the ground floor that were being used for guests had been charmed open. Only Regnault's door tucked in a side corridor behind the library and far from the noise of the party was closed. A wizard she hardly knew was sitting on the small sofa in front of the fireplace. He lifted his head in her direction when she entered. Almost immediately he rose to his feet.

"I'm sorry," he apologized. "I know I shouldn't be in here, but I just needed a few minutes to think."

Hermione smiled at his honesty. She could understand his reluctance to be out amongst the throngs of annoying people. Seeing her warm smile made a similar expression cross his mouth as well. Augustus Rookwood wasn't a conventionally handsome wizard, but his light green eyes held a great deal of warmth. They had been in the same year at Hogwarts. As one of Rabastan's close friends, they had had some interactions in that final year.

"Perfectly understandable," she replied. "Please sit back down. There's plenty of room for us both to hide in here."

Rookwood smiled and did as she asked. When Hermione settled down on the sofa next to him, she pushed her extra glass into his waiting hand. Truthfully two glasses _was_ a little too much, especially considering she had yet to eat anything substantial that evening. The lines to the buffet were always insufferably long. Once in the evening when she tried to sneak into the kitchen to get food directly from the house-elves, she was immediately shooed out of the room by Rosie. The head house-elf was still always a bit cold to her no matter how often she tried to smooth whatever hurt feelings existed.

"I know why _I'm_ hiding in here, but why are you?" she asked between sips of the whiskey.

"My father made me come tonight, but I didn't want to. He and Mr. Lestrange often work together at the Ministry. Between that and being friends with Bastan, I couldn't exactly say no." Augustus answered. He, too, was not wasting any time consuming the offered liquor. "Ex-girlfriend is here with her new boyfriend. Knew she would be. She's a cousin of some sort to the bride."

"Ahh, unpleasant break-up?"

Augustus chuckled.

"Are they ever _not_ unpleasant?"

She couldn't argue with that. Certainly they had been in her somewhat limited experience. She joined him with her own laughter.

"Still have lingering feelings for her?" Hermione asked. She had enough alcohol in her bloodstream at that point that her usual reluctance to ask impertinent questions was non-existent.

"I think a part of me will always feel something for Lettie," he admitted. "She's a sweet witch. Did you ever meet her? Violetta MacMillan. She was a Hufflepuff in our year."

Hermione did not remember anyone with that name. Truthfully, she kept to herself as much as possible during her seventh year. She didn't even attempt to make friends with the girls she shared a dorm with. It all seemed like just another complication she didn't need in her life. The more people she interacted with, the more people were likely to realize she was keeping a major secret about her identity.

"No, I don't know her. Who's the new boyfriend? Maybe I know him."

"I'm positive you do," laughed Augustus. "It's Dolohov."

For a reason she couldn't quite pinpoint, the fact that Antonin was dating a Hufflepuff made her giggle. Further thought reminded her of the night she walked in on him in the study room after being annoyed by Kingsley in the library. They had their first friendly conversation about which kind of girls were interested in dating him. He had been of the opinion that Hufflepuff girls always found him too serious.

"Interesting. I had no idea."

"Clearly you are further along in the process of getting over your ex than I am." He continued to laugh, but she could still hear hints of bitterness and sadness in the sound. "I found out everything I could when I heard they were together. Apparently your friend Tonks was the one who introduced them."

She made a mental note to herself to drop by the Tonks flat when she next had an opportunity. It had been a few days since she last saw Nymphadora and clearly there was some juicy gossip that neither Ted nor Andromeda was sharing with her. Andromeda wouldn't lie to her if she came right out and asked. She knocked the last of the firewhiskey in her glass back in a single swallow.

"Well, if it helps, I don't think they will last very long. Antonin is too solemn. I don't think Hufflepuffs like him much. If you still have feelings for her, maybe you'll get a chance with her again."

"You don't think you could go out there, find him and just snog him in front of her, could you? I'm not asking you to get back together with him. Just make her angry enough that she breaks up with him. I'd owe you one."

Their mutual laughter rang through the small study. Hermione could only imagine what Antonin would do or say if she just walked up to him in front of everyone and mauled him. It would almost be worth the aftermath just to see his face. Plus, it would have the added benefit of annoying Igor. She liked it when he was just a little frustrated with her. It generally rose the temperature in the bedroom.

"As interesting an idea as that is, Rookwood…"

"Augustus."

"All right, Augie. As interesting an idea as that is, I don't think I'll be doing that."

They continued to laugh until she could no longer hear anger in his.

"Yeah, you're right. Too much to ask," Augustus agreed with a sigh. "I was an idiot."

"So was Antonin."

"Well, I guess I can hope he's an idiot again very soon. Maybe she'll forgive me."

Augustus rose from the sofa and extended his hand to help Hermione to her feet. They both knew that they could no longer hide in the study for the remainder of the party. If she didn't make an appearance soon, she felt certain her uncle would come looking for her. Besides, she knew that Rodolphus was likely having a difficult night. He could use some support from those few people who were actually concerned about his happiness.

"Thank you for the firewhiskey, Miss Dumbledore," Augustus said as he opened the door.

"Hermione."

"All right, Hermy." He winked and she snorted. If only he knew that there would come a day when a sixteen foot giant would call her that while he was attempting to learn English, he would not have believed it. "Good luck out there."

"You too."

They stepped outside into the bustling corridor. The familiar sounds of merrymaking from all of the partygoers immediately assaulted their ears. Hermione smiled at the younger wizard before walking away. Her duties as the female representative of their family did not end once the cloak was placed on Bellatrix's shoulders. She was only steps away from the bulk of the guests when a familiar and most unwelcome voice cut through the din.

"I so enjoyed our dance at the last celebration I was here for, Miss Dumbledore. Will you do me the honor of another later this evening? There is something I wish to speak to you about."

* * *

August 8, 1998

 **3:35 am**

It took all of Kingsley's self-control not to laugh at his nephew's confession. For the first few moments after he learned that Dean was brave enough to tell the fearsome Death Eater to stay away from his godmother, he had to bite the insides of cheeks. The last thing he needed to do was somehow condone his nephew's actions. He should have never been in a position where it was even possible to speak to Dolohov, let alone threaten him.

Finally, he couldn't keep his mirth under control. His loud, booming laugh startled his still heavily-intoxicated nephew. With all of the stress of the useless search for Hermione the previous several weeks and all of the asinine and infuriating tasks that came with being the Minister for Magic in a country still struggling to recover from a brutal war, there had been few opportunities for laughter. When he was growing up in his family, there had been very few days where no laughter could be heard in their home. It didn't take long before both uncle and nephew were laughing hard enough that their guts ached.

"I bet Dolohov didn't like that," Kingsley said between gasps for air. "He never did like to be told to stay away from Hermione."

Both wizards were able to calm themselves pretty quickly after their discussion turned to the witch they both cared about.

"What's the story between Dolohov and Hermione?" Dean asked. "He was talking about never giving up hope that one day they would end up together. She wasn't _just_ his girlfriend, was she?"

"No, she wasn't, Dean. There was a time when I was certain she would marry him. There was a lot of love between them even when their relationship wasn't healthy. His anger with her when she refused to become a Death Eater was just as strong as my anger when she refused to join the Order."


	41. Chapter 41

_Author's Note: Yay! Super fast update! I didn't expect to update this soon, but I had some inspiration and unexpected houseguests at the end of this week. Seemed best to get this out because there might be a bit of a delay to the next. Thank you again for all of the amazing support you beautiful readers have given me!_

* * *

Chapter Forty-One

June 28, 1973

 **10:45 pm**

Hermione's feet felt as if they were frozen to the marble floor. Her mind had been elsewhere when she stepped out of the study into the corridor. Though she should not have been surprised in the slightest that Voldemort would seek her out after their cryptic conversation earlier in the evening, she was. It was unnerving to be caught off-guard and alone by the Dark wizard.

Voldemort stood in a darkened corner just off of the main corridor. It was an excellent position to watch the rest of the guests without being spotted. Clearly the wizard wished for a few minutes alone to survey his surroundings without being dragged into yet another interminably boring conversation with some sycophant seeking his favor. The sounds of the orchestra playing in the ballroom wafted down to fill the space.

"Thank you, my lord, for the honor, but I must find my uncle right now," she lied.

She knew that in order to get to the bulk of the party and away from what was feeling increasingly like a deadly spider's web, she would have to pass by the wizard in his hiding spot. Only one step away from him, she felt a chilly hand grab hold of her bare elbow. Just as it had earlier when he was admiring her locket, the skin he touched prickled with goosebumps. She did not like how it felt when he touched her and wished she could be just about anywhere else. A gentle tug of her arm brought her into the small corner with the Dark Lord.

"Then perhaps we should have a brief chat here right now," he suggested, his voice a quiet, terrifying whisper. "Would that be acceptable?"

Arguing with the man tightening his grip on her arm seemed like a futile gesture. A quick scan of the immediate area showed no one she knew nearby who could come to her rescue. Even if someone was nearby who could interrupt them, they wouldn't. Lord Voldemort already had an extensive following even if he wasn't out in the open about it. Before she could even protest or agree to a conversation with the Dark Lord, he was leading her down the corridor back into the room she just exited.

The click of the study door shutting sounded much louder than it should have. Hermione did not know what to do. She never expected to be completely alone in the same room with Voldemort. No one knew they were in there either. She was completely at his mercy. The atmosphere in the room was no longer as warm and comfortable as it had been only a few minutes earlier when she was joking and laughing with Augustus Rookwood.

"This will be much more private than the dance floor."

He led her over to the couch she had only just stood up from. A gentle push from the wizard knocked her down onto the plush cushions. Voldemort removed the heavy outer-robe he was wearing. After he carefully folded the garment and laid it across the back of the sofa, the wizard sat down next to her in his shirtsleeves. It felt more than a little odd to be close enough to the man that their knees brushed against each other. Hermione did not know what to say. He smirked once more at her, making the feeling of being caught in his spider's web even more prevalent.

"Would you call one of the house-elves, Miss Dumbledore?" he asked.

As a member of the family, Hermione was able to summon any of the family's house-elves at will. It had taken some getting used to, of course, but she knew enough to play her role as a member of the Lestrange family. There had been no talk of freeing elves or giving them equal rights to wizards. Regnault would not have stood for it and her cousins likely would have teased her mercilessly. A simple snap of her fingers brought one of the dozen harried house-elves. Rosie kept the elves under tight control. Based on the exhausted expression on the poor creature's face, he was being worked quite hard for the party.

"Bottle of your master's finest fire whiskey and two glasses," Voldemort ordered the terrified elf.

The thought of more alcohol made Hermione's stomach churn. She had already had quite a bit on a relatively empty stomach. Much more and she was afraid she would be sick. Voldemort leaned back as far as he could on the sofa to stare at his companion. It felt weird to see him act so casually. The way in which he was looking at her and how he kept brushing his knee against hers would have meant from any other wizard that he was interested in her in a sexual manner. Hermione wasn't fooled. Voldemort had no interest in what she kept underneath her knickers. Despite how handsome the man clearly was, she got the impression that he was not interested in base desires. Perhaps sex was too common an act for the wizard.

Less than a minute or two passed before the elf returned with the requested items on a silver tray though it felt much longer to Hermione. To her surprise, Voldemort was the one to pick up the bottle of fire whiskey to fill their glasses. She was so unnerved to be alone with the wizard that she immediately raised her glass to her lips. A chilly hand was placed on her wrist to stop her.

"A toast before we drink."

He did not remove her hand. Hermione could feel her arm start to tremble the longer the touch remained. She hated that she was allowing him to affect her that way. Voldemort seemed amused. She assumed that he was not unused to using the same tactics with other witches and even possibly wizards to get his way.

"Here's to furthering our acquaintance, Miss Dumbledore."

The sound of their glasses clinking in the near-silent room was deafening. Hermione did not want to toast getting to know the Dark Lord better. He was the last person in the world she wanted to know. She knew his history, knew the carnage that would be responsible for in his unnatural life and she wanted no part of it. This was the monster that would one day try to murder an infant who grew up to be her best friend. Not wishing to say anything in response, she took a large gulp of the fire whiskey. Voldemort's chuckles filled the air in the room with an uncomfortable heaviness.

"Do I disconcert you so?"

"It's not proper for a young witch to be alone in a room with a wizard unchaperoned."

She hoped that pretending to be the proper Pureblood would be a sufficient enough response. The Dark Lord was amused by her to her great horror. She would have vastly preferred being beneath his interest. Voldemort moved closer to her on the seat and leaned down to whisper directly into her ear. Clearly he was attempting to seduce her in some manner. Maybe not for sex, but for something else. He was a wizard who craved power. Perhaps that was what he wanted from her.

"There's no need to lie to me, Miss Dumbledore. I can tell when you are."

His hot breath tickled the outside of her ear when he spoke. She fought not to shudder in disgust. Due to her increasing fear, her Occlumency shields became a struggle. She was concerned that at any second he would tear them down. When she used to meet her Uncle Albus for their regular teas, she always felt uncomfortable and worried about her shields slipping. This was different. Voldemort would have no moral objection to forcing himself into her mind.

"But please continue with the charming, innocent Pureblood maiden persona you're attempting. It's not as if I saw you pushed up against the tiles in Karkaroff's shower with him pumping away between your beautiful thighs earlier when I took a peek inside his mind."

Startled by his whispered admission, she sat back up and stared in his dark eyes. Her single moment of inattention was all he needed to push in. Flashes of images of her with Igor, Antonin and even Ron pushed to the forefront of her mind. She could tell that he was searching for something in particular. All of the memories were of a sexual nature to her extreme embarrassment. The violation of her private thoughts was an intrusion she had never experienced before. After what seemed like an eternity, she finally managed to push him back out of her mind before he saw anything else. She was furious. Once he was out of her brain and her shields were back up, she stood up to her feet abruptly.

"You should not take such liberties," she spat, struggling to control her anger.

Voldemort grabbed her arm and roughly pulled her back down onto the sofa next to him. Even when she was seated he did not relinquish his hold on her in case she tried to run again.

"I wished only to prove a point to you, Miss Dumbledore. No matter how hard you try, your secrets will never be safe around me. I _can_ break through your shields at any moment I wish. Do you understand?"

Hermione nodded her head and dropped her eyes to the carpet. She hated the thought of anyone rooting around in her mind, especially _him_. It was unsettling. The wizard released his grip on her arm, but she did not move again. Satisfied that was not about to bolt, Voldemort leaned back again perfectly relaxed.

"You have a natural ability with Occlumency. Very impressive. I noticed when we first met two years ago. You have improved your technique. May I ask _why_ you shield yourself so strongly in my presence?"

What could she possibly say in response? A terror squeezed at her throat. The truth would likely get her killed after an extensive and brutal perusal of her unshielded mind. Lies would not be easy. Hadn't he already made it clear that he knew when she was lying? Finally, she decided on a half-truth that she hoped would satisfy the wizard. She sighed deeply before speaking.

"My mother was a very suspicious woman. She left home because she didn't trust my grandfather. She knew he would only use us for his own gain. Mum taught me to never trust anyone, especially wizards. She helped me strengthen my shields. I'm grateful that she did because I always feel like my Uncle Albus is trying to break through them. I do not trust that man one bit."

"Completely understandable, of course."

"I apologize if I offended you, my lord. It was never my intention to deceive."

The entire atmosphere in Regnault's study shifted slightly with her explanation. If he wasn't completely content with her explanation, it was at least enough to temporarily soothe his suspicions. Hermione wasn't naïve enough to believe that this would be the last time they would have a similar discussion. Voldemort would not become the paranoid creature he was later in life by ignoring his concerns. For that moment, however, both occupants of the room simply sat in silence sipping at their drinks for a minute or two. Hermione used all of her self-control to keep from trembling and shaking the glass.

"Fenrir Greyback was supposed to keep an eye on you while I was away," he announced. "I found you fascinating from the first night we met, Miss Dumbledore. I am still not positive if you are an ally or an enemy. My _intention_ with Greyback was to have a set of eyes on you to help me determine which."

"And you trust this monster?"

His chilling laughter filled every corner of the study. Hermione's entire body shivered at the unwelcome sound.

"No, I do _not_ trust the creature, but he has his uses. I'm assuming by the token you wear around your neck that he did more than just observe?"

There was no way that she was going to just come right out and admit to Lord Voldemort of all people that his pet werewolf assaulted her on New Year's. It was bad enough that two people she loved and cared about knew her secret. The knowledge in the hands of an enemy was more than she could bear. She knew that he would not drop the subject without some form of confirmation.

"Greyback has taken an uncomfortable interest in me," she replied. "When I expressed my concern to Igor, he had this locket made for me. It was a kind gesture."

"You don't understand the significance, do you?"

That was the second time he had made a similar remark in regards to her new locket. Igor seemed to understand there was a great deal more to the giving of the gift. Was it some kind of Pureblood nonsense she had not quite learned yet? Just when she thought she had a thorough understanding of the intricacies of the society, she was often bewildered to find out there was more.

"If you were to break the charm sealing that locket, I would imagine you would find more than just the traditional magical plants and herbs used to ward off the disgusting cursed animals. There's more than just aconite in there, Miss Dumbledore."

She picked up the stunning locket to take a closer look at it. Though the heaviness of the jewelry brought her a sense of peace and comfort throughout the evening since she was first presented it, she had not had the chance to really examine Igor's gift. There was no discernible way to open the locket. She assumed that was simply to prevent the mixture of the plants inside from falling out. Realizing that she was still not understanding, Voldemort chuckled.

"Your young wizard has placed some very volatile charms and hexes on that lovely piece of jewelry. If Greyback, or any other werewolf, has the misfortune to come into contact with you while you wear it, the consequences would be dire. Tell me, Miss Dumbledore, did Igor tell you about the blood magic he used on it?"

Hermione's full attention fell back to the silver locket. She was sensitive enough to magic and the trace that it left to be able to feel the power within. Blood magic was nothing to mess around with casually. If Igor had indeed used any of his own blood on the enchantments, he was making a very serious statement about what he was willing to do to keep her protected.

"Blood magic is a fascinating subject," Voldemort continued. "Certainly not one that your beloved uncle would ever be willing to teach in his precious Hogwarts. Too salacious, I'm afraid. Despite what you might have heard in the past from ignorant wizards, not all blood magic is so-called 'Dark magic'. Indeed, the most common occurrence of blood magic happens at birth. A mother can hardly bring another blessed soul into existence without spilling a bit, can she?"

Hermione had to bite her tongue to keep from declaring another use for blood magic that would one day come to harm him tremendously. It was Lily Potter's sacrifice that would almost kill the monster seated next to her on the plush sofa. She was curious to know what Voldemort might think if she told him the truth of what would happen in the future. He likely would never believe that the power of love could be so strong.

"The more dangerous it is to collect the blood from the willing donor, the more powerful it is. Some spells can be activated using only a drop or two from a person's fingertips. A tiny prick of pain, hardly life-threatening. Arterial blood is required for the more dangerous spells. One must be careful when cutting into their arteries, of course. Very easy to exsanguinate if done improperly. The _most_ effective blood, however, comes right from the heart. I would imagine if you were to look underneath your wizard's robes, you would find a wound right above his heart. He could have easily been killed adding his blood to your locket."

She hated that she was finding their conversation fascinating. Though she had read more than a few books dealing with the darkest of all magic while they were searching for horcruxes, she knew very little about the intricacies of blood magic. There were an unlimited number of uses for the substance. Part of her also loathed the fact that she thought the wizard seated next to her might have actually made a wonderful teacher if given the opportunity. Yes, he would absolutely warp his students' minds, but they would learn a great deal. It made sense to her why so many of his Death Eaters became so lethal in the future. They all had a marvelous teacher.

"If my suspicions are correct, and I'm certain they are, young Karkaroff has infused your locket with the power and protection of his entire family. As long as he is alive, he is offering you his protection with that locket. Not a small gesture at all."

Their discussion earlier in the entrance hall suddenly made sense. She knew that presenting a woman with jewelry held a lot more weight in the old-fashioned Pureblood society she was now at least a member of on the periphery, but she knew there was more to what the two wizards were saying than she understood. Her curiosity was strong enough to wonder what her uncle would think if he found out about the use of blood magic on her behalf. Likely he would declare them affianced or something else just as ridiculous. She would never hear the end of it until she bound herself permanently to Igor.

"Young Karkaroff is not the only one who can offer you protection."

His words caught Hermione completely off-guard. Several months earlier she lived under the naïve assumption that she was already living under some kind of protection from the wizard. She learned she had been mistaken to her detriment. Was he seriously about to offer her what she once assumed she already had? And at what cost? He wasn't the kind of person to give something without expecting a great deal more in return.

"You may be surprised to learn, Miss Dumbledore, that I have the ability to ensure that Greyback never bothers you again. It would not be difficult."

Despite knowing she would come to regret it, she swallowed the rest of her whiskey and asked the question she knew she shouldn't.

"And what would you expect of me in return, my lord?"

"I appreciate a witch who comes straight to the point," he replied with a small laugh. "I may be in need of your particular brand of expertise in the near future."

"Forgive me, my lord, but I am not sure what you are speaking of. I would not consider myself an expert on anything. I work a humble part-time job in a pet shop and assist my father in his pub."

Without even consciously realizing it, Hermione strengthened her shields. There was something that she _was_ an expert on that he did not need to know about. She knew all about his quest for immortality and even knew about his horcruxes. That was information that would get her killed. Voldemort seemed even more amused by her answer than she intended.

"I am not interested in your chosen profession, that's true," he admitted. "I am, however, interested in your last name."

Of course he would be interested in exploiting his perceived connection to Albus Dumbledore. It made perfect sense. Though she was certainly not a fan of her uncle, she did not _hate_ him enough to want to bring about his demise. She knew she would not actually be able to make any changes to the past timeline anyway. If she allowed herself to stop and think about everything that her uncle had done on behalf of the "Greater Good" in the future, it would not take long before she was too angry to see straight. At the time when they were all within Albus Dumbledore's manipulations, it was not possible to see what he was doing. Afterwards, when she learned that he knowingly placed her best friend in a home where he would be neglected and abused only so that he would see his Headmaster as a father figure in his life to better facilitate his own agenda, she was thankful that he was dead. Knowing that he had her best friend raised as a lamb for the slaughter without even telling him made her blood boil with rage. The reason she chose to avoid her father's older brother in the seventies was not only because she didn't want to inadvertently give him information about the future. She had a great deal of anger towards him.

"I think it is clear based on what you told me earlier that you are not a loyal follower of your Uncle Albus."

"No, I am not. Our issues, however, are all private family matters."

"I would be very interested to have a beloved member of the Dumbledore family listed amongst my loyal followers. It would drive your uncle mad."

His chuckle made all of the hair on her neck stand up. She knew this would not be the last time they had this conversation. The realization that she was actively being recruited by the Dark Lord to become one of his trusted Death Eaters was like a kick to the gut. Avoiding Voldemort suddenly seemed like an impossibility.

"I will, of course, understand if you need some time to think it all over."

Voldemort rose from the sofa in one fluid movement. He reached for his robes across the back of the sofa. Sensing an opportunity to remove herself from the horrible man's presence, Hermione jumped up to her feet. She was adjusting her dress when the door swung open. Bellatrix came rushing into the room. Just a few steps in, she stopped to survey the scene. They were alone in an empty room. Alcohol was in abundance. Hermione's cheeks were flushed and her dress was wrinkled from sitting for so long. A quick glance at Voldemort showed him to be carefully pulling his robes back on with a smirk on his face. Based on the infuriated expression on the dark-haired witch's face, she was definitely misinterpreting what she just walked in on.

"My lord, we were concerned that you had already left," Bellatrix stated through clenched teeth. "A house-elf informed me where you could be found."

"Thank you for your concern, Bellatrix, but Miss Dumbledore and I were perfectly all right."

There was only one other time in Hermione's life that she had been on the receiving end of such sheer hatred from the horrid woman. Her mind rushed back to the evening she spent sprawled on the floor of the Malfoy Manor's drawing room. Since she arrived back in the seventies and knew that her path would likely cross with the crazed woman destined to marry her cousin, Hermione hoped that she would be able to limit her interactions with the future Mrs. Lestrange. As the furious woman's narrowed eyes followed her exit from the study, she got the feeling that that was no longer going to be an option.

Hermione ignored all of the guests milling about in the corridor and the entrance hall. She didn't care if it was still raining outside. Running out of the manor and getting some fresh air became her only goal. When she pushed open the massive front door and stepped out, she thought she heard her voice being called. It didn't matter. She needed to get as much space between her and the Dark wizard as possible.

A light fall of drizzle fell from the sky. Though the thin material of her formal gown was quickly becoming damp, she did not care. As quickly as her ridiculous shoes would allow her, she ran towards the formal gardens. On a beautiful night the grounds would be full of guests milling around and admiring all of the work that her uncle's elves put into the gardens. She was thankful for the light rain.

Voldemort wanted her to be a Death Eater. Though he might not have come right out and said that he wanted to mark her left arm, she knew what he meant. He wanted her as some sort of 'fuck you' to her uncle. It was a ridiculous reason to want anyone for a loyal follower, but she could understand pettiness. All too well. She had seven and a half years left in the past. Could she really go that long without getting involved with the war beginning to rage around her? She didn't think so.

The sharp smell of tobacco smoke hit her in the face the closer she got to the hedge maze. It seemed out of place in the middle of the freshness of the garden and the scent of the rain. Clearly she was about to stumble upon another guest seeking refuge from the crush of the madness indoors. She was reminded of the awful cigarettes that Rodolphus would sometimes smoke when he was feeling stressed out. He wouldn't smoke them very often because of the constant nagging from both Caradoc and her, but when he did, they always tickled her nose. Hoping that Rodolphus was hiding in the hedge maze, she walked in.

Only one turn in she found him. Instantly she regretted following her nose. She didn't know when Antonin picked up the bad habit of smoking. Clearly some time after they broke up. His eyes snapped up to meet hers the moment she found him. There was no way to pretend they weren't alone for the first time since the night they argued outside her father's pub months earlier. When she first saw him in the entrance hall, she knew it would be difficult to avoid him for the entire evening. She did not expect to be alone outside in the middle of the hedge maze. They stared at each other for several seconds before either of them spoke.

"I'm sorry," Hermione blurted out. "I didn't mean to intrude."

She spun around to run in the opposite direction when a firm hand reached for her arm to stop her movements.

"You don't have to…" Antonin started, clearing his throat. "You don't have to run away, Hermione."

"Clearly you were in here to be alone. I thought you were Roddy."

He released her arm, but she didn't leave. Something compelled her to keep standing right where she was. A dozen questions popped into her mind to ask her ex-boyfriend. None of them were necessarily appropriate and would likely lead to a row of epic proportions if she uttered them… Antonin's soft chuckle distracted her from her runaway thoughts. In the light of one of the enchanted lanterns hanging throughout the maze, she saw his dimples. It had been a long time since she'd seen him smile or laugh hard enough to make their appearance. Hermione fought the urge to lean up and kiss them like she used to.

"I'm sorry," he declared. "I shouldn't laugh, but you always make the same face when you're trying not to ask a bunch of questions."

"Oh."

"I always thought it was adorable."

His last statement was spoken so softly that she almost missed it. There was a definite hint of sadness in his tone that Hermione tried to ignore. Even forgetting the fact that he chose to end their relationship by openly cheating in front of her, he had a girlfriend that had to be around there somewhere. It was inappropriate for him to talk to her like that. And she had a … well, she had an _Igor_ , whatever that meant. They shouldn't be alone.

"Your girlfriend seems nice. I haven't spoken to her, but she's very pretty. Hufflepuff, right? How long have you been dating?"

Antonin sighed, dimples gone. He tossed the cigarette butt in the air and hit it with a silent incendio spell before it landed on the grass. Clearly he did not care for where their discussion was going. Did he not like being reminded that he had a girlfriend?

"Three months," he answered.

"Teddy introduced you? That's what her ex told me."

"Yes, he did. I'm surprised Andromeda didn't tell you."

"We don't _ever_ talk about you."

She hated how petty she sounded. Was she really still upset even months later? Obviously she was. Antonin ran his hand through his hair. He only did that when he was uncomfortable.

"I saw you with Karkaroff. How long has _that_ been going on?"

"Since long after you proved what a worthless arse you were, Dolohov."

Both of the exes jumped when they heard Igor's voice. The tall wizard emerged from the shadows. His must have been the voice Hermione heard calling out to her when she ran out the front door. He must have overheard their entire conversation. She was glad he interrupted when he did. They might have had a full-blown argument if it lasted much longer. Neither one of them knew how to keep their tempers in check when it came to the other.

"We started seeing each other again months after you cheated on her."

To further his point, Igor reached for Hermione's waist. He pulled her close to his body greedily. Though she knew she shouldn't, she always got excited when the wizard acted possessive of her. It was a feeling she wasn't used to experiencing and it always made her feel desirable. Plus, in that instance, it had the added benefit of making Antonin's eyes narrow and his neck turn bright red. It might have been petty, but she didn't care.

"Why don't you go back inside to your girlfriend, Dolohov? Before she finds someone better than you? It shouldn't be too hard."

Antonin glared in Igor's direction and refused to meet Hermione's eye. Igor tightened his grip on her waist. Without speaking another word, Antonin vacated the hedge maze. The moment he was out of their line of sight, Igor carefully pushed Hermione away from him to get a better look at her. His eyes fell on the damp material of her dress and her bare shoulders.

"What is it with you and standing out in the rain, Charodeyka?"

He removed his outer robe to place around her shoulders. Remembering the unnerving conversation she had with Voldemort just a short time earlier, she reached up to gently brush her hand above his heart. Igor hissed slightly confirming her suspicions. Her fingers deftly unbuttoned his shirt. The wizard simply stood there confused by her actions. A half-healed slice above his heart made Hermione gasp. She leaned up on her tiptoes to lightly brush her lips against the wound.

"You did that for me?" she asked, kissing the mark a second time.

"Of course I did."

"Why?"

It was a simple question that held a great deal of meaning. Igor wrapped both of his arms around the witch to hold her tight to his chest. He kissed the tip of her nose to make her giggle.

"Don't you realize by now that I'd do anything to keep you safe?"

"Igor?"

"Yes, Charodeyka?"

"Take me to bed."

* * *

August 8, 1998

 **3:45 am**

The last thing Kingsley wanted to do in the middle of the night was to rehash Hermione and Dolohov's on-again, off-again relationship from years earlier. She was the first person to admit that they should have never dated. It was too unhealthy, too dysfunctional. More than once Hermione made the comment when they were just lying in bed together or sitting next to each other on the sofa that what she loved most about their relationship was that everything felt _easy_. They could just be in each other's presence without a lot of unnecessary conflict.

Not that they weren't known for their ridiculous arguments. They could argue with the best, or rather the worst, of them. Their passionate natures were often at odds. But the make-ups were incredible.

"It's late, Dean. Let me see about getting you out of here and then we can talk."

His nephew did not argue with his line of thinking. The young wizard's eyes were rapidly growing heavy. If Kingsley could time it just right, he could get Dean home and tucked into his guest room before he was sober enough to ask for a better explanation about his godparents' past.

Iain was standing just outside the door of the empty office watching them through the window. The auror didn't seem concerned about the situation. Kingsley felt confident that he could get his former coworker to allow him to take Dean home for the night.

"You don't even have to ask, Kings," Iain stated before the Minister could speak. "There will be a fine he has to pay, but nothing worse. If you can promise me that he won't get into any more trouble tonight, you can take him home."

"Thank you, Iain, and thank you for your discretion."

"Seems to me that this is a family matter. No need to broadcast it to less friendly ears."

Kingsley shook the auror's hand and reentered the office.

"Come on, Dean. You're going to stay with me tonight. In the morning, I promise I will answer any questions you have."

* * *

 _Second Author's Note: I'm currently medicated for a mild cold. Please excuse any and all errors. I will correct them when I can think clearly._


	42. Chapter 42

Chapter Forty-Two

November 30, 1973

 **12:09 pm**

Months passed quickly for Hermione in a whirl of inactivity. There were times in the past when she was so busy with the events going on around her that she could hardly keep her days straight, but that was not the case as the year 1973 started to come to a close. She lived in a constant state of anxiety worrying about the moment when Lord Voldemort approached her again demanding an answer to his offer of making her a Death Eater. While she waited for the day that she would finally have to make a decision to show her true loyalties in the past, she tried to keep her mind occupied with her work and with the small group of people she had grown to love. She worked extra hours at the pet shop and behind her father's bar to keep from dwelling too long on the disturbing conversation she had in her uncle's study the night of Rodolphus' betrothal.

Greyback had been another constant concern. Part of her expected to see him pop up at a random time to remind her that she was never truly safe. The other part of her half-hoped that he would just so she could see how dire the consequences would be if he came into contact with Igor's locket. Her wizard promised that any werewolf would regret instantly touching her. In over five months she had not since a single hint of the monster that haunted her nightmares. Even with her protective locket she made sure she was safe at home during the Full Moon. Several months Igor even insisted that she spend the night with him to keep his own fears at bay. It didn't matter much anyway. She had been spending more nights at his flat in London than she had in her comfortable bedroom in the back of The Hog's Head.

She had an eerie feeling that the reason Greyback was not around was because he had been warned off by Voldemort. It was really the only conclusion that made any sense. She got the feeling that even if he had been tipped off that she was now in possession of a piece of jewelry intended to repel him, Greyback would simply take that as a challenge. Perhaps Voldemort was keeping the werewolf away to show her what she could come to expect with his offer of protection. It was a sickening feeling to believe she was in the debt of the Dark Lord.

Only days after the betrothal ceremony she made it a point to drop by Andromeda's flat. Hermione loved visiting her friends and their tiny, adorable baby. Nymphadora might not have technically been her goddaughter, but she had every intention of spoiling her as if she was. She remembered Tonks speaking fondly a time or two of her godmother Hermione when they were at Headquarters.

Naturally, a short visit to the tiny Tonks' flat was not complete without Hermione attempting to mention as casually as possible that she had seen Antonin with a pretty, leggy blonde. Andromeda rolled her eyes and laughed. She wasn't fooled.

"Teddy introduced them in an effort to keep Tony from sulking so much," Andromeda explained. "Even though she's my cousin, I hardly know her. Blacks aren't supposed to lower themselves by associating with members of other Houses."

Her dramatic rolling of her eyes proved just how asinine Andromeda believed her father's advice truly was.

"We're third cousins, but might as well be complete strangers," she continued. "But she's really sweet. She and Ted were friends all through Hogwarts. He won't come right out and admit it, but I'm fairly certain he used to fancy her."

Both women erupted into a fit of giggles more suited to schoolgirls than grown adults. Hermione forgot how much she enjoyed just being around Andromeda. She had a way of making her feel relaxed and as if there was nothing wrong in the world. Hermione resolved to make it a point to spend more time around the witch.

"Tony really seems to like Lettie. They get along very well. I think, honestly, that she's a bit of fresh air to him. He's so serious and she's not."

Hermione knew that Andromeda wasn't intentionally trying to hurt her feelings by mentioning that Miss MacMillan was less serious than she was, but it still hurt. Though their relationship clearly had its rocky moments, there had also been a great deal of laughter. It wasn't always solemn and difficult. How many times had they both laughed until their stomachs hurt and tears ran down their cheeks when they were alone in his flat? When times were good with Antonin, they were very good. Likewise, when times were bad, they were _very_ bad.

"I'm glad he's found someone that makes his happy."

And she almost believes herself when the words fell out of her mouth. She never wanted her ex-boyfriend to be miserable. They had simply not worked out. Many relationships did not last forever. Even as she tried to convince herself internally that she was happy for Antonin, she could not ignore the sting of jealousy that pierced at her heart each time she imagined him with the witch she had only gotten a short look at that night. It made Hermione deeply angry with herself that she felt any amount of jealousy. It was insanity. There was a very good reason, several actually, why they didn't work out. Having a healthy relationship of any kind of Antonin Dolohov seemed like an impossibility.

"He's not the only one who seems to have found happiness. Are you going to tell me where you got that gorgeous locket or are you going to continue to be cruel?" teased Andromeda.

The rest of their visit focused on her friendship with Igor Karkaroff that was definitely more than a friendship. Andy had dozens of questions about what they were doing together. She wanted a clear definition of what they were to each other, but Hermione could not give her one. Though Igor had been exceptionally busy with work a lot since they started seeing each other again earlier in the year when he proved to her she wasn't broken, they had never actually defined what they were. She knew they weren't on their way towards an engagement despite Andromeda's claims that no wizard gifted such an expensive piece of jewelry to a witch unless he was ready to make a formal declaration.

Hermione was not in a rush to define what she and Igor had. For the moment, it seemed to work well for them. Maybe it wasn't the most conventional arrangement, but she didn't exactly care. She enjoyed the time she spent with Igor in his flat, his potions laboratory or all of the numerous places around London they liked to visit together in the rare evenings he had some free time. As the year came closer and closer to an end, the Russian wizard seemed to get even more stressed out. His job was growing ever more demanding. They enjoyed helping each other relieve their stresses. There did not have to be a formal declaration for their passionate encounters to continue.

On the last day of November, Hermione went into the Magical Menagerie as she did every Friday morning to help with the latest shipment of new supplies and animals. Since she returned to work at the store after her short sabbatical almost a year earlier, she never missed a day when new owls were expected. If she could prevent her cousin from being injured again, it was worth it to get up early on Fridays.

"I don't think it's fair that you get to skip around the shop with such a disgustingly happy expression on your face, Caradoc," Hermione declared. "Don't you agree, Roddy?"

Her older cousin caught her eye and smiled. They enjoyed teasing their mutual friend at every opportunity about his seemingly perpetual happiness. Though Hermione and Rodolphus were truthfully very pleased that Caradoc had been able to find love with the younger of the Prewett twins, sometimes he could be just a little _too_ happy in their presence. Once Gideon left Hogwarts the previous June, he had been a frequent visitor to the store when he had a break from his new job at the Ministry of Magic.

"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about, Hermione," Caradoc replied with a glint of mischief in his smiling eyes.

"You're making Roddy and me jealous. We don't have anyone in our lives that make us that excited."

A hint of sadness washed over Rodolphus' features that was quickly transformed into a sharp laugh. Caradoc was not amused. Deftly ignoring the pain he could see on his old school chum's face, the manager of the store turned his full attention to the lone witch in the room.

"Oh, for fuck's sake, Hermione. You're just as bad some days. I can _always_ tell when you've spent the night over at Igor's flat the night before. You waltz into the shop with a dreamy expression on your face…"

"I do not!" she argued.

"Yes, you do," Rodolphus agreed, chuckling quietly to himself.

Hermione snapped her eyes in Rodolphus' direction. Ordinarily they tried to avoid talking about her relationship, or non-relationship, with his best mate. It was easier that way. Certainly he had gone out to dinner or to the pub with them both on numerous occasions, but they tried their hardest not to make him feel the slightest bit uncomfortable.

"At the risk of sounding too much like Father, has he decided whether or not he's ready to make a formal declaration?" asked Rodolphus.

She groaned and rolled her eyes. Since the first visit she had with Andromeda after her sister was formally betrothed to her first love, she had been incessant in her inquiries about Igor's intentions. It was growing tiresome. Hermione expected that line of questioning from Uncle Regnault. Indeed, each Thursday when they met for lunch she prepared herself for the onslaught of impertinent questions about her impending engagement to the wizard. It was exhausting.

"Why would you think that anything has changed between Igor and me?"

Rodolphus did not say a word. Just reached across the counter to tug gently on her locket. She ripped the chain out of his hand and stepped back far enough away that he couldn't reach to grab it again.

"I've been meaning to ask you about that for months, but never found an appropriate moment."

"And _now_ seems appropriate?"

He wasn't upset by her curt remark. Her tone hardly even seemed to bother him. Hermione wasn't sure exactly why she was feeling a little sensitive that day about Igor. They had hardly seen each other in over a week because he was struggling to fill multiple large orders. Maybe she was annoyed that he wasn't spending any time with her or maybe she was _frustrated_ that it had been longer than she was comfortable with since they were last in bed together.

"I know when you walked into my bedroom the night of the betrothal that you did not have that locket on, but you had it when you came out. That's an expensive present for a wizard to just give you without any plans for anything serious."

She was spared the frustration of being forced to answer his question when the bell above the front door rang. All three occupants of the Magical Menagerie jumped at the sound. Caradoc's soppy expression only grew worse when he saw a smirking Gideon enter. The cousins stared at each other for a few moments. Rodolphus' silence indicated that their conversation was far from over. Likely they would bring it up again at the first chance they were alone.

"I was hoping to catch you before you went to lunch," Gideon said moments after giving his boyfriend a quick kiss in greeting."

"Hermione was just about to leave for the day," Caradoc replied with a prominent pout on his lips.

She rolled her eyes and told Caradoc to leave.

"Are you sure you don't mind staying through lunch, Hermione? I know it's not your usual schedule, but…"

"No, I don't mind. Go. Go away and be disgustingly in love together somewhere else."

Both Caradoc and Gideon laughed before leaving through the front door. She truthfully did not mind staying to help. There wasn't anything else happening that day of any interest. Staying in London for a couple more hours than planned was no big deal. Hermione walked around the front counter to sit behind the till with a sigh. Rodolphus leaned against the counter to pick up where they left off.

"I thought things between you and Igor were going well."

"No, they are. I mean, Igor is great and we do spend a lot of time together, but I don't know. It feels like something's…"

"Missing?"

"Exactly. I would probably consider him my best friend…"

Rodolphus scoffed at her remark and tried to look offended. Hermione rolled her eyes before joining him in laughing.

"You are more than just a friend, Roddy. You're my family."

"Blood."

The single word that left his mouth made Hermione extremely uncomfortable. His statement was not technically true. Though legally she certain was his cousin thanks to whatever Unspeakable Kingsley made test out the time turner before she used it, they shared no blood. She wondered if he would still love her and trust her if he found out that she was lying about who she really was. Hermione shook her head slightly. She did not want to think about that too hard if she could help it.

"Yes, well, Igor is a wonderful friend and he has been amazing lately, but there's no future there."

"Are you certain? I've seen how he looks at you when he thinks no one is watching. He talks about you _all_ that time. I mean, really, it's maddening."

Hermione snorted. Rodolphus winked at her and they both began to laugh again. Moments with her cousin could be so full of laughter and joy at times. She hated to think there would come a day when she would no longer get to experience those times with him. There was also no way that she could tell him how she knew there would be no future with Igor. But even without the benefit of time travel, she just _knew_ Igor was not who she wanted to spend the rest of her life with. Before she could say anything else, Rodolphus sighed.

"I suppose you know what's best though. Is there… is there someone else?"

Hermione wrinkled her brow at Rodolphus' question. She honestly had no idea what he was talking about. They'd spent some time together recently. Surely she would've mentioned she was seeing someone other than Igor. Rodolphus also seemed uncomfortable asking the personal question. He cleared his throat multiple times before continuing.

"Bellatrix thinks there might be something between you and Lord… well, she _claims_ she walked in on the two of you in a compromising position the night of the betrothal ceremony."

She was startled at first by his confession, but the shock did not last long before she broke out in loud, almost manic laughter. Rodolphus was clearly unnerved by her response. He did not seem to know what to say. Hermione laughed until her sides hurt and breathing became difficult. The very idea that she would have some kind of sexual affair with the Dark Lord was more than a little amusing.

"How long have you been waiting to ask me that, Roddy?"

"She told me the night of the ceremony. I didn't believe her, but she was insistent."

"Don't worry. Your fiancée's beloved is free from my feminine wiles. We had a private conversation in the study. Bellatrix walked in and misunderstood what she was seeing."

Rodolphus sighed. It was obvious that he did not want to continue their conversation, but felt compelled to keep on. No doubt he was growing tired of his future wife asking him to confront his cousin about her affair with the powerful wizard.

"She claims you were both half-dressed."

Hermione did not even attempt to hide the frustrated roll of her eyes.

"She is delusional. I was smoothing out the wrinkles on my dress from sitting down too long _fully_ clothed. He removed his outer robe to be more comfortable. Absolutely _nothing_ untoward happened between us nor will it _ever_ happen."

Her cousin seemed instantly relieved. Hermione could only imagine what Rodolphus must have thought when he heard his cousin was involved with such a dangerous wizard. He spent six months traveling with Lord Voldemort. Surely he couldn't be completely naïve of what the man was capable of doing. Deciding not to tell Rodolphus what they spoke about in his father's study, she took pity on him and lied.

"He was hiding there because he needed a break from the other guests. I didn't know anyone was in there and I was trying to avoid Antonin. When I started to leave, he stopped me. Said there was plenty of room for us to both hide in there. I found us a bottle of Uncle's best fire whiskey and we talked about magic. Fascinating conversation really, but all perfectly innocent."

He exhaled loudly in clear relief. Hermione could only imagine how awful Bellatrix made it all sound. The woman was probably furious.

"Why were you hiding from Antonin?"

"I was surprised to see him there. Completely caught me off guard."

"His new girlfriend is Bellatrix's second or third cousin. She didn't want to invite the MacMillans but her father insisted. He's working on some business deal with his cousin and has decided to temporarily ignore his dislike of that branch of their family to make some money."

Hermione really didn't want to talk about Antonin any longer. Rodolphus had made it clear on multiple occasions that he did not like her ex. She didn't want to have another exasperating conversation with the man.

"You still care for him."

It was not a question. Hermione did not even try to deny the truth of his statement. Yes, she still felt very strongly for Antonin. The longer she was away from the madness of almost a year earlier when everything in her life began to change, the easier it was to remember all of the good aspects of her failed relationship.

She felt intense guilt thinking about Antonin. It felt like she was betraying Igor, but they weren't really together. Hermione groaned and covered her face with her hands. It was all so frustrating. Even with Igor, she could not stop thinking about Antonin. Seeing him that night in the hedge maze confused her a great deal. More than once in the months since she had almost convinced herself to just stop by his flat unannounced. She had no idea why she felt that compulsion. It was dumb and she hated herself. Why could she never think clearly and logically when it came to Antonin?

"Yes, I still care about him. I know how you feel about him, Roddy. No need to remind me."

"I wasn't trying to discourage you. Love doesn't always make sense."

And she actually believed him. After the violent incident in Knockturn Alley, Rodolphus and Caradoc teamed up together to try to encourage her to walk away from the unstable, temperamental, young wizard. Both men had been overjoyed to hear she ended their relationship. But Rodolphus was right. Love certainly didn't always make sense. She'd made several mistakes in all of her past relationships that made her cringe to think on later.

Antonin was not an easy wizard to love. She learned that firsthand. Very little about their relationship could be considered healthy. They both made very poor decisions when it came to each other. She knew the violence and the bleakness of his future. Knew he was likely about to be persuaded to follow Lord Voldemort very soon. So why could she not stop thinking about him? Why did she still want to kiss him and lose herself in the passion of his bed again?

"He cheated on me," she announced in a futile effort to remind herself why they weren't together anymore.

"I suspected."

"He accused me of cheating on him with Igor, implied I was having a torrid affair with Ted Tonks, and then orchestrated it so I'd walk in on him in the middle of fucking his neighbor."

Rodolphus seemed sad after her admission. Hermione expected him to be furious on her behalf. His reaction was a surprise. They had not really spoken about anything important since the day Nymphadora was born. Her cousin was an expert at isolating himself from his loved ones.

"I'm sorry he did that to you, and I'm not excusing him in the slightest, but most people don't get that jealous and upset over someone they don't care about deeply. What's that trite saying you always hear? 'You always hurt the ones you love'."

"So you're saying I should forgive him and see if he wants to try again?"

"Oh, no no no. I think you should run in the opposite direction every time you see him."

Hermione couldn't help laughing at the vehemence of his statement. The tension that had been hanging in the room all but disappeared. She'd missed talking to her cousin like that. Rodolphus smiled.

"But am I really the one to give love advice? I allowed the woman of my dreams to slip through my fingers because I was too terrified of my father to run off and marry her like she begged me to. And now I'm going to marry her sister instead and that witch scares the shit out of me."

Hermione reached across the counter to grab his hand. He gave her a sweet, but sad half-smile.

"Use me as an example, Cousin. Don't wait until it's too late. If you love him, don't worry about what everyone else thinks. Don't worry if it doesn't make sense or it might be hard. Grab happiness with both hands and tell everyone who gets in your way to fuck off."

Rodolphus was oddly passionate in his speech. It surprised Hermione. Yet again, she felt another prick of guilt that she hadn't been around her cousin much lately outside of working in the store together. She resolved to be better and more supportive in the future.

"Just whatever you do, Hermione, let Igor down gently."

"You don't have to worry about him. We're not serious. He and I are just good friends."

"Anyone with two eyes in their heads can see that's not true."

Hermione was unsure how to respond. She felt uncomfortable with where their conversation was heading. Rodolphus sighed.

"You know what you and I both need right now?" he asked.

"What?"

"A little something to get our minds off our troubles. I'm sure I've got some hidden in my office."

He walked immediately to the back of the store. Hermione worried that he was still drinking in his office when he thought no one knew. In the short time that it took Rodolphus to walk to his office, find what he was looking for and return to the front of the store, Hermione had herself worked up into an agitated state. She most certainly was _not_ going to encourage his addiction by drinking with him in the middle of the day. It would go against all of her principles. Just as she was about to launch into a full-blown Muggle intervention, Rodolphus tossed her a chocolate frog. Realizing he wasn't about to start drinking, she laughed.

"Expecting something else?"

He winked at her and she laughed again. At least they were almost to a point where they could joke around about his addiction. Hermione opened the package for something to do with her hands.

"I have to keep these hidden. You can't trust Caradoc around these. He used to steal them from me when we were in school."

* * *

 **6:10 pm**

Hermione spent the rest of the afternoon in London. Caradoc did not return from his lunch with Gideon until long after his lunch hour was over. The spring in his step and the annoying smirk on his face only made the cousins roll their eyes behind their back. Neither of them really were in a mood to be around the only one of their number in a successful, loving relationship. Though they were certainly pleased for their friend, it was a lot easier to be happier for him after Rodolphus sent him to the owlet nursery to clean up for a few hours.

She had been in no hurry to return home to Hogsmeade after she left the shop. With all of the hours he had been stuck in his laboratory brewing, Hermione hadn't seen Igor in over a week. It surprised her how much she missed him when he was gone. Knowing that the wizard likely had lost all track of time and probably hadn't eaten properly in days, she ran errands around the city until right before the apothecary was due to close.

Felix was displeased to see her enter just twenty minutes before they were set to lock the doors at half past six. She didn't really care. He was a cantankerous wizard on the best of days and an absolute nightmare on the worst. Igor once confided in her that part of his anger was due to the fact that he had been unable to pass his Potions Mastery exam after taking it more than eleven times. It was unheard of for someone to even attempt sitting for the exam that many times. He chose to blame the innocents around him instead of taking responsibility for the fact that he clearly just wasn't good enough.

Not wishing to disturb Igor while he was hard at work, Hermione stood in the doorway of his laboratory for several minutes holding the paper sack with his dinner in it before he noticed her. Igor was hard at work adding ingredients to a phosphorescent green potion. She did not mind. Watching him work was something she loved. He was a true Master and his countenance lit up whenever he was faced with a troublesome potion. This was a wizard who enjoyed finding solutions for problems. When he looked up and finally saw her standing there, he smiled. A simple summoning with his hand encouraged her to cross the threshold.

She took the paper sack over to his desk. Though it had been marginally organized, she still had to wait for him to shuffle around some parchment before there was any space for her to set it down. Igor stretched his stiff muscles before leaning down to kiss her.

"Sorry to keep you waiting so long. I'm a little behind."

"It's all right. I assumed you haven't even stopped to eat yet today."

Igor kissed her again dramatically to show his gratitude before tucking in to the large slice of steak and kidney pie she'd picked up from The Leaky Cauldron. He often spoke fondly about the foods from his native land when he was feeling nostalgic, but he was also a man who never turned down food when it was offered. Hermione often wondered where he kept it all. She took a seat next to him to start on her own meal with a great deal less vigor.

Neither of them spoke while they ate. Mostly because Igor had his full attention on his meal. Hermione silently wondered when the last time he took the time to eat was. A quick scan of the cauldrons scattered around the large room proved that he had been hard at work on many different potions. She waited for the wizard to finish eating before speaking. He gestured to her half-eaten slice of pie with his fork. Laughing softly, she pushed the leftovers of her own meal in front of him.

"Thank you," he declared when his stomach was sufficiently full minutes later. "I haven't even thought about stopping. You had perfect timing. The last of my potions needs to cool off for a few hours."

A large yawn escaped his mouth. Hermione rolled her eyes.

"If you've forgotten to eat, have you also forgotten to sleep?"

"I've set up a small bed in the corner over there," he replied, pointing to a corner near the window. "I've been able to sleep a bit between stirring and adding ingredients."

"You've been busy for months. New client?"

Igor seemed reluctant to answer the simple question. His eyes dropped from hers to the top of his desk for just a moment. It was long enough that Hermione was suspicious. What was he hiding? Trying to deflect the attention from her question, Igor reached over to grab Hermione. With one swift motion he had her settled on his lap and in his arms.

"I've missed you," he declared, covering her mouth with his.

Several minutes passed of nothing but heated kisses and feverish touches. Hermione often forgot to think or breathe in Igor's presence when he set his mind to it. More than a week had gone by since they were last together. To both of them, it felt like an eternity. In another movement, Igor rose to his feet with Hermione's legs wrapped around his waist. Their mouths hardly even broke apart as he walked them across the laboratory to his small bed. He dropped her on the bed hard enough that she bounced up with a startled laugh.

"You are evil," she stated, smirking. "You didn't even ask me if I _wanted_ to be in your bed and then you just threw me on it."

Igor crawled onto the bed, covering her body with his.

"I'm not evil," he replied, also smirking. "Just anxious to get you in bed."

She allowed her earlier concerns to be pushed aside for the first several minutes they lay in bed together. Despite declaring he wanted her in his bed, Igor was clearly exhausted. Hermione knew that what he really needed was a decent few hours of sleep. When his hands reached for the bottom of her jumper, she stopped him by placing her hands on top of his.

"You need sleep, Igor."

"No, I'm fine, Charodeyka. I need _you_."

"No, Igor. Sleep."

She used all of her strength to push the petulant and increasingly grumpy wizard off of her. When he was on his back with his head on the single pillow, she rolled around enough to be able to lay her chin on his chest. He was not happy with the rejection, but seemed to be understanding.

"Will you be working all weekend? I could come by tomorrow."

He sighed.

"I have a large order that must be ready by Monday. The client is rather _demanding_. I'll be busy all weekend."

Hermione leaned up to kiss the tip of his nose. It was an affectionate gesture that always made her giggle. His prominent scowl fell of his face.

"I'm sorry," she said. "That must be awful. I hope you're getting a large commission."

His loud sigh made her remember his reluctance from earlier to speak about his client. She had a sinking feeling in her stomach just _who_ her wizard was brewing potions for. Before he could stop her, she reached for his left arm. A single tug on his sleeve brought the cuff up past his elbow. Dark against his skin was the skull and snake mark she had grown to loathe. She rose from the small bed immediately. Igor sat up to pull his sleeve back down.

She didn't want to cry in front of the wizard, but could feel the tears gathering in the corners of her eyes. Of course she knew there would be a moment when he would throw his lot in with Lord Voldemort. From the moment she met him, she knew it would only be a matter of time. Naively she assumed that it wouldn't be quite so soon. Even though changing the past was impossible, she still hoped that maybe she could delay his entrance into the service of the Dark Lord.

"I should go," she announced.

"Charodeyka, don't leave."

His hand reached out to grab her arm before she even made it a step away. Hermione did not know what to say. Sometimes it was all too easy to forget that she knew the futures of all of the people in her lives. It was maddening.

"When did you…"

She didn't even know how to put her question into words. They had just been in bed together a week ago. And in the shower. And once on the sofa in the living room. Had he simply glamoured the Mark? Or had it been an even busier week than he let on?

"Not long after Rod's betrothal I met with the Dark Lord. He's in need of a Potions Master."

"So you handed over your life to a man you call the _Dark Lord_?"

"Charodeyka, it's not all that dire. He's a powerful man and he simply needs witches and wizards on his side that he can trust. One day he will be the Minister for Magic and start to make some real changes to this country. Why _wouldn't_ I want to be involved?"

Igor ran his free hand through his hair and sighed. His eyes were red with exhaustion and prominent dark circles were under his deep blue eyes.

"Do you even understand what kind of man it is you have chosen to serve?"

She had to be careful with her next remarks. Giving out too much information could bring her under intense scrutiny. Igor did not need to know what she knew. It could be dangerous for both of them.

"He is a powerful wizard and when a powerful wizard who has been known to make his enemies disappear comes to you and asks for your loyalty, you give it to him."

"So you pledged your life to a man that you're afraid of?"

"There is no shame in aligning yourself with a more powerful benefactor."

"Except he's a dangerous madman!"

Igor narrowed his eyes in confusion at her words. Clearly he had no idea what she was saying. For all he knew, she had only been around him twice in her entire life. All she knew were rumors.

"And given the same choices, you wouldn't say 'yes' to him?" Igor asked, his skepticism clear in his tone.

"No, I wouldn't! He asked me that night. And I didn't say 'yes'."

"Then perhaps you are just a bit braver than the rest of us," he spat.

"You are a coward, Karkaroff. You will live the rest of your life as a coward and you will _die_ a coward."

Hermione ripped her arm out of his grasp. She was out of the laboratory and then outside of the apothecary in moments. Felix was already gone for the evening. She pulled open the locked door, not even bothering to lock it behind her. The freezing night air cut through her jumper like a knife. In her haste to rush out of the room, she left her cloak behind. It didn't really matter with the ability to perform heating charms.

She was too upset to go back to Hogsmeade. Her dad would take one look at her with her tear-streaked face and demand to know what happened. How could she tell him that her not-quite-a-boyfriend was now a full-fledged Death Eater? Aberforth would never let her out of the pub again. Apparating to Norfolk unannounced was never a good idea. Regnault would be suspicious and Rodolphus would be worried. Ted and Andromeda were out of the question. They were young parents and completely exhausted all of the time. The last thing she wanted to do was just drop in on them without so much as an owl warning. Neither of them would appreciate that.

It wasn't until she reached the entrance to Knockturn Alley that she made up her mind. Stepping into the darkened alley felt a little like going back in time. She hadn't been back there since the day she walked in on Antonin and Greyback pinned her up against a wall. There had be no need. She was also afraid of accidentally running into her ex.

That night, however, she didn't care if she saw Antonin. In fact, a tiny part of her hoped she would. If for no other reason than to just reassure herself that at least _he_ hadn't become a Death Eater yet. There would still be time to delay his entry into the Dark Lord's private forces. Her warming charms were just about to wear off as she stepped into The White Wyvern. Her avoidance of Knockturn Alley meant it had been a very long time since she last enjoyed the lively pub.

Friday nights were busy in most pubs. She knew if she went home she could be sure to be stuck behind the bar for most of the evening. Not that she would mind. It was home to her and even the rough clientele that still frequented her father's pub even after she made certain the establishment was clean were old friends. She felt more at ease with the hags, warlocks and goblins than she did with some of the prominent members of wizarding society.

"Hey, Dumbledore!"

Hermione jumped when she heard the shout. She scanned the crowded room to find the source of the call. Tucked in a corner near the large fireplace was a small table filled with several of Rabastan's Slytherin friends. She smiled when she realized the person calling her was Augustus Rookwood. They had run into each other several times since they hid in her uncle's study. Carefully navigating through the crush of people, she headed straight to their table. Augustus rose to his feet to greet her with a kiss to her cheek.

"What are you doing in a dodgy pub like this?" he asked with a laugh as he held out a chair for her.

"'Dodgy pub'? Do remember who you are talking to, Augie. My dad owns The Hog's Head."

All four of the wizards gathered at the small table laughed at her remark. She half-expected and hoped to discover that Rabastan was one of the group. When she realized it was only Ludo Bagman, Walden Macnair and Maxwell Bole seated across from her, she tried to hide her disappointment. Augustus did not even wait to ask her what she wanted from the bar before he got up to leave her alone with the others.

"All alone on a Friday night, Dumbledore?" Bagman asked with what he assumed was an attractive leer. "That doesn't seem like you."

She chose to ignore the implication that she was something of a wild witch. Certainly her reputation in the seventies was a little more _colorful_ than it had been in the nineties. All of the other wizards made it a point to make her feel at ease. Even the usually taciturn Macnair was friendly. Only Bagman got on her nerves.

"We're celebrating," Augustus explained in a whisper. "Ludo's no longer a reserve Beater with the Wasps."

"Congratulations, Bagman. That's quite an accomplishment."

"I can get you tickets whenever you want, Dumbledore. Just say that word and you can sit up in the box during the game and come home with me after we win."

Hermione rolled her eyes and laughed. He might be a handsome wizard and certainly the training for professional Quidditch had not hurt his physique in the slightest, but she could not imagine a time when she would _ever_ willingly go home with Ludovic Bagman.

"Ignore him," Augustus stated.

"Yeah, we all do," Bole added.

Several enjoyable hours passed in the company of the Slytherins. Hermione was surprised to find that even with Bagman's inappropriate come-ons every few minutes that she was having fun. Her mind certainly was kept occupied with lighthearted banter and debauched jokes. Though she couldn't help but think about Igor during lulls in the conversation, the wizards were able to keep her from dwelling too much on the argument she'd had. Of course when the stray thought that almost every single one of the men seated at the table would one day make the same choice as Igor, she grew depressed again.

"Are you all right, Hermione? You seem down."

Augustus' chair had steadily moved closer to hers as the evening wore on. Hermione pretended not to notice that with each glass of fire whiskey they consumed, the more of her personal space the wizard invaded. He wasn't being obnoxious about it like she was certain Bagman would if they were seated next to each other. It all felt somewhat innocent despite the alcohol involved.

"Bad argument with my…" She stopped. What _was_ Igor anyway? "Bad argument with my wizard."

"Oh."

She did not miss the sound of disappointment in Augustus' single spoken word. The other three wizards turned their attention away from their mate in an unspoken effort to give him privacy. Bagman started telling Macnair and Bole a story about an impossible bludger Hermione could not care any less about.

"Well, I understand that too well," Augustus said, doing his best to sound more upbeat. "No stranger to arguments. I'm sorry if he ruined your night."

"No, he didn't. I'm enjoying myself very much now."

By the time Hermione lost count of the number of glasses of fire whiskey she consumed, she was startled to realize that Ludo Bagman had at some point in the evening became more attractive. Even his jokes and barely veiled innuendo were suddenly funny. Augustus took the glass she was drinking from out of her hand just after midnight.

"I think you've had enough to drink, Hermione. It's late. Maybe you should think about going home."

"No, I don't want to go home, Augie."

"You're welcome to come to mine."

Bagman winked at her for the thousandth time that evening and she laughed. It didn't seem that awful of an idea. She stood up, knocking the chair she was sitting in to the ground. The sound startled the rest of the pub into a momentary silence. Augustus reached for her arm.

"Hermione, that's a terrible idea."

"Oh, would you rather I went to _your_ house instead, Augie?"

Augustus' cheeks flamed red. Her voice was carrying throughout the busy pub. Hermione knew that she was causing a mild scene, but she had too much alcohol in her system to be arsed to care. Bagman seemed more than a little pleased by the change in her attitude. He moved around the table, completely ignoring the clear anger on his friend's features.

"Is something wrong?"

The deep, familiar baritone behind Hermione startled her into silence. It was an authoritative sound she had heard many times before that always instilled confidence in her even when she was terrified on the back of a thestral. She slowly rotated around to see Kingsley standing only inches away. He had been so busy with Auror training that she could not remember the last time she saw him. In that time, he'd grown at least two inches taller. He seemed bigger too. His auror robes also made him seem more like the authoritative man she knew he would grow into. Hermione was almost able to convince herself that she was seeing her Kingsley again.

"Nothing you need to worry yourself about, Shacklebolt," answered Bagman. "Dumbledore and I were just about to leave. Find somewhere a little more private."

Kingsley's dark brown eyes narrowed at his words. He stared down at Hermione to examine her flushed cheeks. She suddenly felt ashamed.

"No, I don't think so," Kingsley retorted. "Come on, Hermione. I'm going to take you home with me."

She allowed Kingsley to take her hand in his. Without so much as a 'good evening' to the wizards she'd spent the evening with, Hermione followed Kingsley out of the pub.

* * *

August 8, 1998

 **12:30 pm**

Neither Kingsley nor his nephew stirred from their beds before noon. It had been a very late night for both of them. The Minister was correct in his theory that Dean would be too tired to ask any questions. He had only just barely been able to help his nephew into the spare bedroom before the young wizard passed out.

He took his time taking a long, hot shower to wake up. Sleep had been difficult to find again when they got home. Kingsley's mind wandered years in the past. A small part of him was afraid to fall asleep. One more false dream about Hermione and he was certain his sanity would break.

The bacon was almost finished when Dean wandered into the kitchen. Kingsley tossed his nephew a vial of hangover potion. Dean greedily drank it down. Almost immediately he perked up. They were halfway through the simple breakfast before his nephew spoke.

"Hermione actually _loved_ my godfather?"

Kingsley sighed. He wiped the corners of his mouth with his napkin and laid it next to his plate. This wasn't his favorite topic of conversation, but he knew it was necessary. And he had promised.

"Yes, they were both in love," he answered. "It was before she and I were together, of course."

"Why did they not get married?"

"They loved each other, but it wasn't the happiest of relationships. I think they broke up four times total. His father put a lot of pressure on them both to get married before he died. That didn't help."

Dean sipped at his glass of orange juice and picked at his scrambled eggs. Kingsley hoped he wouldn't ask any more questions about Hermione's past, but he wasn't dumb enough to believe he could get away with only a couple. To his immediate relief, they were interrupted by the tapping of an owl at the kitchen window. He rose immediately to relieve the animal of its burden.

 _Kings,_

 _Spoke to an old friend who is willing to help. Can you come over later today to talk?_

 _Andy_


	43. Chapter 43

**Important – Please Read**

 **I'm going to address something one time and I will never bring it up again. Consider this your one and only warning. I have** **Zero** **tolerance for "slut" shaming. Zero. There is absolutely nothing wrong with a woman who enjoys sex and chooses to have it when she's young, single and wants to with a willing partner.**

 **To the guest reviewer that I cannot address privately because you won't sign in, I completely, 100% disagree with you that Hermione is Out-of-Character in this story because she is having "fun" with different wizards. Can you direct me to the point in canon where it says Hermione is a dried up, old prude with no interest in sex whatsoever? Because I've certainly never seen it. Sex is a healthy, normal part of life. I was raised in an extremely conservative, Evangelical Christian family where sex was never even hinted at. Now** _ **that's**_ **unnatural and unhealthy.**

 **Hermione has been in the past for almost three years at this point in the story. She has had consensual sex with TWO different men. TWO! That hardly makes her a slut. I'm sorry if you are uncomfortable with a woman enjoying sex, but that's your issue, not mine.**

 **I will delete any and all guest reviews "slut" shaming any of my characters. And if you choose to sign in to leave a signed review to shame someone for liking sex, I will block you permanently. I don't want hateful people reading my stories and being nasty to me behind their keyboards. This is my hobby and I don't get paid for it. It's supposed to be fun and lately, it hasn't been. Where's the incentive to keep writing if it's no longer fun?**

 **Don't like the story? Don't read it. There's no reason to be a dick.**

* * *

Chapter Forty-Three

December 1, 1973

 **12:17 am**

With her hand still held firmly in his, Hermione followed Kingsley out of the busy pub with no hesitation. In his future and her past, he had been one of the few people she knew that she trusted implicitly and without fear. Even as a young, obnoxious teenager she always felt safe around him, if slightly annoyed. Once the cold air hit her outside of the pub, she could feel the full effect of all of the alcohol she had consumed since she sat down with the Slytherins. Immediately she regretted drinking so much.

She reached out to grab Kingsley's elbow in an effort to keep from landing on the pavement flat on her face. Realizing that she was completely without any garment to protect herself from the chill that was in the night air, the wizard removed his warm cloak to wrap around her shoulders. It was entirely too long on her much smaller frame, but she was grateful for the warmth it provided. A discreet sniff of the fabric calmed her down further. Though it wasn't quite the same as it would be when she was in the future and he was older, just the distinctive scent the auror carried around him was enough to make Hermione feel at ease. She still remembered the night they fought Death Eaters from the back of a thestral. The spicy scent wafting off his robes never failed to give her confidence during that long battle. It always amazed her how one man could smell so strongly of cinnamon at all times. Truthfully, it was a mystery she wasn't opposed to uncovering one day.

"What are you doing without a cloak, Hermione?"

She shrugged her shoulders. Drowning in his cloak, he almost missed the gesture. Hermione didn't want to talk about running out of the apothecary. She was still embarrassed by the entire argument with Igor. The simple act of moving her shoulders reminded her that she was very drunk. Her head swam and she felt dizzy. Kingsley grabbed her arm again to keep her upright. Not even waiting for permission, Hermione slipped her arm around his again for stability.

"Why are you here, Kingsley? This doesn't look like the kind of place an upstanding auror should frequent."

"I patrol Knockturn Alley a lot with the more senior aurors when there's a disturbance. I was finishing up a case down the Alley and stopped in for a drink. Or at least that was my _intention_ before I saw you in there."

They resumed walking toward the entrance of the Alley. The anti-apparition wards in that section of London were inconvenient at best. Every few steps Kingsley would look down at Hermione to make sure she was all right. Hermione felt more and more embarrassed with each glance. She didn't mean to drink so much. It had been all too easy with Augie constantly refilling her glass. And the more she drank, the less she thought about Igor and the fucking Dark Mark on his arm.

"Looks like I arrived at the right time. You can do so much better than _Bagman_ , Hermione."

She felt her cheeks heat up with more humiliation. How close was she to actually leaving the pub with the obnoxious Quidditch player? Probably closer than she wanted to admit to herself. She was feeling angry and sad. Mixing in hard liquor was not a good idea.

"Trust me. You would've been sorely disappointed. I've seen him in the Quidditch changing rooms. Not much there to be proud of."

Hermione snorted and Kingsley smirked. She wasn't exactly surprised by the knowledge of what Bagman carried around in his trousers. The Beater always did seem like he was overcompensating for something. He was certainly popular, but never seemed to be with the same witch for very long.

"I'm sorry I interrupted your evening. You don't have to take me home. I don't want Dad to see me like this. He'll just be worried and want to know what's wrong."

"What _is_ wrong, Hermione?"

Wishing to deflect his question without making it too obvious what she was doing, she released his arm long enough to playfully swat at it.

"You're such a Gryffindor. Always there for a damsel in distress."

They both chuckled at the joke. She reached for his arm again, needing the comfort of another human being in that moment. Besides being unsteady on her feet, she felt reassured by his presence. She did not realize how much she missed him. It made her sad.

"You don't have to go home. Mum and Dad are staying at Granny's this weekend. Tommy's with them. You can stay in Tommy's room tonight and go home in the morning."

"Thank you, Kingsley."

The couple walked in silence further down the Alley. It felt nice to just be with Kingsley. He was starting to remind her so much of his older self that Hermione found a great deal of comfort and familiarity in it. Not far from the end of the Alley with her mind focused on thoughts other than where she was at, she tensed when they got closer to Trackleshanks Locksmith. She squeezed Kingsley's arm tightly without even realizing she was doing so.

Antonin was only meters ahead and he wasn't alone. His girlfriend was running her hands up and down his back and kissing his neck as he tried to open the front door that was notorious for getting stuck. He was smiling in a way he rarely did. More than once he stopped trying to open the door to kiss her back. It was clear what their intentions were once they made it inside. Hermione felt both jealous and sad.

She wasn't the only one to tense up at the display. Every muscle in Kingsley's body seemed to seize up when he realized what she was looking at. He was furious on her behalf.

"Oi, Dolohov! Think you could take that inside so the rest of us don't have to see it?"

Hermione's ex jumped at the sound of Kingsley's shout. He looked up and met her eyes before freezing. Clearly he was shocked to see her there. Hermione could hardly breathe. She hadn't seen him since the hedge maze. Of course fate would have to be a traitorous bitch that put him in her path just hours after she had a conversation with her cousin about him. Why did Antonin always have such shit timing?

His girlfriend was clearly uncomfortable with their presence even if a bright smile was plastered on her face. Hermione didn't have anything against the witch. By all accounts, she was a sweet woman who deserved better than to be in the middle of an awkward encounter in the middle of the street. The longer the four of them stood across from each other without saying anything, the more Hermione wanted to run. She could feel her eyes start to burn, but the last thing she wanted to do was to cry in front of Antonin. Her ex narrowed his eyes when he realized she was alone late at night with Kingsley and her arms wrapped around his. It wasn't difficult for him to jump to the wrong conclusion.

"Fuck off, Baby Shacklebolt."

Antonin kicked open the door with unnecessary force. Miss Macmillan quickly rushed inside away from them leaving her boyfriend to glare a final time at Kingsley and then stare at Hermione with a confused expression. Once he was inside and out of sight, Hermione loosened her hold on Kingsley's arm. She silently tried to encourage him to walk faster. Kingsley sighed.

"I'm sorry, Hermione. He's such an arsehole. Even Bagman would be better than him."

Hermione did not trust herself to speak. She was afraid she would say too much or start crying if she did. Just as she didn't want Antonin to see her cry, she didn't want Kingsley to know she still had feelings for his biggest rival. It would be too embarrassing. Though she knew a time would come when she would love Kingsley, it wasn't yet. Surely her feelings for Antonin would be resolved before she got serious with Kingsley. And besides, he had a girlfriend. She wasn't sure how long they would date.

"How is Roxanne?"

Kingsley looked down and smiled shyly. He seemed happy.

"She's doing well, thank you. I don't get to see her very often since she's still at Hogwarts this year. I've been able to see her for a couple of Hogsmeade visits, but it can be hard with training."

"When will you be done?"

He shrugged his shoulders before answering. Hermione noticed that they had gotten broader since the last time she saw him. It wouldn't be much longer before he looked like his future self. Older Kingsley made it a point to stay in excellent shape. His job required it. She wondered if his position of Minister for Magic would change that at all. Thoughts of Kingsley with a belly that wasn't perfectly firm made her laugh to herself. He'd probably still be gorgeous.

"There's no set time," he explained. "Some trainees finish sooner than others. Moody says I'm not as terrible as others so…"

Hermione laughed.

"That's a high compliment from him," she declared.

Immediately she realized she said too much. She closed her mouth even though the damage had already been done. There was no reason for her to have met Alastor Moody in the past. Kingsley looked at her strangely for a moment but did not say anything. Hermione sighed quietly in relief when he continued speaking.

"He's got a reputation for being hard on his aurors, but I'm learning a lot."

"I'm glad. Are you enjoying it?"

"Very much so. It feels good to feel like I'm actually making a difference and helping people."

Hermione smiled but there was no joy in it. She remembered being as idealistic as he was at one time. Remembering the girl she used to be always made her a bit sad. It was hard to think there was ever a time when she was so naïve. The war changed everything. Shivering inside a tent with her two best friends fearing for her life shaped her into a different person. And then her experiences in the past definitely had a profound effect on her. Even if she hadn't already stopped seeing the world in stark black or white long before she woke up in 1971, she was learning that the world and everyone in it lived in varying shades of grey. Going back to the same idealistic child who starved herself and knit hats for elves that did not want them was an impossibility.

They arrived at the end of the Alley only short, silent minutes later. Not trusting her to be capable in her still-intoxicated state, Kingsley Side-Along Apparated her to his parents' London house. She'd been there many times for dinner. It always felt the way a proper home should feel. With no one inside, the house was dark and empty. She didn't like the way it felt without the sounds of the Shacklebolt family moving around. Kingsley led her into the kitchen to offer her some Sober-Up potion which she politely declined.

"I'd rather stay drunk if you don't mind."

She wasn't ready to come to grips with her embarrassing actions of the evening just yet. Morning would be there before she was ready for it. He offered her tea instead. They settled down at the kitchen table. Kingsley asked her if she wanted to talk about whatever it was that made her so upset.

"I never drink that much and I'm embarrassed. Probably won't ever be able to look at Bagman or Augie again."

"Bagman's an idiot. No loss there. Rookwood doesn't seem like a bad bloke. Everyone seems to like him at the Ministry but I don't know him very well."

"Well, I made a big enough fool of myself tonight that I doubt Augie will ever want to talk to me again."

Kingsley laughed and sipped his tea. Hermione was confused. She furrowed her brow which only made him laugh harder.

"Rookwood will come running any time you so much as glance in his direction, Little Witch."

"What?"

"You are _not_ that blind, Hermione. Poor bloke fancies you. Couldn't keep his eyes off of you. I know the signs of a poor sod who's got it bad for Hermione Dumbledore."

He winked and she snorted. Augie was a sweet man, future Death Eater or not. She tried not to think about the wizard with the adorably crooked grin one day being thrown in Azkaban to rot. It would break her heart to dwell too much on the people she cared about who shared the same fate. There were too many. Her thoughts returned to Antonin and then to Igor.

She hadn't really allowed herself to process that he was already a Death Eater. His fate was sealed. She regretted yelling at him and calling him a coward. It was a low blow. Running out on him like that after he'd already been so amazing to her felt cruel. She held her locket in her hand and sighed. She knew what he was going to become. She knew she couldn't change the past while she was there. How could she reject him for becoming what she knew all along he would? She sighed again.

"You've got a lot going on in that tiny head of yours," teased Kingsley. "I can see it from here."

She smiled, feeling marginally better knowing she had a friend willing to support her. Of course she couldn't tell him the full truth of why she was upset with Igor.

"My… ugh, I don't even know what to call him. My _wizard_ , I guess, and I had a big fight earlier. It was bad."

"That tall, arrogant Russian?"

His single raised eyebrow made her laugh.

"I guess I have a bit of a type, don't I?"

Kingsley smiled, encouraging her to continue.

"What did you fight about? Must have been pretty bad if you almost let _Bagman_ comfort you."

Hermione rolled her eyes. She knew he was only teasing her to make the moment less tense, but it was still embarrassing. The more time passed since her dramatic exit from the pub, the more she had been sobering up. She knew she was going to be mortified in the light of the morning.

"It's silly really. I was upset about something that wasn't exactly a secret and I'm afraid I overreacted."

"What about him? Was he overreacting?"

"No, he was actually calm about it. I wasn't very kind."

"We rarely are when we're upset. Can it be mended?"

"Maybe."

"Do you _want_ it to be mended?"

Hermione sighed again. She certainly did not want her friendship with Igor to end. It had been very important to her for many months. Calling him a coward was the wrong thing to say. She was feeling hurt and blindsided by learning he had already taken the Mark. Honestly, it didn't make much sense to be upset the more she considered it. How could she be blindsided by something she'd already known for years?

"Yes, I think I do," she admitted.

"So mend it. If he really cares about you, he won't want to let you walk away."

"Should I go over there now?"

"No. It's better to wait until you've both had time to calm down. He probably needs some time to think too. Decide what he wants. And if you weren't very kind like you said you were, he may need some time to lick his wounds."

The mood of the kitchen felt eerily like the basement kitchen of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place when it was still being used as the Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix. She spent countless hours sitting at the table across from future Kingsley with a cup of tea. He always had a way with making her feel better with just a few words. When did he grow up and stop being so annoying? The more hints of his older self that Hermione saw in him, the more she missed him. Or at least who he would _become_.

"You need some sleep. Granny always says that there's nothing that can't be solved after a couple of pints and a good night's sleep. I think you've probably already had more than a _couple_ of pints."

Kingsley winked and she snorted again. She allowed him to lead her up the stairs to Thomas' empty room. Thankful yet again for the beaded bag she always carried somewhere on her person just in case of emergencies, she was able to find some pajamas and a toothbrush. It did not take her long to fall asleep once she settled in. Already Kingsley had a way about him that calmed her down.

* * *

December 1, 1973

 **9:00 am**

A soft knock on the door to Thomas' bedroom woke Hermione up from a deep sleep. She knew from Antonin that his best friend was not a wizard who enjoyed waking up to bright light shining on his face. Thick drapes on all of his bedroom windows made it almost impossible to tell that the sun was already out. Remembering the events of the night before, Hermione pulled the covers over her head and called out to Kingsley to enter.

"Granny's serving a late breakfast if you want to come with me."

She threw the covers off of her head to respond. There was no sense in hiding. Kingsley was there for the most mortifying moments.

"Thank you, but I think I should go home," she answered.

"No, you need a full English to feel better. Best thing for you after a night of heavy drinking. Besides, Granny almost had a heart attack when I told her you spent the night and Mum was in the room too."

She felt her cheeks heat up with embarrassment. Surely they weren't imagining there was something more between them than there was?

"Are they very mad?"

Kingsley laughed and shook his head.

"No, they were actually overjoyed until I told them you slept in Tommy's room. Mum called me a "perfect gentleman" but Granny called me an "idiot". If I have to endure the embarrassment of _that_ conversation, so do you."

His laughter was infectious. Hermione slipped out of Thomas' sinfully comfortable bed despite a desire to stay hidden in the darkened room for a few more hours. Satisfied that his unexpected house guest was getting up, Kingsley left the room. She took her time making the bed and getting dressed. Several minutes later she met her host in the kitchen next to the large fireplace the family used as their floo connection.

"Thank you for taking care of me last night, Kingsley," she said moments before they traveled to Hogsmeade. "I don't even want to think about what might have happened if you hadn't been there to stop me from making a complete and utter arse of myself."

"I consider you a friend, Hermione. I'd like to think that I will always be there when you need me."

She felt her chest tighten and a lump form in her throat. Before she embarrassed herself further by crying in front of the likely confused wizard, she threw a pinch of floo powder into the flames and called out his grandmother's address. Years living amongst wizards meant she was familiar with the disconcerting methods of travel, but Hermione was certain there would never come a day when she actually enjoyed the soot and smell of ashes that made their way up her nose.

Thomas Shacklebolt was standing close enough to the fireplace in Margie's house to grab Hermione's arm to prevent her from falling onto the stone floor. Her reflexes were still a little impaired following her earlier intoxication. She was feeling a bit hungover, but did not want to ask for a potion. The pounding headache and queasy feeling in her stomach would be good incentive to keep from gulping down too much fire whiskey in the near future.

"So is it true, Hermione, that I was able to get you in my bed before my little brother was able to get you in his?" Thomas teased.

She rolled her eyes and shrugged her arm out of his grasp. Thomas wasn't bothered by the reaction. His laughter filled the quiet lounge. Sounds of plates being set down on the table in the dining room gave her some indication where the rest of the members of the family were located. Kingsley arrived moments later.

"You're terrible, Thomas," she hissed in a whisper.

Staying annoyed with the elder Shacklebolt son was impossible for very long. Almost immediately Hermione rolled her eyes again and laughed. He took Hermione's arm again to lead her into the dining room. Everyone seemed pleased to see their guest enter. Katie did not waste a moment to rush across the room to envelop Hermione in a warm hug. Since the day she came over to the pub to talk to her privately about her attack, she had been a frequent source of comfort for the younger witch. Often they met for lunch or Katie insisted she come to their home in London for dinner. Dean hugged Hermione in exactly the same manner that he did every time he saw her. His arms wrapped around the much smaller witch and he pulled her at least three or four inches off of the ground. She learned quickly not to protest the affectionate gesture from the patriarch of the Shacklebolt family. He would continue to do it whether she complained or not. Truthfully, she didn't mind. He always reminded her of a mixture of the man his younger son would become and her favorite uncle who passed away when she was nine. If there was such a thing as perfect parents, Hermione felt certain that the Shacklebolts would be it. She tried not to dwell too much on the fact that she had no idea what their future held. Not once could she remember Kingsley ever mentioning his parents. Surely they were both still alive in the future. They would only be in their seventies, hardly middle age for wizards.

"Put that girl down this instant, Dean," Margie ordered. "You are going to drop her. Why must you always act like an overgrown child?"

Despite the tone of Marjorie Shafiq's admonishment of her son-in-law, no one present believed for a second that she did not love Dean. She was one of those strange characters that tended to be overly polite to the people she could not stand and gruff and mean to the ones she loved the most. The fact that she almost always had a comment about Hermione being too skinny or her hair being too wild proved that she considered the young witch as just another member of their family. It warmed Hermione's heart to be treated just like she'd witnessed the Shacklebolt boys and their cousin Sada treated.

"Well, now that you two have finally graced us with your presence, let's eat," declared Margie.

Every meal shared with the Shacklebolt family soon became her favorite meal. Hermione loved the ready laughter and interesting conversation. If there was ever a moment when the family wasn't boisterous and talkative, she would be very worried. Plates were almost completely cleared before anyone thought to bring up the unusual circumstance of where she slept the previous night. Of course it had to be the mischievous Thomas who brought it up.

"Would you care to explain to all of us why the respectable Miss Hermione Dumbledore spent the night _alone_ in an empty house with my little brother?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. Kingsley glared in his brother's direction. The adults all had matching smirks on their faces. Clearly no one was terribly upset by the idea that Hermione was alone with Kingsley. They had all been teasing her for almost three years about making her an official member of their family.

"She was drunk and didn't want to go home. I couldn't just _leave_ her," protested Kingsley, his annoyance clear in his tone.

"Rough night, love?" Katie asked. "Kingsie said you were upset. Is everything all right now?"

Hermione pushed the remainder of her scrambled eggs around on her plate in lieu of an answer. All eyes in the room were on her. Finally, realizing that no one was going to drop the subject, she sighed.

"I had a bad argument with my wizard yesterday. Went to the pub to try to get my mind off of it and ran into some of Thomas' Slytherin friends. Kingsley showed up right as I was about to leave."

She left the crucial detail out that she was about to leave the pub, but certainly not alone. Somehow she doubted she could handle even more embarrassment.

"Your 'wizard'?" asked Margie with a single raised eyebrow. "Is that the tall Russian I saw you with in your dad's pub a few weeks ago?"

Based on the elderly woman's facial expression, she was not impressed by the people Hermione chose to spend her time with.

"Yes. Igor and I quarreled. It was silly."

"Have you ever thought about leaving the Russians alone and picking someone from your own country? You haven't had much success with the foreigners."

"Mum! This is _none_ of our business," admonished Katie.

Undeterred by her daughter, Margie continued.

"What's wrong with Kingsley?"

"Granny!" Kingsley almost shouted. "I have a girlfriend."

"Yes, I know. Don't remind me. Sweet girl, but a bit Quidditch mad. You don't honestly believe there's a future with Miss Johnson, do you?"

Hermione wished she could bolt from the room without upsetting any of the occupants. The friendly discussion took an awkward turn. She felt a great deal of sympathy for the young auror. This was highly embarrassing for him.

"She's very pretty, but what can she offer you? Did you not just say last week that she was being scouted by a few professional teams?" Margie continued. "What kind of life would that be? How could you raise a family with such differing schedules? It would be impossible."

Margie wasn't bothered in the slightest by all of the pairs of eyes around her widened in apparent shock. She was not a woman afraid of sharing her opinion.

"It's best you let that one go, Kingsley. Find yourself someone more suitable."

"Granny, he can make his own mind up," Thomas interjected in defense of his younger brother.

"Don't get me started on _you_ , Tommy."

The tension in the room rose to a painful level as Marjorie Shafiq and her eldest grandson engaged in a heated staring match. Hermione almost forgot to breathe. She had never experienced such an uncomfortable meal at Margie's house since the very first one when she brought up her dad's failings. Finally, after what seemed an eternity, Margie broke eye contact with Thomas and picked her fork back up. A collective sigh sounded around the table as the meal resumed. Dean pulled Hermione into a friendly discussion about a new law being proposed that would require all vampires to register with the Ministry. Hermione found it to be ridiculous.

Thomas was the first to stand up from the table. Without asking for permission as he usually did out of respect for his grandmother, he left the room quickly. The tension from earlier returned with his abrupt exit. Hermione rose from her chair, nodded politely in Margie's direction and followed Thomas to the lounge. He was already seated on the sofa when she entered.

"Are you all right?" Hermione asked as she sat down next to the wizard.

He sighed dramatically to make Hermione giggle. She missed her friend. The one year they spent sharing all of their meals and most of their classes hadn't been enough. Between his job clerking at the Wizengamot and the awkwardness that followed after she ended her relationship with his best mate, she hadn't spent a lot of time in his company.

"Granny knows about my Muggle girlfriend and she does _not_ approve."

"Oh, I assumed she was the one who helped you send letters."

Thomas snorted out a laugh.

"No, my uncle Masud has been helping me," he explained. "Or at least while I was in school and couldn't get Muggle post myself. Everyone always makes fun of him and he's certainly not the smartest wizard alive, but he's a bit of a romantic."

"Really? I never would've guessed."

"I told him about Grace before seventh year. He found the whole forbidden relationship terribly romantic. Offered to help. He accidentally mentioned Grace in front of Granny recently. She was curious and you know how she gets. Can't rest until she knows all of the details. She was not happy to find out I'm in love with a Muggle."

Hermione found Margie's reluctance to accept a Muggle as very surprising. She did not seem like a blood purist. Unsure what to say in response to the revelation, she said nothing.

"I know what you're thinking, but no, Granny doesn't hate Muggles. She just doesn't understand what I could possibly have in common with one."

"Antonin said that once too."

Thomas groaned and rolled his eyes. No doubt he'd been forced to listen to Antonin's passionate opinions on the subject at length.

"I love her, Hermione. Very much. I'm not going to be foolish and rush into anything serious with her just yet. I'm going to let her finish school. Apparently there's some foreign university she wants to spend at least a year at. When she comes back, we will discuss marriage. Not before then."

"Does she know you're a wizard? Is she aware magic even exists?"

The wizard simply sighed, telling Hermione all she needed to know. She would never forget the moment she learned she was a witch and there was an entire hidden world she never knew anything about. It had been overwhelming to say the least. And she had had strange experiences for years beforehand. How a Muggle could process the truth of magic was a mystery. To provide her friend with silent support, Hermione linked her arm through his and laid her head on his shoulder.

"If she loves you half as much as you seem to love her, Tommy, she won't be afraid when you tell her the truth."

Thomas laid his cheek on top of her head. Neither of them spoke for a time. There didn't seem to be anything else to say.

"He still loves you, you know."

It was Hermione's turn to sigh. What was she supposed to do with that kind of information? So much time had already passed. They likely weren't even the same people they were months earlier. Certainly she'd changed. What if the changes were too much? She wasn't sure she really wanted to know the truth.

"Violetta is a sweet girl and she has definitely helped Antonin not be so serious all of the time, but I know without him even telling me that all it would take was one _hint_ that you still cared about him and he would come running back."

"He doesn't trust me. He thought I was cheating on him when I wasn't. I don't think I could handle the jealousy again no matter how much I still care about him. It was too much."

"I told him he was an idiot."

Hermione snorted, thankful for a reason to laugh if even for just a moment before the crushing reality fell back on her shoulders. It felt wrong to want Antonin again. He'd hurt her when she was in the most vulnerable time of her entire life. Could she forgive him? Did she even want to?

"No one is asking you to make a decision, Hermione. I just thought you deserved to know."

Their private discussion was interrupted by a sulking Kingsley. Hermione had to bite the insides of her cheeks to keep from laughing at the petulant expression on his face. He moved across the room to stand by the massive piano that took up a large corner of the room. Seeing how annoyed his younger brother was, Thomas burst out in loud laughter.

"Something wrong, Kingsie?" he teased.

"Granny's coming out in a minute to play. She said and I quote, 'It's been far too long since I heard you sing, boy. Your voice is the one and only thing your daddy gave you of any value so I don't want to find out you lost the ability to use it under Alastor's training'."

Kingsley rolled his eyes hard enough that it looked like it physically hurt. Hermione was intrigued. She had always found Kingsley's deep baritone to be soothing and even a bit beautiful. Finding out that he knew how to sing well made her excited to hear.

"Can you sing too, Thomas?" she asked.

"No, I'm afraid not," he replied. "I was blessed with Mum's good looks and cursed with her inability to carry a tune in a cauldron. Dad and Kingsie are the singers in this family."

"How did I never know this?"

"Because I always waited until you went home to let Granny bully me," Kingsley grumbled.

They were soon joined by the remaining members of the family. Katie sat next to her son on the couch and Dean sat in his favorite armchair. Margie ordered her youngest grandson to stand up and remove the pout on his face before settling down at the piano bench. Watching the two of them warm up fascinated Hermione. No one spoke as both grandmother and grandson went through their warm-up scales. Already Hermione could tell Kingsley's voice was hauntingly beautiful. She wondered if it would only improve with age. Did he still sing in the future? She had never heard it before. Maybe he only saved his best performances for the privacy of his shower. Thoughts of a well-muscled Kingsley soaping up and belting out a tune made Hermione's cheeks burn. Imagining the wizard naked was highly inappropriate, especially with his mother sitting only inches away.

"That's enough of that," Margie declared. "Let's practice this one."

She rearranged the music on her piano. Kingsley stood just over his grandmother's shoulder to read along. Margie started playing the opening notes to the chosen song and Hermione found herself growing impatient with the excitement of hearing his voice.

"My love is like a red, red rose that's newly sprung in June."

The first line of the familiar poem that came rumbling out of Kingsley's mouth made every single hair on Hermione's body stand up. Goosebumps covered her flesh when he sang about his love being a melody. The last line of the first verse struck Hermione right in the gut.

"'Till a' the seas gang dry'."

She reached up to feel the chain around her neck. Not the silver one to Igor's locket, but the gold one she kept disillusioned. The feel of the warm metal in her hand comforted her only slightly as he sang the inscription on her time turner in his rich baritone. Tears formed in the corner of her eyes. The song he was singing clearly held a significance between them. Why else would he inscribe his promises to love her 'till a' the seas gang dry'?

Hermione didn't want to cry in front of everyone. Too many questions would be asked. The moment Kingsley paused to take a breath, she stood up. Distracted by a member of his audience moving around, he turned in her direction. Soon everyone was staring at the witch.

"Excuse me, but I really must be getting home."

She ran out the front door before anyone had the presence of mind to stop her. It was all too much. By the time she made it to the end of their street to turn towards home, she could barely see. Why was she affected so profoundly by a simple song that she knew she had heard before? Her emotions were all over the place. Between learning that Igor had the Mark and her conversation with Rodolphus the day before and then drinking too much and seeing Antonin again, she didn't know what was happening.

The Hog's Head was in front of her before she knew it. Closed until late afternoon to allow the proprietor who was decidedly _not_ a morning person to sleep in, Hermione unlocked the front door to step inside the quiet building. Smells of an either very late breakfast or early lunch hit her right in the face.

"Hermione? Is that you, lass?" Aberforth called from the kitchen.

She wiped her tears away on the sleeve of her jumper. Once she cast a freshening charm on her red face and took a calming breath, Hermione moved towards the kitchen. Her adopted dad stood over the cooker with a skillet full of eggs. Very late breakfast it was then.

"Have you eaten?" he asked.

"Yes. I just left Margie's house."

Aberforth glanced in her direction with an indiscernible expression on his face. Much like his elder brother, she often felt like he could see right through her. It made her shift uneasily in the doorway.

"You had a visitor late last night," he announced, turning his attention back to his breakfast. "It was the _other_ Russian."

"Igor? What did he want?"

"He was concerned about you. Said you had a row. Brought back your cloak. Everything all right?"

Hermione sighed. Aberforth could be trusted with her secrets, but he did not need to know any more. How was he supposed to make it with too much knowledge of the future? It was selfish of her to try to give him more than he needed to know.

"Yeah, it's all right. Just a bad night."

She leaned up to kiss Aberforth on his cheek before heading to her bedroom. To his credit, he did not try to stop her for more answers. Knowing that he trusted her warmed her heart. Just inside her bedroom she saw her cloak neatly folded on top of her bed. A single piece of folded parchment lay on top of it. Curious to know what the note said, she picked it up.

 _I never want to upset you, Charodeyka. Will you please come by my flat tonight at ten?_

* * *

August 8, 1998

 **8:01 pm**

Walking up the pavement to Andromeda's front door seemed to take longer than usual. Maybe it was because Kingsley had no desire to make the visit he was making. Just like weeks earlier when he stopped in to visit his friend for the first time since tragedy altered her entire world, he wasn't looking forward to the discussion he knew he was about to have. It didn't take a Ravenclaw to figure out that she was talking about Dolohov in her note. She must have spoken to him at some point in the previous couple of days about her ridiculous plan to try to keep the Minister and Aberforth out of Azkaban. Kingsley knew that if it was just his arse on the line, Dolohov wouldn't lift a finger. He would probably even be willing to risk his own freedom to make sure Kingsley ended up in prison.

He knocked at the front door hoping that no one would answer. Unfortunately, the door opened a crack almost immediately. All he could see was one of Andromeda's light grey eyes staring back at him. This certainly did not bode well for his visit if she was reluctant to open the door completely.

"I need your oath, Kings. I need your oath that your wand will remain sheathed at _all_ times."

"Andy, what is going…"

"Your oath, Kings! You are not an auror right now and you are certainly not the Minister for Magic."

A sinking in his gut told him all he needed to know about what he would find when he stepped inside.

"Just give her your fucking oath, Baby Shacklebolt!"

* * *

 _Another_ _Author's Note: I initially planned to take a posting break for a little while, but this chapter was almost completely finished. It was begging me to post it. Next update may be a few weeks as real life is out of control for me at the moment. Thank you for your patience. I'm still writing, but may just be unable to post for a bit._

 _Also, the amazing ladies, Freya Ishtar and Kittenshift17, have teamed up with me to start a new Facebook group celebrating Death Eater-Centric fan fiction! It is called The Death Eater Express. Please consider joining if you are interested in sneak peeks, previews, extras from any of our DE stories and if you would like to share some of yours. Or if you just want to look at pictures of hot morally questionable witches and wizards. The link to the group can be found on my Tumblr page if you're unable to find it in a search. You must be 18+ to join (which you should be anyway if you are reading this story, right?) ;)_


	44. Chapter 44

_Author's Note: Let's start off this chapter with a "Bad Canimal! Bad!" Remember when I asked all of you lovely readers to send me a PM, Tumblr ask, or to leave in a review your suggestions for Additional Scenes you would like to see in the Additional Scenes story? Well… I'm sorry to say that I lost my stupid list. Sigh. ): If there is an additional scene that you would like to see, please let me know again. I know there were some awesome ones suggested, but I can't find them! Ahh! Thank you so much!_

* * *

Chapter Forty-Four

December 1, 1973

 **10:02 pm**

Over a year of weekly luncheons with her Uncle Regnault every Thursday sharply at noon had given Hermione an appreciation for punctuality. Not that she had been the type to flitter through life never being on time. Her Muggle mother always taught her that showing up late was a passive aggressive way of telling the person you were supposed to meet that your time was more important than theirs.

It wasn't her intention to walk up to Igor's front door two minutes after the hour. Truthfully she had been in London for at least half an hour before the time he asked her to meet him at his flat. His building was located in a fashionable section of Diagon Alley. There were a number of people still walking up and down the Alley to the various pubs open until late that night. She did not feel frightened to be alone at night like she used to. The comforting weight of Igor's locket swinging between her breasts underneath her heavy jumper boosted her confidence. If even Lord Voldemort could sense the power that radiated from the silver, surely the charms would be enough to keep any werewolf intent on harming her far away. She did not want to think about the fact that it was very likely Voldemort's influence keeping Greyback away. She did not want to owe the Dark Lord anything.

Nerves kept her pacing outside on the pavement in front of Igor's building. Hermione hated that a confrontation was coming. She was scared of what they would talk about once she stepped inside the flat, but she knew she couldn't run away. It wasn't fair to the wizard who had been so unbelievably kind to her in the previous several months. Even though she knew there wasn't a future with Igor and that there would come a moment, likely very soon, where they would end their potentially romantic relationship for good, she still cared a great deal for the wizard. To end their relationship and their friendship on such a bad note was not acceptable.

A couple of minutes after the hour she hesitantly knocked on the familiar door. Months earlier he had given her access to his wards. Just as being allowed in at any time through his floo was the wizarding equivalent of being given a key to his flat, so was being added to the wards. Hermione had lost count the number of times she had just let herself inside. This was different though. It felt rude to just barge into the wizard's home without invitation.

His door opened only moments after she knocked. Clearly he wasn't standing far away. Perhaps he had been just as nervous waiting for her arrival as Hermione had been. Dressed in casual clothes with no shoes on seemed to bode well for the visit. At least he didn't seem to want to be overly formal. Droplets of moisture from his hair proved he hadn't been out of the shower for very long. Igor smiled shyly at her causing her stomach to lurch in relief. Part of her feared that yelling would begin soon after she arrived. She returned his smile with a small one of her own. Part of the tension seemed to melt away.

"Would you like to come inside?" he asked.

Hermione stepped over the threshold as soon as he asked. There seemed to be no reason to delay the inevitable. Either they would move past their argument from the day before or they wouldn't. Before he was able to completely close the door, Hermione blurted out an apology.

"I'm so sorry I called you a coward. That was unkind of me."

He didn't say anything in response right away. Simply smiled again and led her over to the large sofa. She was used to them sitting next to each other with no distance between their bodies. Merlin, she'd lost count the number of times they hadn't even been able to make it to the bedroom before their desires overtook their senses. She'd been had just about every way it was possible to be had on that imposing piece of furniture. Igor sat down on the sofa, but they weren't even close enough to bump knees. Hermione hated it. There had never been that much space between them.

"Maybe I am a coward," Igor declared, sighing loudly.

"No, Igor, it was wrong of me to say that. I was just shocked."

Neither of them knew what to say from there. The initial apologies were made. What they did next was anyone's guess. Igor was not looking in her direction and Hermione hated that as well. Briefly she considered just getting up and leaving.

"Were you planning on _ever_ telling me?" she asked.

Igor sighed again. He laid his head on the back of the sofa. For several moments before he answered, the atmosphere in the flat was tense and awkward.

"I don't know."

At least he was honest.

"I'm not ashamed to follow the Dark Lord, Charodeyka," he insisted. "On the contrary, I'm quite proud that he approached me. It's a great honor."

Hermione struggled with her desire to roll her eyes. A lifetime of pain, anguish and violence didn't sound like much of a great honor to her. But everything was still new. Voldemort hadn't shown his true nature to everyone just yet. Much like the early, rabid followers of so many Muggle dictators, the Death Eaters would be in way over their heads before they knew the complete truth of their leader's plans. Wasn't that usually the case of all the mad dictators throughout history? It made Hermione's stomach hurt to think this decision was what would ultimately lead to his death. She didn't want to think about the fact that if she was even _able_ to return to 1998, Igor would be dead. He would be murdered by his former comrades. She took a deep breath to prevent the tears she felt forming from dribbling out of her eyes. He didn't need to see her cry. Too many questions. Too much suspicion. Igor had already made his decision. Nothing could derail the course his life was taking towards his destruction.

"I'm not meant to just openly advertise my loyalty because there is some concern that the Ministry might not understand. They might believe we are some kind of evil group intent on taking over the Ministry."

She choked down a derisive snort at his words. He was so naïve. Is that how _all_ of them were? Seduced by promises of power and prestige but not realizing they were selling their souls to the devil? It made her both sad and very angry. How many lives were ruined (or rather, _would_ be ruined by the insane Dark Lord)? Such a waste!

"I'm sorry I was so quick to anger yesterday."

Igor lifted his head off the back of the sofa to smile. The tension started to lessen.

"I was worried about you, Charodeyka. I tried to give you some time before I went looking for you. I didn't want to leave anything unresolved between us in case you…" He sighed. "In case you couldn't look past this."

He lifted his left arm and motioned to the mark she knew she would find underneath his sleeve. Hermione could see the pain in his eyes. She hated that she was the reason. Hated that she ever gave him a reason to fear that she wouldn't accept him. She wanted to scream with frustration. Every day she spent in the past was harder than the last. Her emotions had been all over the place and part of her feared that she was losing her mind. If Seers were real, she could understand why so many of them were batty and seemed insane. The ability to see all of the horrible things that were going to happen to people and being powerless to stop it was maddening. She wanted to save everyone, but it was impossible.

Hermione reached over to take Igor's hand in hers. He was startled at first by the movement but quickly sighed and squeezed her hand.

"Do you forgive me for being such a horrible…"

Igor's lips on hers cut off any further apology she might have been able to utter. Clearly he was willing to forgive her behavior from the previous day. She was glad that at least for the moment words were not necessary. A large part of her day was spent deciding what she would finally say when she saw him again. It had been an exceptionally long day worrying about how the meeting was going to go. Her biggest fear was the end of not only their unconventional relationship but their friendship as well. He was quite literally one of the very few people in the seventies that she trusted. And more than that, she thoroughly enjoyed his company. She wasn't ready to lose him yet. That's why the revelation that he'd already been Marked was so difficult. He was just one more person she knew she would be unable to save.

There was a great deal of relief on both of their sides that their mouths were able to clear the air without words. Neither of them had to continue to apologize for their argument. Their lips and tongues did all the speaking for them. As the temperature in the room began to heat up as it always did when they gave in to their baser instincts, Igor rose from the sofa. His lips never moved from hers as he stood and picked her up. In much the same manner as he had the previous day before everything went wrong, he carried her to the bedroom. Once inside he dropped her on his bed to finish what they never got to properly start.

All of their frustrations were dealt with and worked out on Igor's mattress. It was without a doubt the most satisfying way Hermione had ever resolved an argument. By the time they could hear the clock towers throughout the city begin to chime the midnight hour, they were both out of breath and completely satiated. Ordinarily they would end their evenings with a joint shower, but neither of them were ready to get out of bed.

"Stay the night," Igor begged.

She had no plans to return home. Wasn't even sure it was _possible_ to Apparate that far after such exertions. Hermione snuggled up to lay her head on his bare chest. She wanted to stay right where she was but worried about his potions order. The last thing she needed was for Igor to get crosswise with the Dark Lord for not doing as he was ordered.

"What about your potions?" asked Hermione. "You said yesterday you would be working all weekend. I don't want to distract you."

"And what a lovely distraction you make."

Igor wrapped both of his arms around her back and pulled her close enough to kiss her again.

"All of my potions are done. Last night after I came back from your dad's pub, I couldn't sleep. Stayed up all night to get them finished. It helped to keep my mind occupied."

"I almost came back late last night."

"I wish you would've."

He kissed her lips one more time before laying his head back down on his pillow. A wave of his hand adjusted the sheets and blankets that had been rumpled. Hermione was impressed that it didn't seem to take him much effort to cover their bodies up with the bedcovers windlessly and wordlessly. She was going to need to ask him to teach her his tricks.

"Kingsley told me I should wait until I was calmer and given you enough time to lick your wounds."

"Kingsley? Were you out late with another wizard, Charodeyka? Are you trying to make me jealous?"

Hermione playfully swatted his stomach with her hand to make him laugh. Though she did not really want to, she decided that if he was completely honest with her about his involvement with Lord Voldemort, she owed him the same courtesy. He could've continued to avoid mentioning the subject directly and not actually told her the truth. Not only was she sure he deserved to at least know about her activities from the night before after she stormed out of his potions lab, she was certain she would feel better if she told. She had enough secrets in her life. The feeling that she was lying to him made her sick to her stomach.

"Kingsley actually showed up at the right time last night. Kept me from going home with a professional Quidditch player when I got drunk at the pub."

Igor's entire body stiffened at her confession. Even his breathing got heavier and more pronounced. Hermione was nervous to look up at his face, but when she did it was clear that he was furious. She remembered the last time they laid in bed together when he was angry. His accidental magical outbursts caused the lamps to flicker and the window glass to shake. The fact that he seemed in control was a comfort somewhat.

"What do you mean you almost went home with a professional Quidditch player?" he asked slowly through clenched teeth.

Hermione wasn't afraid of Igor. She never had been. There was enough of a connection between them that she felt confident in the fact that he would not harm her even if he was furious. Despite being confident in her assertions that she was safe, she still felt nervous answering his question. He had a right to know. They had something of an understanding, didn't they?

"When I left the apothecary last night I was upset," Hermione began. She kept her head on Igor's chest and did not hazard a glance back up at his fuming countenance. "I went for a walk. Didn't want to home because Dad can always tell when I'm upset. Thought that walking would help me calm down. Ended up in Knockturn Alley."

"Why would you go there alone at _night_ , Hermione? That was the last place Greyback cornered you. It's not _safe._ "

"I know. I don't know why I ended up there."

That, of course, was another lie. She knew _exactly_ how she ended up in Knockturn Alley. Part of her, even on a subconscious level, was seeking out Antonin. It was ridiculous and unhealthy and just utterly insane. What did she expect? That she could just walk up to his flat, knock on the door and all of their past problems would simply disappear? She had no idea why the broody, solemn wizard held just a place in her heart. It was infuriating.

"Dolohov lives in Knockturn Alley."

"Yes, he does."

"Did you go there to seek him out?"

She detested that Igor was so perceptive. Her experience with members of the opposite sex had been decidedly different. Usually her male friends and relatives couldn't be arsed to care about anything that wasn't happening right in front of their noses clearly written in black and white. Perhaps that was a trait that improved with time. The very thing that made Igor such a passionate and thoughtful lover in bed was the thing that annoyed her the most when she was trying to keep something hidden. He was a master at picking up on cues and reading between the lines. It was likely the main reason he wouldn't manage to get himself killed during the First Wizarding War.

"No, I didn't go there to seek him out," she replied. It was only sort of a lie anyway. "I did see him though. Wouldn't have been interested in me stopping by anyway. Kingsley and I saw him with his girlfriend hanging all over him as he tried to open his building."

"Dolohov would drop his girlfriend the _second_ you gave him a reason to."

She did not like where the conversation was headed. Thomas' words from earlier that morning when he told her that Antonin still loved her pushed to the front of her mind. Why did it seem that everyone was intent on making her question her own feelings with the serious wizard? Maybe Antonin still had feelings for her, but it didn't really matter.

"I don't think that's true."

"I saw the way he was looking at you at Rod's betrothal. And I'm not talking about just when I found you two alone in the maze. He spent the entire ceremony staring at you, Charodeyka. A man can tell when another man desires his witch."

" _Your_ witch?"

Igor sat up carefully to rest his back against the bed's headboard. His arm remained around Hermione until she sat up too. The anger that had been clear in the tension of his body and the tone of his voice all but disappeared. As she looked over at him, Igor ran his hand over his face and through his hair.

"Yes, _my_ witch."

It was the first time he had made any kind of declaration that she belonged to him. Despite the serious tone of the discussion, Hermione could not stop a smile from forming on her lips. She knew he cared about her. That had been clear for months. Though they had spent more hours naked together than was probably proper for an unmarried witch of that era, they had yet to define what they were to each other. Igor's impassioned declaration that Hermione was _his_ witch made her happier than she expected.

She pulled Igor's hand away from his face to stare at the wizard. He wasn't ignorant of the meaning of his words. A hint of a smile at the corners of his mouth soon morphed into a full-blown grin. Hermione leaned up to capture his smiling lips in another heated kiss. Igor reached for her hips to pull her onto his lap. It seemed that they weren't quite ready to call it a night after all.

Igor's hand moved from her hip to slip between her thighs. Hermione moaned into his open mouth with each practiced swipe of his long fingers. He knew exactly where to exert the proper amount of pressure to make her entire body tremble.

"You are _mine_ , witch," Igor declared.

She couldn't respond with any semblance of rationality. Just as his touch threatened to pull yet another orgasm from her that night, he removed his hand to her disappointment. Before she could protest the sudden removal of the pleasurable sensations he was eliciting, Igor's large hands gripped either side of her frame. He lifted her up by her hips and entered her for the countless time that night in one swift motion. The sudden, unexpected intrusion and the snap of his hips made her scream out.

"You. Are. _Mine_. Witch."

He punctuated each word with a deep thrust. Between their exhaustion from their earlier couplings, the late hour and the intensity of emotions involved, very little time passed of Igor forcefully laying claim to the delighted, incoherent witch before their bodies pushed them both over their peaks of pleasure again. Hermione collapsed onto his heaving chest to try to catch her own breath.

"Now what was this I heard about a professional Quidditch player?"

No longer angry with her, Igor's voice had a note of teasing that made Hermione snort and roll her eyes. She rested her chin on his chest to look him in his amused dark blue eyes.

"Was he an _actual_ Quidditch player or just lying to chat up a pretty witch in a pub?"

"Oh, he's an _actual_ professional Quidditch player," she replied with a giggle. "He was out with his mates celebrating no longer being just the Reserve Beater."

"What team?"

"Wimbourne Wasps."

Igor laughed out loud, shaking the tiny witch still nestled on his chest.

"The least you could have done, Charodeyka, was try to go home with a player from a _good_ team. They haven't won the Quidditich League Cup since before _I_ was born."

"Well, that may be, but this particular Beater will one day get to play for England."

"Are you sure about that?"

"Quite sure."

"It sounds as if you were impressed by him then. Looks like I have more work cut out for me to prove to you that I'm better suited to be your wizard than some git with a Beater's bat."

Igor wrapped his arms around Hermione and rolled them until she was lying on her back. The mischievous glint in his eyes proved they still had a long night ahead of them.

* * *

December 25, 1973

 **8:45 pm**

Hermione followed her favorite cousin out to the formal gardens as soon as the last course of the traditional Lestrange Family Christmas dinner was completed. As far as family dinners had gone, it was right up there as one of the absolute worst. In the spirit of 'family unity', the entire Black family had been invited to partake in the meal. The Malfoys had been another addition out of respect for Lucius' future alliance with the Blacks. While none of the meals had been particularly pleasant, Christmas 1973 would rank high in her memory as being dreadful.

Cygnus Black had never quite gotten over the rude introduction he made of Hermione when she had been in the past for only a few days. He spent much of the meal making snide remarks about how Regnault could not hope to expect his niece would make a favorable match. She spent too much time around foreign wizards and was known to have the reputation of being a bit 'free with her affections'. Hermione had not felt the slightest hint of guilt when she discreetly shot a hex under the table to the man's feet that would cause his shoes to slowly shrink in size until he had to cut the leather off.

Bellatrix spent the entire meal glaring in Hermione's direction when she was certain no one else was looking. It was obvious that the two women were never going to be close friends. Hermione was grateful for small favors. She hated the Black family even though her best friend was technically a member. How anyone could disown a vivacious and loving witch like Andromeda was beyond her comprehension. Hermione got some of her anger out by asking Bellatrix polite questions about her Grand Tour and making it a point to frequently mention that she had heard wonderful things about the trip from one of their mutual friends. The future Mrs. Lestrange narrowed her eyes each time and silently fumed. Only a pleading look from Rodolphus across the table and the gentle touch of Rabastan's hand on hers under the table prevented her from continuing.

For reasons Hermione was certain she did not want to know, Regnault seemed to be overjoyed with his guests. As a sign of respect to the visiting Malfoys, he placed Abraxas at the foot of the table next to Orion and Walburga Black and their two sons. Mrs. Malfoy was pleased to accept the offer of the seat to Regnault's left. Ordinarily the Lestranges endured a silent meal, but this year the Head of their family was livelier and more jovial than Hermione had ever seen him before. It unnerved her slightly.

When the last of the dessert plates were cleared away by Rosie and her small army of house-elves, Rodolphus begged his father's pardon to exit the vast dining room. He did not even wait for the ladies to get up from the table before sweeping out of the room. Not caring for the task afforded her as the temporary lady of the family until Bellatrix was married, Hermione abandoned the rest of the ladies to rush after her cousin.

It was the smell of his tobacco that lured Hermione to his exact location. She pushed down the thought of the last time she sought her cousin out based on the smell of his cigarettes. Antonin was a subject best left ignored. Rodolphus was seated on a stone bench in the middle of the vast collection of topiary sculptures his father was rather fond of. His eyes were lifted to the Heavens where the winter sky was surprisingly clear enough to show the stars.

"Mind if I have one?" she asked.

Rodolphus snorted but offered her a cigarette anyway. She really wasn't a fan of smoking. Even if she ignored all of the health risks she was aware of and the wretched smell that seemed to stick to your hair and clothes, she thought there was a better use of one's time that indulging in that particular device. Of course she had just endured a terribly awkward and uncomfortable holiday meal with a woman who would one day torture her and mar her body with cursed blades. And sadly, Bellatrix was one of the more pleasant dining companions that evening. If anyone deserved a hit of nicotine to calm her senses, it was Hermione.

She settled down on the bench next to Rodolphus. Neither of them said anything for several minutes. There had already been a great deal of talking that night. It was nice to simply stare up at the stares in a companionable silence. By the time Hermione pulled the last drag of her cigarette and incendioed the remainder, she turned her full attention to her cousin.

" _Interesting_ evening, wouldn't you say?"

Rodolphus snorted for a second time. He was usually so formal around everyone else, but Hermione got to see him when he was relaxed. It always made her feel special.

"I don't know why Father insisted on having so many guests. We have the rest of our lives to look forward to being forced to spend every holiday with the damned Blacks. Why start when we aren't even formally married yet?"

Hermione hooked her arm through Rodolphus'. They both stared back up at the stars. She wished she could save him from the mistake that would be his marriage. There was nothing for him to look forward to. More than once he'd made the comment that if he couldn't love his wife, at least he would be able to love their children. It broke her heart further to know there wouldn't be any children for him either. His future was bleak. Even if she could return to the future, what would she return to? Roddy locked up in Azkaban until he was dead? She was sure she wouldn't be able to bear seeing him again behind the iron bars.

It sickened her more than she could formulate into words that the reason he would be sentenced to life in Azkaban was because of his lunatic wife. There was nothing that could be said that would ever convince Hermione that Rodolphus ever went willingly to the Longbottom house to torture poor Neville's parents into madness. She wished she could say the same thing about Rabastan, but she wasn't entirely sure about him. Perhaps Rodolphus was under the Imperius Curse. Or maybe he was just a bystander. He might have even tried to stop his wife. No one really knew what happened that night except for those involved.

A thought struck her that she hadn't considered before. If no one knew what happened, who was to say that Rodolphus hadn't done something heroic that night? It seemed that the Ministry was only interested in locking up all unrepentant Death Eaters following the fall of Voldemort the first time. Surely it was possible that the actual details of his actions that night were overlooked? No matter how many times she considered the known facts of the case, she still could not bring herself to believe that her cousin would ever raise his wand to knowingly torture two people into madness. She just could not reconcile the details.

"Rodolphus…"

"Yes?"

"I need to tell you something, but you can't ask me any questions. I can't give you any details."

He seemed alarmed by her request. For several long, uncomfortable moments, he stared at the witch before agreeing.

"I need you to remember the name Neville."

"Neville?"

"Yes, remember Neville. Neville must be protected no matter what."

Knowing that her cousin would try to force a better explanation out of her if she stayed, Hermione stood up from the bench. She leaned down to kiss him on the cheek before heading back to the house. Rodolphus remained behind a while longer rolling over her words in his mind.

* * *

December 31, 1973

 **8:00 pm**

As 1973 began to come to a close, Hermione dreaded the annual Hogmanay party at Marjorie Shafiq's house. An entire year had passed since the night Greyback forced his way into her father's pub to irrevocably change her life. How could she really be expected to spend the evening enjoying herself while her thoughts were on that night?

Aberforth would not hear of her staying home alone in the pub. When she made the suggestion, he let her know in no uncertain terms that if she wasn't going, he wasn't. Hermione refused to let him miss the one night a year he truly seemed to enjoy himself. No one clamored for drinks that night. No one tried to start a fight in his pub. He got to be served for a change.

"I'm only going because of you, Dad," she stated as she stomped off to her bedroom to get dressed.

His chuckles followed her every step. She appreciated that he wasn't willing to allow her to wallow in self-pity that night. While he might not have known the full details of that horrific night, he knew enough to know that the last thing she needed to do was to be alone in the empty pub. Hermione dressed slowly. She was not in a hurry to rush off to a party where she knew the likelihood of Antonin being with his date was high. As an honorary member of the Shacklebolt family as well, Antonin only missed the Christmas brunch at Margie's because he was invited to the Macmillan home instead. Clearly his relationship with the blonde Hufflepuff was serious. Spending an evening avoiding him sounded like the worst possible use for a night.

A soft knock at her bedroom door startled Hermione out of any other possible horrifying thoughts about how the evening would go. She crossed the length of the small room to open the door expecting Aberforth to be on the other side urging her to hurry up. Her visitor was completely unexpected. A bright grin lit up her face.

"You didn't honestly think I was going to let you spend New Year's alone, did you, Charodeyka?"

Hermione raised up on her tiptoes to kiss Igor full on the mouth. He had been gone for the previous two weeks to spend the holidays with his family in Russia. She never expected him to be back in time for New Year's. After a thorough kiss hello, Igor wrapped his arms around her back and just held her to his chest. He whispered straight into her curls.

"You will not be alone for a _second_ tonight," he promised. "I will be with you through it all."

* * *

August 8, 1998

 **8:05 pm**

He knew that voice. Had known it since he was still in nappies. Kingsley squeezed his wand in his hand, ignoring the pain of the wood digging into the flesh. What was Dolohov doing there? And why was Andromeda protecting him? Had he not made it clear enough the last time they were in the same place that the next time he saw the Death Eater, he would not hesitate to drag him back to Azkaban? He was the Minister for Magic, for fuck's sake! He had a duty to the people he represented to keep dangerous Dark wizards out of their homes.

"Andy, what…" He wasn't even sure how to ask what was happening without completely losing his composure.

"Like I said, Kings, you are not the Minister right now. Give me your oath that you will put your wand back in your pocket and leave it there. Tony has already given me his."

Kingsley's eyes rolled at the confirmation that the bane of his very existence was inside the Tonks' home. He stood on the front step just outside the front door for several long, awkward moments deciding what he should do. His duty compelled him to blast the damned door off of its hinges and capture the fugitive. But he knew that wasn't going to happen. His curiosity was too strong. His desire to learn what Andromeda was playing at too compelling.

"Fine."

Once the Wizard Oath was sworn and Andromeda was satisfied that there would not be bloodshed in her lounge, she opened the door fully to allow Kingsley to enter. Only steps inside the house and his eyes landed on the hated form of Antonin Dolohov seated casually on the large sofa. He used his long legs to his advantage to take Ted's favorite armchair before Andromeda had a chance. He might have no choice but to be in the same room as Dolohov, but he would be damned before he actually sat next to him.

Andromeda rolled her eyes when she saw that the two wizards managed to put as much space between them as physically possible without being in different rooms. She sat down on the sofa next to Dolohov and turned her attention to the Minister.

"Where's Teddy? I don't like the idea of your grandson being in the same house as a murderer, Andy."

"He's with his godfather tonight. I asked Harry to take care of him for the night. He was more than happy to do so. We have the entire house to ourselves to discuss what needs to be done like calm, rational adults."

Kingsley hated that he actually crossed his arms and scowled at the very idea that he would willingly sit in that room with Dolohov _calmly_. Old habits died hard. Especially when he had just recently warned Dolohov that the next time he had the misfortune to see his sorry face he would be dragging him off to Azkaban.

"What are we discussing exactly, Andromeda?" Kingsley asked.

"We're here to discuss how _I_ can help you keep the father of the woman I love out of Azkaban," spat Dolohov.

The Minister could feel his fists clench and his eyes narrow at the statement. This was not going to be easy.


	45. Chapter 45

_**Author's Note: To the Anonymous Guest who left me a review I could not respond to asking me to put my Author's Notes at the end of the chapter because they were too long – Respectfully, no. You may as well have left me a review saying "please move those so it's easier for me to ignore". Clearly I had something important I wanted to state. This is my story. When I feel like something important needs to be addressed, I will do so. If you don't want to read it, feel free to do what about 75% of readers so anyway, and just ignore them. But don't get all up in arms later when you miss something. The chapter you left that on was where I addressed my intolerance for slut shaming. I don't apologize for long author's notes on that one as it is an issue I'm very passionate about. I will continue to leave A/N as I see fit. If that is something that you have a problem with, I'm sorry. That's your issue and not mine. Just as I would never try to dictate how you or anyone else writes their own story, I ask for the same courtesy. Thank you.**_

* * *

Chapter Forty-Five

December 31, 1973

 **8:05 pm**

Igor's promise to not leave her alone for a moment that entire night meant more to Hermione than she was even sure how to express. She could not even remember the last time someone had been so selfless in their actions. Too often in her life she had been used to putting everyone else's needs before hers. It felt wonderful to have someone who was doing the same thing for her. Her wizard held her closely to his chest for several moments before kissing the top of her head and releasing his grip.

"You didn't have to come back from Russia early," she insisted. "I know you were looking forward to seeing your family."

"There's nowhere I'd rather be tonight, Charodeyka."

She didn't doubt his sincerity. In the month that had passed since he made his passionate claim on her, there had been a noticeable shift in their relationship. Every sense felt heightened. Every feeling magnified. In the still darkness long after he'd fallen asleep, she would lie awake and try not to dwell on the fact that she knew it all wouldn't last. Just as there had been with Antonin, there was a definite expiration date on her relationship with Igor. Hermione didn't know when it was exactly. Only that she couldn't look to the wizard for her future.

More than once as she was in a relationship with either Antonin or Igor, she found herself thinking about Kingsley. The end game was Kingsley, wasn't it? Supposedly there would come a time when she turned away from the other men she'd met in the past to focus her time, her energy and love on the man ultimately responsible for sending her back in time. Yes, Aberforth might have placed the time turner around her neck that fateful night, but he only did so with the knowledge and support of the Minister for Magic. Though she believed it possible that Kingsley would one day become her future, she wasn't at that point yet.

She wondered if she should feel the least bit guilty that she was spending precious time in the past with other men. It didn't take her long to come to the conclusion that no, there was nothing shameful in her behavior. If she was back in the present and a stranger came up to her and told her that one day she would fall in love with Kingsley Shacklebolt, did that mean she should just stop dating all men until the moment he decided to approach her? Of course she wouldn't. It didn't make any sense. Her relationship with Kingsley would develop when it was meant to develop. _If_ it was meant to develop. Ignoring all other men until that time was unreasonable.

"He's going to deny it if you ask him, so don't," Igor whispered once he'd looked around the immediate area for signs that anyone would overhear him. "But your father owled me. Thought it might be easier for you if you weren't alone tonight. I let him know that I was planning on coming back anyway."

"Dad actually owled you? That's… I didn't think he even _liked_ you."

Igor's sudden loud laugh filled the space of her tiny bedroom. Before Hermione could stop herself, she was laughing right along with him.

"Oh, I'm certain he _doesn't_ like me. He addressed his letter to 'The Other Russian' instead of Igor," he explained, clearly amused by the antics of her father. "But he loves you and knew you wouldn't want to be alone tonight. He's even given me a room upstairs free of charge for the night with the explicit instructions that I remain _upstairs_ in my own room all night."

"Of course he did," she replied with a roll of her eyes and a laugh. Aberforth had the subtlety of a water buffalo at times.

The wizard leaned down to brush his lips on the outside of her ear.

"But I did give the note a thorough reread a few times. It says nothing about you being required to stay downstairs while I'm upstairs."

"Leave it to you to find the loophole."

He kissed the shell of her ear before standing back up to his full height. Already she was in much better spirits than she had been only a few minutes earlier before he knocked on her bedroom door. There was so much about that night she was not looking forward to. Having someone there who was one hundred percent in her corner meant the world to Hermione. She didn't doubt Igor when he promised he would not leave her alone for a second.

A call from her father at the front door stirred them both into action. Aberforth waited for the couple to exit the pub before he coated the entire building in heavy wards. Hermione had never seen him treat the security of his pub so seriously. She wondered if it had to do with her own safety. Perhaps her father did not want to run the risk that anyone would be able to slip back into the pub after they left. Almost as if he could sense her thoughts, Aberforth cleared his throat and explained.

"With the pub left unattended while we're at the party, I don't want anyone to have the chance to come inside and hide. The wards will drop when you come back at midnight, lass. You shouldn't have any problem with your First Footer."

Aberforth nodded in Igor's direction. Clearly he expected Igor to do the honors for that year. Naturally the Russian fit the requirements of being, tall, dark and handsome perfectly. Hermione could tell there was some kind of silent conversation passing between her dad and her wizard in that moment. When Igor placed his arm around her shoulders and pulled her tight to his side, Aberforth seemed pleased. Or at least Hermione could tell the man was pleased. It took someone who knew him well to be able to tell the differences in his moods.

Satisfied that his daughter was in capable hands and not wishing to interrupt the two, Aberforth rushed off through the snow towards Margie's house. Neither Hermione nor Igor were in a hurry to increase their pace. It was a beautiful winter night. Despite a thick carpet of snow covering every inch of Hogsmeade, the night sky was clear. Already she could see the twinkling of thousands of stars. Rarely did the clouds break apart enough that time of year to allow for stargazing.

"How was Russia?" Hermione asked. She was curious about his trip, but mostly she was wanting something to fill in the silence.

"Great, actually. Very limited family rows. Might be a Karkaroff family record this year."

Hermione snorted. He'd described the large Karkaroff family on a few occasions. With five older sisters, family gatherings were often loud and passionate. It was clear when he talked about his family that while he loved every moment while he was with them, Igor was happy to return to the country he'd decided to make his home. Too much family could drive anyone a bit nuts. She knew that all too well. Even before she was thrown into the past and long before she felt it was necessary to remove her from her Muggle parents' memories, she had known how stressful the holidays could be when families were involved

"My sister Sveta was asking about you," Igor declared.

He said it so quickly and so softly that Hermione almost missed it. She found the knowledge that one of his sisters was actively interested in her to be both intimidating and heartwarming. Clearly he thought she was important enough to be mentioned. Of course Sveta was the werewolf expert he'd gotten help with in fabricating the beautiful locket that never left her throat. Perhaps it was an academic interest and nothing else.

"She hoped that everything was well with you," he continued after clearing his throat. "She wanted to know when she would finally get to meet you."

"That was kind of her to ask about me."

"Yes, well, I anticipate her making a nuisance of herself before too much time has passed. And to make matters worse, she told our eldest sister Nadezhda about you. Nadya cannot keep a secret to save her life."

"Oh. Were you wanting to keep your relationship with me a secret?"

Hermione did not know why that thought made her stomach hurt. Was Igor ashamed to know her? She knew that he didn't seem to be when he paraded around London or Hogsmeade with her on his arm, but his family was a different matter entirely. Even though she knew that they weren't each other's futures, it stung just a little bit to know that he wasn't in any hurry to introduce him to his family.

"Of course not, Charodeyka!" he insisted. "It's just that once Nadya knows something, it's not long before the _entire_ family knows it. The moment my mother learns that I have a proper British witch, and a Ravenclaw no less, she will be taking the first international portkey she can get her hands on to start planning our wedding."

"Your mother likes Ravenclaws?"

Hermione asked the innocent question because she wasn't sure she could trust herself to mention the wedding. That was all a bit much though she understood that her Uncle Regnault was feeling the same way. He would probably be quite happy to spend an afternoon with Madam Karkaroff planning their elaborate, high-society wedding. Just the thought made Hermione's skin itch. As much as she cared about Igor, she was not prepared for _that_.

"My mother _adores_ Ravenclaws. You are a proud member of her House. She wanted to send us all to Hogwarts, but my father insisted the girls go to Koldovstoretz and I go to Durmstrang like he did. Koldovstoretz isn't far from home. He wanted to be able to visit them easily."

"Well, I hope your sisters don't make this all awkward for you."

Igor stopped walking as the words fell off of her tongue. She didn't mean to make them sound bitter, but she knew they were just a little. Maybe she was just a bit angry about the fact that it wouldn't even matter if she did have the deep feelings for Igor necessary to sustain a successful marriage. She didn't have much of a choice in her future. Already knowing that she would only be in the past for six and a half more years, she knew that she couldn't expect Igor to put all of his other chances aside simply for her. It wouldn't be fair. If she made it back to the future, he wouldn't be alive. Realizing that there was a very real possibility that she wouldn't simply disappear in December 1980, but be another victim to Lord Voldemort's first was, made it all that much worse. Perhaps she was bitter that she didn't have a choice. Undeterred by the bite in her tone, Igor stepped in front of her and placed his hands on her arms.

"My concern has always been whether or not they would make it awkward for _you_ , Charodeyka. I think your feelings on marriage have been made perfectly clear by now, and I'm not saying that I don't agree with you. I'm certainly not ready to get married. I may never be ready. These past several months have been wonderful, but I'm not naïve enough to believe that either one of us has changed our minds about what is between us being more than it is. I'm simply concerned that my sisters and my mother might not understand. Actually, I know they won't understand."

He probably would have continued to babble on about how neither of them were ready for marriage if Hermione hadn't placed two gloved fingers on his lips to stop the outflow of unnecessary words. Of course she understood how his family could make it awkward for her if they descended upon Hogsmeade with their demands that she make an honest wizard out of their son and brother.

"Igor, it's all right. It was my uncle who told you weren't allowed in his home again until you made an honest woman out of me. If anyone understands how well-meaning family members can make life awkward for a love interest, it would be me."

Igor sighed out a relieved laugh. They both remembered how positively awful Regnault had been to him following the night he was discovered in her bedroom. If he hadn't been around to stop Antonin from hurting her in Knockturn Alley that night over a year prior, her uncle might still be unwilling to allow the man back in his home. Regnault might still make remarks about how she was growing older with each passing day, but he wasn't as forthright as he had been in the past.

"Let's not worry about pushy uncles and mothers and sisters," she suggested. "Let's just try to enjoy this night."

"Of course."

He grasped her hand still pressed against his lips. Once he placed a kiss on her palm, he tucked her arm under his and they resumed their walk towards Margie's house. The streets of Hogsmeade were fairly quiet for that time of night. Most of the guests to Margie's annual party were already there. It was a celebration that began early in the evening and lasted late into the night. Hermione and Igor walked arm in arm in silence for several minutes.

"Should we be expecting to run into Dolohov this evening?"

She knew the pleasant walk through the snow wasn't to last long. They never could bring up Antonin without the air between them growing tense and Igor getting upset. Some days Hermione wished she had begged the Sorting Hat to put her back in Gryffindor or even Slytherin. If she hadn't had to spend so much time around Antonin in her last year at Hogwarts, maybe they wouldn't have ever gotten together.

"I'm sure he will be there. He's Thomas' best friend. Can't imagine he wasn't invited."

"Are you worried I'm going to cause problems?"

" _Should_ I be worried?"

"No. Not as long as Dolohov can keep his hands off of my witch, I'll be the perfect gentleman."

Hermione hated that part of her kind of hoped there would be some kind of altercation between the two of them. They hadn't all three been in the same space together since the hedge maze half a year earlier. It felt like there was something unresolved. Perhaps Igor instigating a showdown would make her feel better. Maybe that's why she couldn't stop thinking about Antonin lately. She needed to clear the air. Or yell at him for being stupid. Maybe just hex him. She was certain she would feel better.

They arrived at the Shafiq house before Hermione was really ready. Loud sound of laughter and music spilled out from the windows and open door. Everyone in the village was already there enjoying the free flowing alcohol that Margie always provided. Every year she purchased dozens of cases of fire whiskey directly from Aberforth. Hermione knew he knew made a knut off of his oldest friend, but Margie didn't. He allowed her to assume she was helping him financially when he was the one giving her the discount. It proved what a big heart her adoptive father had for those he loved.

Hermione and Igor were only inches over the threshold before she scooped off the ground in one of Dean's hugs. Only seven days had passed since they last saw each other, but that never mattered to Dean. He always had a way of making her feel special and missed all in the same moment. As soon as her feet touched the ground again, Hermione introduced the two wizards. Though she knew Dean held the same hope as so many of his family members that his youngest would end up with Hermione, he was the perfect, gracious host. Dean pushed full glasses of fire whiskey into each of their hands and begged them to enjoy themselves.

Igor became something of a curiosity to the guests in Margie's house. It seemed that everyone wanted to be introduced to the tall, handsome foreigner escorting their Hermione. One of the first lessons she learned after arriving in the past and moving into the tight community of Hogsmeade, was that everyone in the village took an interest in the lives of their neighbors. Sometimes the interest was a bit stifling for Hermione, but she understood it all came from a place of love. All of the shopkeepers from High Street made it a point to meet Miss Dumbledore's young wizard. The post owl wizard had to be forcibly pushed out of the way when Margie felt the long-winded wizard was boring her guests.

"Karkaroff, is it?" Margie asked as she extended a hand to Igor.

"Marjorie Shafiq, this is Igor Karkaroff," Hermione said by way of introduction.

"Thank you for allowing me in your lovely home, Madam Shafiq," Igor replied as he brushed his lips on the back of Margie's hand.

The wizened, old witch tried to pretend like his courtly gestures weren't impressive, but the delighted twinkle in her eyes proved she was every bit as flattered by the attention as Hermione had been once upon a time when she met him in Rodolphus' shop. Margie cleared her throat and pulled her hand out of his grasp. She turned her attention solely to Hermione in an attempt to ignore the grinning wizard.

"Well, I'll certainly admit he's a handsome one, lass, but always beware a wizard who looks just as good as he sounds. Somewhere there's a flaw."

Hermione resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Margie was always giving peculiar advice whether it was wanted or not.

"Come along with me, Mr. Karkaroff, to the kitchen. My Katie wants to meet you."

She didn't even give Igor a chance to protest. Simply grabbed the sleeve of his fashionable dress robes and pulled. Before he could say a word, Margie put his fears to rest.

"She won't be alone. There are plenty of people in this room that would throw themselves between our girl and an Avada if necessary. Dean may be worthless about most things, but he'd rip anyone apart with his bare hands who tried to hurt her. And his elder brother may be flashier with his spells, but Abbie is every bit as powerful when he applies himself."

Hermione smiled at Igor's concerned expression to assure him that she would be all right. As much as she appreciated his promise to not leave her alone for a second, she knew she would be okay at Margie's. Satisfied that she was all right with him stepping away, Igor allowed the tiny, formidable witch to drag him off to the kitchen. No doubt he would be stuck in there awhile undergoing what might prove to be a rather intense interrogation by the witches she loved dearly.

Once alone in the middle of the crowd of raucous partygoers, Hermione swallowed the entirety of her glass of fire whiskey in one gulp. If she was going to make it through the anniversary of the night she wished she could carve out of her memory, she felt certain she would need to be very, very drunk. When she wandered near the bar, Dean handed her another glass and kissed the top of her head.

"Antonin and his girlfriend just arrived," he announced in a soft whisper unheard by anyone else. "I charmed the back garden with plenty of heating charms if you want to wait for your wizard out there. I'll send him out to you when he's done giving his life story to the nosy witches in the kitchen."

His wink made her laugh. She thanked him for the word of caution and grabbed another glass of fire whiskey for her free hand. He laughed again at her hands full of the caustic liquor. She didn't care. The moment she stepped away from the bar she felt the familiar tingle of eyes on her back. If she was able to feel Antonin's eyes on her for the rest of her life, she wouldn't be surprised. There had always been an intensity of emotion where they were concerned.

Hermione drew herself up to her full height before turning her body into his direction. She did not want him to know the effect he still had on her after so much time had passed. It took her eyes only a second to latch onto his. Antonin wasn't even trying to hide the fact that he was staring. His girlfriend was happily chatting away with Thomas completely oblivious to the fact that her date was in an entirely different world.

She nodded in his direction and rushed out to the back garden. Hermione did not stop moving until she was well outside the crush of people inhabiting the house. A few brave souls meandered out in the small garden. Not wishing to get involved in any conversation just then, she moved to the single wooden swing Katie's late father hung from the giant tree in the center of the garden. With her back to the party within, Hermione stared up at the blanket of stars in the winter sky.

"Need a push?"

She was so startled by the soft, lightly accented tone behind her that she almost dropped both of her glasses. Naively she assumed that Antonin would go out of his way to avoid her all evening, not actively seek her out moments after he arrived. Just when she thought she had him all figured out, he would surprise her.

"No, thank you," she replied. "I was just enjoying the night air."

"Really? Because it seemed like you were running away to hide when you saw me."

Hermione sighed. It wasn't as if she could really argue against the truth. That had been her entire plan for leaving the bulk of the party to sit outside. Without Igor as a buffer, she felt awkward and out of place. Antonin stepped closer to where she was sitting on the swing. They both stared up at the sky unsure what to say next.

"Where's your girlfriend?" asked Hermione after she had a deep, fortifying gulp of fire whiskey.

Antonin sighed. The sound of an expensive Muggle lighter caught Hermione's attention. She was curious why her ex wasn't lighting up with his wand like a proper wizard.

"She's inside playing with Dorie."

"Oh. I didn't know Teddy and Andy were here."

"They arrived shortly after we did. Lettie adores Dorie. I think the feeling is mutual."

The slight grimace he made at the thought of his girlfriend being enamored of an infant made Hermione laugh out loud. Offended at first by her outburst, it didn't take long before a smile crept onto his solemn features.

"Afraid your witch is a little too ready for motherhood?" Hermione gently teased.

"It would explain why she's always so keen to visit Ted and Andromeda."

"She seems like a sweet girl and there are worse fates to be had than having a family to care for. I'm sure your father would approve."

All hints of mirth disappeared at once from his face at the mere mention of Vadim Dolohov. Clearly his relationship with his father was still a tense subject. He sighed again and leaned up against the trunk of the tree.

"My father would be overjoyed. Lettie is a proper Pureblood witch from a respected Sacred Twenty-Eight family. She will bring pride to the Dolohov family and any children that are produced will have a secure place in society."

Antonin rolled his eyes when he finished reciting what were obviously his father's words. It made Hermione sad to think that Vadim cared so little for his son's desires. All he wanted was a stepping stone into a higher social circle. It was disgusting. Hermione could marry a Muggle dogcatcher with no money to his name and Aberforth would approve just as long as she was happy. How could a father not care about his own son's happiness at all?

"Doesn't matter," Antonin continued with another sigh.

"What doesn't matter? Your happiness? What _you_ want with your life? Because I'm sorry if I'm overstepping my bounds here by saying this, but your happiness and what you want it a great deal more important than what your horrible father wants, Antonin. We only get a single life to live and we shouldn't allow others to make such important decisions for us."

The smile she used to adore seeing returned to Antonin's face in the midst of her babbling. He was amused by her outburst. As soon as she saw his dimples in the light of the charmed lights hovering over the garden, she stopped talking. She was grateful that the dimness where she was seated hid the blush in her cheeks.

"I only meant it doesn't matter in the long run because Lettie isn't in love with me," he explained, still amused.

"Oh."

Suddenly Hermione was embarrassed for saying so much. Why could she never think clearly when Antonin was around? She considered herself to be an intelligent woman after all. How could one person make her feel so out of sorts?

"Well, you two certainly looked _cozy_ when Kingsley and I saw you both a month ago outside your flat."

"Lettie is still in love with her ex," Antonin declared. "I'm a _convenient_ way to blow off steam."

"Oh."

"The _second_ Rook gets his head out of his arse and decides he wants a future with Lettie, I'm out like yesterday's Daily Prophet."

There wasn't any bitterness to his tone. Just a matter-of-fact clear explanation of the situation.

"I've been seriously considering just punching Rook to knock some sense into him. At least then _one_ of us would be with the person we really want to be with."

The true meaning of his words hung in the air between them amidst Margie's floating lanterns. Even without Thomas telling her a month earlier, Hermione could see the promise in his eyes. If she only said the right words, he would be hers again. A large part of her was tempted to do so.

"Foolish dream, I guess," Antonin sighed. "I wouldn't expect you to forgive me. I… I was such a…"

"An idiot. You were an idiot."

His sudden laughter made her chest feel tight. She knew she should get up out of the swing and walk away. The path to Antonin Dolohov was not an easy one. It was paved with tears and pain and the sinking knowledge that he was destined to become a cold-blooded murderer. Long years of his life would be spent locked up, wasted, in the hell that was Azkaban. He would not come out the other side the same man. Her brain told her to run, but her heart refused to listen.

"Yes, I was most definitely an idiot. I cannot argue with you there."

"Antonin…"

"I'd like us to be friends again, Hermione. I hate that your first instinct when you see me is to run in the opposite direction."

"Antonin…"

"No, I know I deserve that reaction. Fuck, Hermione, I regret so much. Not just cheating on you with the slag next door."

Hermione was surprised by the pain that was still present because of that moment. At the time it happened she felt the tiniest bit of relief and then Greyback pulling her between the two buildings made her forget everything. She hadn't allowed herself the chance to process how hurtful that moment was with everything else that had been going on in her life.

"I wish I had a time turner and I could go back to that night at the pub with Karkaroff. I don't know why I got so mad."

She didn't doubt his sincerity. But she did doubt his ability to keep from repeating the same mistake again. It would only be a matter of time before he lost his temper again or got jealous about some perceived attention she was getting. Hermione wasn't sure she was willing to live a life on the edge like that. It was exhausting always waiting for the powder keg to explode.

"Do you think there might ever be a time when you can forgive me, daragaya?"

Hermione carefully rose to her feet. It was a little bit of a struggle because she had already consumed so much alcohol in such a short period of time on an empty stomach. Before she said a word in response to his serious question, she opened her mouth and poured the rest of the whiskey down her throat. A simple banishing spell sent the two empty glasses hurtling back to the kitchen. She stepped towards the tree to meet her ex's dark brown eyes. Part of her wanted to reach out and touch him, but she kept her hands to her sides. She was afraid touching him even innocently would make her do something foolish.

"I forgave you a long time ago, Antonin."

With those simple words, she turned away from him to head back inside the house. It was the truth. He hurt her willfully and on purpose, but at some point in the last almost year, she's forgiven him.

Igor was standing just outside the back door watching the two of them. He had that stoic look on his face he always had when he was trying to act like he wasn't affected by what he was seeing. Hermione knew him well enough to know seeing her alone with Antonin bothered him tremendously. Though he might never come right out and admit it, she knew. Without saying a word, she stood up on her tiptoes to brush her lips against Igor's. He was a man who was comforted by physical touch. Not even caring that she knew Antonin was watching the display, Hermione put all of her emotion into soothing her injured wizard.

"Let's go inside," she suggested. "It's freezing out here and I'm fresh out of alcohol."

"I think first we get you something to eat, Charodeyka. No one wants to spend New Year's sick."

She allowed him to pull her inside the cheery house by the hand. There were still hours left to go until midnight. She worried that she wouldn't be able to make it through the party as expected. Igor's possessive hand on her waist buoyed her strength up slightly.

To her enormous surprise, the rest of the evening passed by much quicker than she expected. Just as he promised earlier that evening, Igor did not leave her side again. They moved through the house like a single unit chatting with the various citizens of Hogsmeade who desired a word. More than once she was surprised to find that Igor was able to have what amounted to a polite conversation with Antonin when they were in the same discussion group. If she felt his grip on her waist grow a bit tighter, Hermione tried to pretend she didn't notice. He was being on his best behavior. As much as she knew Igor would have liked nothing more than to hex Antonin or result to a bit of Muggle brawling, he remained calm.

"I don't think we will have to worry about your father finding you in my bedroom tonight, Charodeyka," Igor teased mere minutes from midnight. His mouth was just outside her ear. A gentle nip promised her more where that came from when they were alone.

"What do you mean?"

Igor nudged her slightly to turn in the direction of her father. Aberforth and a red-faced, but clearly delighted, Professor Sprout were in a quiet corner alone. She had never seen her father look so perfectly at ease. He leaned down in much the same manner that Igor had been doing all night to whisper into Professor Sprout's ear.

"Oh," Hermione said with a giggle. "I see what you mean."

"Looks like we will have the pub completely to ourselves tonight. Whatever should we do?"

Before she could respond, Margie was shouting to get everyone outside in front of the house. Midnight was fast approaching. When the village bells began their chiming to bring in the New Year, Igor pulled Hermione up against his body with a possessiveness she had rarely seen him display. There was more to his kiss than she was prepared to analyze. Perhaps later when she wasn't so full of alcohol she would think about what his meaning truly was.

"Let's take you home, Charodeyka,"

As all of the other women in the village rushed to their own homes, Igor and Hermione took their time walking through the snow. He held her hand tightly and kept an eyes on the surrounding area. If Greyback so much as thought he would try to recreate the events from the year before, Igor was going to put him down. It warmed Hermione's heart to know she had such a fierce protector.

"Madam Shafiq made sure to give me all of the traditional gifts of the First Footer when I was in the kitchen," he explained. "She knew I wouldn't let you sit alone in the pub waiting for someone else to show up."

"That was kind of her."

"You have a large number of people who love you very much, Hermione. I hope you don't take that for granted."

When they approached the heavily warded pub, Hermione was able to bring the protections down with a simple wave of her wand. Before Igor would allow her to step inside the empty pub, he cast a human presence revealing spell. Satisfied that she was indeed alone, Hermione stepped in. Igor followed moments later. As he handed the traditional gifts over to her and she summoned a glass and a bottle of fire whiskey, a disturbing tingle across her skin made her shiver.

She looked up through the still-open front door to the snowy ground outside. A set of footprints that she didn't notice earlier led out to the clump of trees just past the pub. Leaned up against the trunk of one of the trees was a large figure of a man simply watching the pub. She didn't have to have superhuman eyesight to know who it was. Determined to not let the monster ruin another moment of her life, Hermione glared out into the night. A quiet chuckling sound carried over the air as she slammed the front door shut. Heavy wards were placed back over the door before she was satisfied there wouldn't be any unwelcome visitors.

"Everything all right?" Igor asked, his lips against the bare skin of her neck.

"Everything's fine."

* * *

August 8, 1998

 **8:15 pm**

Only Andromeda's quick thinking prevented Kingsley from launching himself across the room at the wizard he hated most. She rose from the sofa to place her body between the men. Already exhausted by the visit, Andromeda sighed.

"Perhaps I should have put in a clause in the oath that you two would keep your hands to yourself at all times as well," she groaned. "May I just get your verbal assurance that you two will not touch each other?"

Reluctantly, they both agreed. Kingsley was curious to know what Dolohov thought he could possibly do to keep Aberforth, and by extension, Kingsley, out of prison for their decision to send Hermione back in time. So many laws had been broken. If anyone discovered they were responsible, the scandal alone would ruin his career. It wouldn't matter if Hermione returned to the present or not. He would be in a cell in Azkaban before she was supposed to return.

"Tony and I have already gone over this, so let me be the adult here and explain the plan."

Neither man argued with Andromeda's suggestion.

"Tony is a fugitive. He will always be a fugitive. His plans, and the reason why he had me sell off his father's possessions, was because he doesn't intend to live in this country any longer."

"Best news I've heard in a long time."

"Kings, that's enough. When he is ready, he will escape the country with the help of the current Minister for Magic."

"I _never_ promised…"

Andromeda held up a hand to stop him before he could really get going. It was probably for the best. Once Kingsley started shouting, it was likely he would be unable to stop.

"That's one of his conditions. You help in whatever way you can to get him out of the country. In exchange, he will allow you to announce to the world that he was the one who stole the time turner from the Department of Mysteries that enabled him to send Hermione back in time. You can give a press conference as soon as one of _my_ conditions is met first."

" _Your_ conditions, Andromeda?"

There hadn't been any mention of her needing something in exchange for her part. Kingsley just took for granted the fact that she would remain silent on his behalf because of their old friendship.

"Yes, I only have one, but it's rather important," she replied.

"Okay. What is it?"

"You have to go to Azkaban before you announce what happened to Hermione. _They_ have a right to know before the rest of the world."


	46. Chapter 46

Chapter Forty-Six

March 20, 1974

 **12:35 pm**

Every few days or so after New Year's Eve, Hermione felt the unnerving prickling of the hair rising on the back of her neck. Most days she tried to pretend she didn't notice it, tried to explain it away as a foolish fear on her part. She would just continue to go about her daily routine ignoring the sound of the footsteps behind her on the pavement. Other days she would run away as quickly as she could when she felt the familiar gaze. Even if she couldn't see where it was exactly, she would Disapparate home to the safety of her father's pub without even verifying that he was there. Visual confirmation wasn't necessary when she could feel his presence in every cell of her body.

Months after she first saw the silhouette of the monster casually leaned up against the trunk of the tree, she was weary of the game he was playing. It was exhausting perpetually being on edge, simply waiting for him to make his inevitable next move. He might enjoy stalking and watching from the shadows, but she knew it was only a matter of time before he escalated his behavior. Though he might be patient, even Fenrir Greyback had a limit.

She was only steps outside of the Magical Menagerie for the end of her morning shift when she could sense him nearby. Usually he preferred to do his tracking during the evening hours. Hiding was easier in the darkness. His kind felt more at ease after the sun had gone down. Knowing he was only steps behind her as she walked down Diagon Alley in the middle of a sunny, clear day frustrated her beyond measure. Was she not even safe in the daytime?

More than once as she crossed shop after shop she considered simply turning in place and relying on her magic to get her away from the creature who resembled a man. No one would blame her for running. Hermione grasped the silver locket she never took off for an added boost of confidence and courage. It was time she looked the beast in the eye and showed him she was no longer afraid.

As she reached the end of the Alley and the exit to The Leaky Cauldron, she was determined. She passed through the stone archway. Instead of entering the pub, she stepped to the side of the exit and waited. Only mere seconds ticked by before she heard the shifting of the bricks and felt the overpowering urge to flee. Her wand was out of her pocket and under the werewolf's chin just in time for the barrier to close. Finding himself on the wrong end of her wand only made Greyback chuckle.

"You'll find I'm unarmed," he declared, holding his empty hands up as proof.

"You're never _unarmed_ , Greyback," she spat.

His chuckle transformed into a full blown laugh. He was enjoying the show of fiery spirit from the witch. Greyback's eyes fell to the space between her two breasts where Igor's locket rested. A slight curl to the edge of his mouth was the only indication he wasn't pleased with the talisman.

"I've heard about this trinket you wear. Perhaps it will keep me back for a time. I won't deny I can feel its power already. But there's something you should be aware of, little girl."

"What?" She hated that her curiosity meant she couldn't keep herself from asking.

"Heart's blood is only effective as long as the heart that gave it freely still beats."

Yet again that day she had a severe sinking in her stomach. Greyback's words made her sick. It didn't take a genius to understand that he was openly threatening Igor's life. She hadn't known that little nugget of knowledge about blood magic. There was still so much she had to discover about magic. Blood magic was a subject that was taboo in the present as well as the past. Hermione learned more from Lord Voldemort that night in her uncle's study than she had in seven years of a Hogwarts education. She had no doubt that Greyback was demented enough to go after Igor just for an opportunity to claim her fully. Igor had to be warned that he was a target.

Hermione had no greater desire than to run off to immediately warn Igor. She was so rattled by the experience of finally confronting the monster that she was anxious for the familiarity and comfort of his arms. Even just the scent that clung to all of Igor's clothes was generally enough to calm her down. He might not be one of the scents of her Amortentia, but it was close enough. The only problem with rushing off was that she was afraid to turn her back on the werewolf. Even with the protections afforded by her locket, he was an unpredictable variable. Greyback's harsh laughter startled her out of her thoughts of running.

"I can smell your fear. Are you worried about what I will do to your wizard?"

"I will kill you myself before I allow you to hurt him."

Greyback closed his eyes and dramatically sniffed the air. Every time he made such a production of using his olfactory senses around Hermione, she felt her skin crawl. When he opened his eyes and met her gaze again, his pupils were dilated. She felt her fear continue to rise.

"I've missed the way you smell. Just the thought of burying my nose in your hair again makes me hard."

Completely disgusted by his statement, Hermione used her free hand to slap the werewolf's face with all of her indignant strength. Almost instantly he began screaming out in pain. Bright, red welts appeared on his flesh everywhere she touched. They seemed to only grow worse as time passed. His eyes were no longer showing evidence of his arousal, but furious and more horrifying than she had even seen them before. He snarled at her, the monster within showing through. Hermione began backing away from his towards the entrance to the pub.

"Stay away from me, Greyback. Stay away from Igor."

His growls turned to laughter; his pain temporarily forgotten. Greyback slowly started walked towards his intended victim.

"I don't think you understand how all of this works, little girl. You _will_ be mine. It's simply a matter of time."

Hermione's back hit the door to The Leaky Cauldron. She reached behind her for the doorknob but did not take her eye off of the werewolf. He continued stalking towards her. Scared to turn her back on him, she cast a spell to send a bright light to his eyes. He snarled again and covered his eyes with his hands. She used that moment of inattention to run inside the pub.

The moment the door slammed shut behind her and she could hear the familiar sounds of a pub full of people enjoying a late lunch and a couple of pints, she felt that she could relax. She leaned up against the nearest wall to catch her breath. Her heart was beating hard enough that if she didn't understand the biology of the human body, she might be concerned it would fly out of her chest. She felt safe in the busy pub full of people. Greyback wouldn't try anything when there were so many people around.

"Miss Dumbledore, how lovely of you to join me."

Just when she got her breathing under control, she worried that she would hyperventilate. That voice was too familiar. She heard it in her nightmares amplified over the smoky grounds of the battlefield her school once was. Before she trusted herself to lift her eyes to meet the face of the wizard she wanted to avoid just as much as the werewolf, Hermione took another deep, steadying breath.

A smirking Lord Voldemort met her gaze when she gathered her courage. Even though he was exceedingly handsome in his younger, pre-backfired Avada years, she could still make out the subtle reminders of the reptilian monster he would one day become. Voldemort seemed both completely relaxed and unsurprised by her abrupt arrival. He motioned to the empty chair next to his.

Hermione wanted to run away from him even though she knew it would be both rude and dangerous. She needed to keep a safe distance away from the man, but she also did not need to be seen as an enemy. Or even as a potential enemy. So many people disappeared in that time period because they were little more than a _potential_ hindrance to his plans to dominate the wizarding world. Realizing there was simply no good reason to run, she sat down in the chair. Voldemort took his time folding up his copy of that morning's _Daily Prophet_ before speaking again.

"How was your morning minding Rodolphus' shop?"

"I beg your pardon?"

Voldemort smirked again. Hermione felt her blood chill at the simple change in his facial expression. How would he know where she was that morning? Was he keeping a closer eye on her than she realized?

"Every Wednesday morning you arrive at The Magical Menagerie approximately ten minutes before nine. You open the store and feed the stock alone because Rodolphus spends Wednesdays with Regnault pretending he has an interest in taking over his father's seat on the Wizengamot. Mr. Dearborn visits his grandmother in a care home in Dover, is it? Or Dorset? I confess I can't remember. He returns just after noon. Usually you spend your Wednesday afternoons in Hogsmeade in your father's pub. Or sometimes you visit your friend Andromeda at the shop she works in. Also, you have been known to drop into the apothecary where Igor Karkaroff is employed. When you do that, you tend to stay for many hours. Of course, I imagine that you don't actually _stay_ in the apothecary."

It was worse than she expected. Hermione thought it likely that Voldemort was keeping tabs on her, but not to the extent that he knew _exactly_ what she was doing on Wednesdays. Did that mean he was aware of how she spent her other days? Lunch with Regnault on Thursdays? Wine with Andromeda on Monday nights? Tea with her Uncle Albus at the castle twice a month when his schedule allowed? She was disturbed to learn how much he knew about her routines.

"You left the shop a little later today than you normally do," he continued, unbothered by her silence. "Was Mr. Dearborn late in returning?"

"His grandmother was having a rough morning," answered Hermione.

She didn't understand what made her just blurt out the status of Caradoc's grandmother's health. It wasn't as if the Dark wizard even cared. The only reason why he knew anything about Mrs. Dearborn at all was because he was keeping an uncomfortably close watch on Hermione. Something almost hypnotic in his tone made her answer despite wishing she could have kept her mouth shut. Voldemort tutted in what she assumed was meant to be an attempt at being sympathetic. She didn't buy it.

"Poor dear. Isn't it a shame that we all have to grow old? If only there was a way we could stop the aging process and live forever."

Hermione had to remind herself to strengthen her Occlumency shields when he made his remark. The last thing he needed to inadvertently find out through a casual perusal of her mind was that she knew he had already made at least two or three horcruxes. His path to immortality was well on its way. She could stand up to her feet and hurl Avada after Avada after him and he would not die. But if he ever suspected that she knew about his deepest secret, she would be dead.

"Yes, it is a shame that there is _nothing_ anyone can do to keep from dying," she replied, placing a specific emphasis on the word 'nothing' to boost the wizard's ego. He was the kind of person who delighted in feeling he was superior than everyone else and able to accomplish what no one else thought possible. "We are all simply mortal beings waiting for the unknown moment when we die."

Voldemort smirked at her. Clearly he was pleased by something she said. At the very least she felt a lessening in the thickness of the air around them.

"I sincerely hope that that moment for you does not arrive for many, many years, Miss Dumbledore."

"And I hope the same for you, my lord."

His lips quirked into a full-blown smile. On anyone else's face it would have been a handsome gesture. Despite the fact that he was one of the most physically attractive men she had ever seen, even in movies and magazines, all that facial expression caused was a feeling of sick dread in her stomach. If he was happy about something, it usually meant that something awful had or was about to happen to someone else. Considering she knew his history of creating horcruxes, she felt confident that his pleasure had to do with someone's past pain. Perhaps he was remembering a particularly gruesome murder he committed to split his soul.

"Are you satisfied with working in your cousin's pet shop and helping your father in his pub?"

She felt her anxiety return in full, heavy waves. What could his purpose be for bringing up how she spent her days? Was he about to renew his offer for her to become one of his Death Eaters? Or was he simply about to insist that she finally give him her answer? Hermione was at a loss. Outright denial could and very likely _would_ make her a target of his wrath. Allowing him to frighten her into pledging her life to him would be catastrophic on all fronts. What would be the purpose of surviving her sojourn to the past if she couldn't live with herself when it was all over? She had to think quickly. Had to convince him that while she was not an enemy, she was not a follower either.

"I am not naïve of what my purpose as a properly brought up witch is, my lord. Having any kind of career outside of the caring of my husband and children in my home would be inappropriate. Helping my family members with their businesses on a part time basis is a pleasant and perfectly acceptable way to spend my time until I am able to marry."

A soft chuckle slipped out of the wizard. He seemed more than a little amused by her response.

"From all accounts your mother did not raise you to be a 'properly brought up witch'."

"Yes, my lord. My mother made a great deal of mistakes in my upbringing. It saddens me that I spent the majority of my life away from my family here in Britain. I feel like I have missed out on the experiences I should have had from the beginning."

"I have still not completely made up my mind about you yet, Miss Dumbledore. I think you could be an asset to me in many ways certainly, but I find myself slightly nervous about knowing so little about you."

"An asset, my lord? How could I possibly be an asset to a wizard as powerful and influential as you are?"

Truthfully, blowing smoke up a wizard's arse was not a difficult task. It did not matter if the man was the greatest Dark wizard the world would ever know or eleven-year-old Ron Weasley. Witches learned at an early age how to pacify the men in their lives with subtle compliments and hints of their enormity. Hermione did not even have to think very hard about the proper words to use to make Voldemort feel important. Too much confidence in anyone was a detriment. That was a lesson her best friend would teach him twenty-four years in the future.

"A daughter of both the Lestrange family and the Dumbledore family cannot possibly escape without being uncommonly gifted with magical skills, Miss Dumbledore," he explained. "Your natural ability with Occlumency has proven that. A contact of mine within the Ministry informed me of your impressive NEWT scores as well. It seems a shame that a witch with so much power is satisfied to clean out owl cages and pour drinks for filthy drunks until the time comes when she bonds with a wizard. Surely you have a bit more ambition than that?"

"I will confess that when I was younger I wouldn't have believed I would be content with anything other than being the top of whatever profession I chose to enter. I used to believe that it was within my ability to make sweeping changes to the betterment of society. I also felt like I had to prove myself to everyone I met."

It was all the truth. Once upon a time when she was Hermione Granger she felt that she had to be the best at everything to prove that she somehow belonged in the wizarding world. Too often she feared that her ability to perform magic as a Muggle-born was a mistake. Maybe one day she would wake up and find her magical skills gone. It was a terrifying thought and still the most stressful of all dreams that plagued her sleeping hours. She foolishly thought that she would be able to enter the Ministry directly out of Hogwarts and start improving the world she was a part of. She had so many ideas of how everything could be different.

By the end of spending almost an entire year freezing in a tent and running for her very life, she learned a bit about the society she lived in. Even if she had a million ideas of how they could improve, it didn't mean a pickled rat's arse to the stodgy Purebloods in power. She would always be an outsider, a user of stolen magic in the eyes of some. Did she really expect that she would be able to just waltz into an organization that had been running the same way for literally _hundreds_ of years and be able to make a difference?

Life experiences change a person. She would never be the same person that she was when she was best friends with Harry Potter and Ron Weasley. Too much had changed in her life. They likely wouldn't even recognize her if they saw her. She worried that if there was ever a time when she could get the time turner working again that too much would be different. They would probably say that she was behaving out of character. Who was this strange woman who replaced their best friend? The thought of how they would likely be upset with her for changing and growing apart from them made her sad. Any reunion in the future would be fraught with pain. How could they expect her to be the same person who behaved in the same way? It was impossible.

"May I ask what changed?"

"I grew up. I experienced a great deal that cured me of the crippling naivety of youth, my lord."

"That's quite a bleak statement."

His laughter rang throughout the pub. Several other patrons turned their head to see what was happening. Hermione wished she could crawl under the table. The scrutiny was too much. She hated when too much attention was heaped upon her.

"Perhaps, my lord, but it's true. I will one day marry, have a family and hope that I am able to be content to be nothing special."

"And if you _could_ be something special? Wouldn't you prefer that?"

"I fear your opinion of me may be too high, my lord. I am simply an ordinary witch who has a special skill my mother helped me hone and high test scores. I enjoyed revising and research. Some days I wish I could have stayed in school forever."

"I will reserve my right to form my complete opinion on you at a later date, Miss Dumbledore."

He reached across the table to pick up his glass of water. Hermione watched him take polite sips out of the corner of her eye. She wondered how much longer she would be required to sit at the table with him before she could leave. When Voldemort set his glass back down, another unsettling grin formed on his lips. His gaze was focused on the back door of the pub.

"It appears as if you are powerful enough to escape from your escort."

"My 'escort', my lord?"

Hermione followed the line of his gaze. A fuming Greyback stood just inside the door glaring in her direction. The welts on his face had only grown redder and angrier. She could only imagine how painful they were.

"I entrusted Mr. Greyback with ensuring that he lead you right here once your shift was over. A simple compulsion spell cast on you through the window of the shop when you weren't aware ensured that once you stepped outside you would walk this direction."

"A compulsion spell? Did you _imperio_ me?"

His unsettling laughter made her skin erupt in goosebumps. What could he possibly find so amusing about their discussion? Not once since she arrived had she found anything that made her the least bit amused.

"Of course I wouldn't use the Imperius Curse on you, Miss Dumbledore. What a preposterous notion. It's an Unforgivable for a reason. I don't fancy spending the rest of my life locked up in the bowels of Azkaban."

She had to bite her lip to keep from derisively snorting. As if that man was ever afraid to use an Unforgivable!

"No, it was just a harmless spell really. Mothers have been known to use harsher spells to compel their crying babies to go back to sleep in the middle of the night. You were never in any danger. Greyback's purpose was to simply _encourage_ you to walk this way."

"And what if I decided to Disapparate instead?"

"A simple change to the wards of the Alley. You would have been unable to if you tried."

Voldemort waved his hand as if his actions were some that normal people completed every day. Clearly he really wanted to speak with her if he had gone to so much trouble. Was he still going to insist that she make her decision when it came to whether or not she wanted to become a Death Eater? Or was this something else? He was a complicated man that she could not even hope to understand.

He looked up to meet the eye of his pet werewolf. A simple gesture of his hand brought a still quite angry Greyback over to their table. Without care that she wanted nothing to do with the monster, Voldemort motioned to another empty chair at the table. Once he was settled in, the Dark Lord took a closer look at the wounds to his face.

"It looks as if Sveta knows her spells," Voldemort stated. He pointed his wand at Greyback's face. Almost immediately the marks began to disappear and the werewolf sighed in relief. "An uncommon witch, Svetlana Karkaroff. One I have been very fortunate to encounter in my travels more than once."

The confident smirk on his face indicated there was a great deal more to that story than Hermione wanted to know. She knew very little about Igor's older sisters. Any time she would ask, he would politely divert the conversation elsewhere. Learning that Voldemort seemed to be _intimately_ familiar with one of his sisters only made her more curious.

"Beautiful witch. Absolutely stunning. Each of Igor's sisters is as beautiful as the last. You should be thankful that your wizard takes after the look of his mother. Nikolai Karkaroff may be a powerful and influential wizard, but he is nothing special to gaze upon. But Igor's mother would know exactly what magic to perform to keep her children from inheriting the worst of their father's traits. I knew her from school. Did you know that?"

"No, my lord. I did not."

"Evelyn Travers was a Ravenclaw a few years ahead of me. Extremely talented. Very beautiful. Everyone was surprised when she ran off with the much older, unattractive Russian wizard just out of Hogwarts. Already pregnant with their daughter Nadezhda to my understanding. Quite the scandal. She contacted me a few years ago when her son left Durmstrang. Thought I might be a good influence on him."

It sickened Hermione to realize that it was Igor's own mother that sealed his fate. She was the one who pushed him straight into the sphere of Voldemort's influence. Was she even aware of the huge mistake she made? Her son was doomed to a lifetime of misery and violence leading to a premature death because of her meddling. Part of Hermione wanted to make a trip to Russia solely for the purpose of slapping the woman in the face.

"Can you imagine how much more pain you would be in if something other than your _face_ touched the witch, Greyback?"

The werewolf practically growled his response. Voldemort wasn't deterred by his rude behavior.

"I would recommend that you continue to avoid Miss Dumbledore for the time being. Her opinion of you has clearly not changed."

"But…"

Voldemort held up a hand to cut off anything else he might say. He wasn't interested in the complaints of the monster.

"You may leave us now, Greyback. Remember what I told you. Miss Dumbledore is not to be harmed."

Greyback rose from his chair with an angry expression across his feral features. He narrowed his eyes at Hermione before rushing out the door of the pub leading to Muggle London. When they were alone again, she desired nothing more than to get up and leave too.

"I have not given up hope that you will one day make up your mind to join my small group of loyal followers, but I will not pressure you yet, Miss Dumbledore. I still feel quite confident that there will be a day when you beg me to allow you. I look forward to that day."

Realizing he was giving her the opportunity to make her escape, Hermione rose to her feet. She was about to say her polite goodbyes to the wizard that terrified her, but she turned right into a solid mass. Voldemort chuckled at the display of Hermione rushing face first into a wizard.

"Hermione? I'm sorry. I didn't see you there."

Hermione's eyes snapped up to meet Antonin's gaze. Well, if he didn't just have the worst bloody timing! She didn't know what to say. The other wizard was still watching their exchange.

"I'm sorry, Antonin. I wasn't watching where I was going. I was just leaving."

"Are you not going to introduce me to your friend here, Miss Dumbledore?"

Not once in the years that she had known Antonin in the past did it ever occur to her that _she_ might be the one to actually introduce the wizard to Lord Voldemort. Once she knew that his father had a long history with him, she assumed that he would be the one to put Antonin on the Dark Lord's radar. What if that wasn't the case at all? What if the only reason why Voldemort ever even knew Antonin Dolohov existed was because of that moment in the middle of The Leaky Cauldron? She felt faint.

"I beg your pardon, my lord," she stammered. "This is Antonin Dolohov. Antonin, this is Lord…"

"Vadim's boy?" Voldemort asked, cutting off the introduction in the middle.

"Yes, my lord," replied Antonin.

"I was aware he had a son, but every time I asked Vadim about you, he managed to change the subject. Very curious indeed."

Learning that Vadim actively attempted to keep Voldemort from learning more about his son surprised Hermione greatly. What was that about? She found that every moment she stood in Voldemort's presence she had more questions than answers.

"And you are an employee of Gringotts?" He motioned to the patch on the front of Antonin's robes.

"Yes, my lord. I am an apprentice cursebreaker. I will finish my training in a few months."

"Admirable profession. Not just any wizard is capable of qualifying for that apprenticeship, let alone completing it. Do you have plans after your training ends?"

"I have had a few offers already for employment once I finish, but I have yet to make my decision."

"Excellent. I would very much like to speak to you again before you make any final decisions. I may be able to help. Vadim and I have known each other for many, many years. It's the least I can do."

Antonin's entire face lit up with the prospect of receiving Voldemort's assistance. Hermione wanted nothing more than to pull her ex away from the area and tell him to never approach the frightening man again. He had no idea what he was doing entertaining the notion of being in Tom Riddle's debt.

"It was a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Dolohov. I look forward to our future meeting."

"Yes, my lord. Thank you."

"And Miss Dumbledore, it's always lovely to see you."

Hermione did not linger a moment longer. Remembering that she saw Greyback exit the front door of the pub, she rushed towards the back. She needed to see Igor at his apothecary anyway. He needed to be aware that there was a threat to his life.

"Hermione, wait. Why are you leaving so quickly?"

Antonin was out the back door only half a beat after she was. He seemed concerned by her strange behavior. Hermione stopped to turn back towards her ex. Ordinarily she would be rattled to be in his presence again, but with the events that had already happened that afternoon, being alone with Antonin was hardly a big deal.

"You need to stay away from that man, Antonin," she warned. "He's… he's not what you think he is."

"My father says he will be the Minister for Magic one day. Why would I _not_ want to know him? He could be very helpful for me in the future."

"Just trust me, Antonin. Stay away from him."

She knew her words would fall on deaf ears. His fate was already sealed. One day he would enter into the service of Lord Voldemort and his life would be ruined. No matter what she tried to do, he would not be stopped.

"I wonder what he would say if he found out you were trying to persuade other people to stay away."

Hermione closed her eyes and sighed. She should have taken a look around the immediate area before speaking. A smirking Greyback stepped out of the shadows to stalk towards the pair. He was obviously pleased with what he overheard.

"This is no concern of yours, Greyback. You were told to leave me alone."

"No, no. I was told that you were not to be harmed. I have no intention of _harming_ you, little girl."

Hermione, who is this man?"

Antonin stepped in front of Hermione to shield her from Greyback. He didn't know what was happening, but didn't like the manner in which the werewolf stared at them.

"This is none of your concern, _boy_ ," Greyback snarled. "Step aside before I send another stunner to your back when you're not looking."

"What?"

Hermione moved out from behind Antonin. They were entering dangerous territory. She had no doubt that Greyback would gladly announce to the confused wizard just what happened the night he was stunned. Even though they were no longer in a relationship, she couldn't bear for Antonin to know the truth of that night.

"Leave us, Greyback or I'll do worse than slap you this time."

Before he could protest, Hermione tapped the bricks on the entrance to Diagon Alley. As the doorway shifted open, she rushed through it. Antonin didn't hesitate to follow. They were many meters down the Alley before Antonin spoke again.

"What the hell just happened, Hermione?"

"That man is a very dangerous werewolf, Antonin. Stay away from him. If you ever see him again, run in the opposite direction. He will not hesitate to hurt you."

"How do you know all of this? What is going on?"

He was not a man who could be easily pacified with half-answers and quarter-truths. She knew she would have to give him a plausible lie that had just enough facts that he could not deny it. Hermione kept walking thinking over what she was going to say. When the hanging wooden sign outside of the apothecary came into view, she slowed her pace. Just steps from Igor's place of employment, she stopped and turned to face a bewildered Antonin.

"I met him not long after I moved back. He's dangerous. He likes to hang around the woods outside of Hogsmeade. Unfortunately, our paths have crossed more than once. Don't ever find yourself alone with him. He will not hesitate to hurt you."

"What did he mean about stunning me in the back again?"

"I don't know. He's insane."

Antonin reached for her hand.

"You are trembling, daragaya. Has he hurt you before?"

"Just promise me you will stay away from him. Don't go looking for trouble, Antonin."

He released her hand but only to slide both of his hands across her cheeks. A simple pressure on her jaw forced her eyes to meet his. He looked more concerned than she had ever seen him before. She hoped that her overly expressive face wasn't giving too much away.

"What did he do to you, daragaya?"

"Nothing. He just…"

She didn't know how to finish her statement without completely lying or telling him the entire truth. Neither option seemed like a good idea. It would probably be better that she not say anything at all. Hermione closed her eyes and sighed. She could feel tears form in the corners of her eyes. Antonin was tenacious. He wouldn't rest until he knew everything.

"Just promise me you will stay away from him, Antonin. I couldn't bear it if something were to happen to you."

"'Couldn't bear it'?"

The softness in his tone surprised Hermione enough to open her eyes back up. It felt all at once so strange and so familiar to be this close to him again. She knew she shouldn't let him touch her and she knew she definitely shouldn't let him think there was more between them than there was. Of course she couldn't bear it if Greyback hurt him. She couldn't bear it if Greyback hurt anyone!

"Antonin…"

"Do you still care about me? Even after… even after everything?"

"Antonin, we shouldn't…"

Her plea with him to stop was cut off by the confident pressing of his lips to hers. She screamed internally for allowing herself to give in. This shouldn't be happening. They didn't work. Antonin had a horrifying temper. It would only be a matter of time before he terrified her or maybe even hurt her again. They were not healthy together and they certainly didn't make any kind of rational sense.

She was all set to push him away when the wizard's lips were forcefully removed. Igor grabbed Antonin's robes from behind and pulled him away from his witch. His fist hit Antonin's jaw with a sickening crunch sending the younger wizard to the ground.

* * *

August 9, 1998

 **8:53 am**

Even in the hottest part of the summer the island housing Azkaban Fortress was freezing. Cold air blew off the North Sea straight through Kingsley's robes. Foolishly he hoped that once he stepped inside the stone prison that he would be a bit warmer. Cold and despair seemed to be soaked into every nook and cranny.

One of his first acts as the Minister for Magic was to banish all dementors from the island. They had proven their ineffectiveness as agents of the Ministry. Their loyalty could not be relied upon. Beyond that, there was a rising movement declaring the creatures to be inhumane. Kingsley certainly couldn't disagree with that belief. Every time he had been forced to be in the immediate area as a dementor he would have been content to get rid of them entirely.

A nervous guard greeted him when he entered. It wasn't unheard of for the Minister to drop by for an impromptu inspection, but the new entirely human staff on the island was still learning the ins and out of running the establishment. Kingsley was patient. In truth, he had had no desire to make his visit that morning at all. He would have gladly gone the rest of his life without stepping foot in the prison to inform his witch's relatives that she lied to them for years.

Andromeda had been resolute in her condition that he inform Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange about the truth of Hermione's disappearance before the details made it into the papers. She did not want either one of them to learn about the woman they believed was their cousin from anyone else. They deserved to know the truth she'd insisted. Kingsley agreed to the condition despite having no desire to make the visit. He had just been anxious to leave her house and the presence of Antonin Dolohov as quickly as he could.

"Minister Shacklebolt, we have the first prisoner you requested ready in the interview room."

Kingsley nodded his thanks to the guard just before entering the long, stone corridor on the ground floor. In the months since the war ended, he'd visited the prison several times to investigate and examine the improving conditions for the prisoners. Each time he managed to avoid the Lestrange brothers. It wasn't that he hated them. In fact, he'd always rather liked Rodolphus. He had had a difficult time believing that the gentle man who loved animals was capable of the brutal torture and almost murder of the Longbottoms. Rabastan had been one of Tommy's friends. His relationship with Hermione had grown closer as time had gone on, but he wouldn't have considered Rabastan a friend.

It seemed easier to meet with the younger brother first. Kingsley pushed open the door to the small interview room. Rabastan looked up from the chair he was chained to with his familiar, friendly grin. For reasons he couldn't explain, Kingsley found it amusing and chuckled. At least he wasn't being screamed at or spit on… _yet_.

"I'll admit I feel a bit special to have a personal audience with _the_ Minister for Magic," Rabastan declared.

Kingsley lowered himself in the chair across the table. He couldn't help but notice all of the changes that had happened to the slightly older wizard over the years. Rabastan had always been the fastidious type, always worrying about his physical appearance and the state of his clothes. The wizard he remembered sitting at his kitchen table drinking spiked tea with Hermione while he teased her about her inability to bake a biscuit without burning it would not even recognize the thin man in the plain prison clothes.

"How are you, Rabastan?"

He shrugged his shoulders before answering. Even that simple gesture further proved how altered he was.

"I'd hoped to never be back in these walls again, but without the dementors here sucking every joyful memory out of my brain, it's not horrible. I even get copies of the newspaper every day. Is that your doing?"

"Several of us thought that prisoners might be more _amenable_ with access to news of the outside world."

"You always were a bleeding heart Gryffindor."

Rabastan's smile proved he was only teasing. Kingsley chuckled. The man used to have moments when he could make everyone in the room laugh until tears streamed down their cheeks. One could only imagine the dementors removed that ability from him in the fourteen years he was a resident in their care.

"I've actually been expecting you for some time now," Rabastan continued. "I've been following a fascinating story every day. Please, Kingsley, can _you_ tell me what could have possibly happened to a Muggleborn witch named Hermione Granger?"

Kingsley sighed. Clearly this task was going to be just as difficult as he feared it would be.


	47. Chapter 47

_Author's Note: Several of you have made comments that you wish the end parts with Kingsley in the present were longer, but I'm afraid I have to tell you that's not possible. If I make them too long, we will run out of story before the past story meets the present story. You don't want to read twenty chapters of Kingsley sitting around staring at a wall, do you? Haha! : ) I know, I get wanting those snippets to be longer. It's a huge struggle for me to keep them under a certain word count each chapter. Just please trust me! I don't want to run out of present story too quickly. Thank you again for all of your amazing reviews! Seriously. They make me very happy._

 _And no, I have no idea how long this is going to be. I can't answer questions if you're on a guest account. Any questions about_ _when_ _Hermione will finally get with Kingsley have been answered in the Additional Scenes story available on my profile. It is my personal experience, and just about every other person I know's experience, that there are lots of different relationships in a person's life. Rarely do we meet and fall in love with one person at a young age without exploring other options._

* * *

Chapter Forty-Seven

March 20, 1974

 **1:20 pm**

Everything happened so quickly that Hermione had trouble focusing. The kiss with Antonin. The first punch thrown by Igor. The two men rolling around on the pavement in front of Merlin and everybody witnessing. It was more than a little humiliating.

She started to intervene in the midst of the punching fists and jabbing elbows, but she was afraid she would get hurt accidentally. They were fighting like men possessed. It was best to stay out of it and allow the altercation to run its natural course. If she began to fear for the life of one of the men, she would stun them both. Besides, she thought it might be for the best that they finally have it all out. Gods knew they'd both wanted to cause the other physical pain for a very long time.

Concerned passersby broke up the fight with effective shield charms several minutes into the action. Both wizards were scraped up and covered in blood. They would have both been pleased to continue on beating the other until one of them was dead or at least headed to St. Mungo's. Fearing they would only make it worse once the shield charms faltered, Hermione stepped between the two men. A simple press of her hand on Igor's chest calmed him down. He, at least, wouldn't risk the chance of hurting her accidentally by resuming. Antonin was a different story. When his hackles were raised, he didn't seem to care who else was around.

"Antonin, you need to go," Hermione stated firmly.

"But, Hermione, _he_ was the one who started it!"

"No, _you_ started it when you put your filthy hands all over my witch," spat Igor.

"Antonin, please go."

Though his reluctance to leave the area was clear for everyone to see, Antonin did as he was asked. He glared one final time at Igor before walking away in the direction of the bank. Hermione hoped he would have the presence of mind to clean himself up before the goblins saw him.

There were very few moments in her life that Hermione could remember being that angry. What else could possibly go wrong that day? She was already exhausted from her interaction with Greyback and her unnerving tête-à-tête with Lord Voldemort. All she wanted was to go home, curl up in bed, and start again in the morning.

"Did he hurt you, Charodeyka?"

"No, I'm all right. He just startled me."

Igor took her by the hand to lead her inside the walls of the apothecary away from the curious onlookers' eyes. Once inside the safety and privacy of his potions lab, he led her over to his empty desk chair. When he tried to make her sit, she made him take the seat instead. His face and hands were covered in blood, but he didn't seem concerned in the slightest. In fact, to Hermione's great annoyance, Igor seemed rather pleased with his performance. She rolled her eyes and began cleaning his wounds with dittany and healing charms to make all physical evidence of his misdeeds disappear.

"It's been a long time since I had to resort to a Muggle duel, but I won't deny that felt bloody good. He went down with one punch. Tosser!"

"You are both barbarians brawling in the street!"

"You can't deny that that whole display turned you on just a little bit."

Igor placed both of his hands on Hermione's hops to pull her closer. She swatted at him, only serving to make him laugh.

"I'm disgusted by your behavior."

All hints of smiles or laughter fell off of his face at her statement.

"He was _kissing_ you, Hermione!"

"I'm well aware of that fact, thank you. I was in the process of pushing him away when you attacked."

"You were taking your time pushing him away."

She had had enough. Hermione ceased cleaning the wounds on his less bloody face. The jar of dittany she never went anywhere without made a loud _clunk_ when she set it down on Igor's desk. He could finish up cleaning his own wounds. With her discarded beaded bag back in her hand, she turned around to face the confused wizard.

"I can't do this right now, Igor. I have already had one unbelievably shit day."

His cries for her to stop walking went unheard. Though she knew their conversation was far from over, she needed a break, a moment to calm down and process everything that had happened that day since stepping out of Rodolphus' shop. What she really needed was simply the safety and security she had always been able to find in the back of a shabby pub in Hogsmeade.

* * *

 **8:45 pm**

A knock at the door of Hermione's bedroom woke her up from a fitful nap. It hadn't been her intention to fall asleep when her father told her to take a break from scrubbing every inch of the pub. Cleaning always calmed her down. Charms or good old fashioned Muggle elbow grease didn't matter to her. It helped clear her head. After her day of so many dramatic meetings with men who had some sort of interest in her, she needed some clarity and serenity.

Aberforth entered her sanctuary at the sound of her voice. Though he usually tried to keep as impassive a face as possible, much like his elder brother, his eyes always gave him away. At least to Hermione. She knew him well enough to know when he was concerned.

"The Other Russian is here to talk to you. Want me to tell him to bugger off?"

Hermione carefully rose to her feet. She couldn't help but laugh at Aberforth's offer. While a part of her was certainly tempted to have Aberforth make Igor leave, she knew she needed to talk to him. It was only fair.

"Thank you, Dad. I'll meet with him."

Aberforth acted as if he was going to protest, but a swift peck to his cheek seemed to calm him down slightly.

"Those marks on his face. You responsible?" he asked before he let her exit her bedroom.

"No, he and Antonin had a disagreement this afternoon."

"The boy look as roughed up as that one?"

Hermione sighed. Why were men so obsessed with physical violence?

"Worse probably," she replied. "I was able to clean up some of Igor's wounds."

"I'm liking the Other Russian more and more."

She sighed and rolled her eyes again. Once she had some shoes on and pulled on a heavier jumper, Hermione exited the private section of the pub. Igor stood at the bar waiting. Only the slight tapping of his fingers on the slab of wood showed his impatience.

"Is there somewhere we can talk, Charodeyka?" He looked up and met Aberforth's gaze a few feet away. "Somewhere private?"

Hermione headed out the door of the pub. The streets of the village were quiet and the fresh air might do them both some good. They were halfway to High Street before either of them broke the silence.

"What did you mean earlier when you said you'd had an unbelievably shit day?" asked Igor, concern and worry clear in his tone.

There seemed no reason to lie. Not to him, of all people.

"Greyback approached me in Diagon Alley after I left the shop."

Igor stopped walking out of shock. He tried and failed more than once to respond. Finally, he exhaled loudly.

"Are you all right? What happened?"

"I felt him following me. When I got to the barrier at the end of the Alley, I put my wand under his chin and demanded he stop bothering me. He threatened your life. Threatened to make your heart stop beating so the charms on my locket would fail. I was understandably upset. I jinxed his eyes and ran away."

She left out all mention of the unsettling conversation she'd had with Lord Voldemort. Her reluctance to trust the wizard would only lead to another row between the two of them that she didn't need.

"Antonin saw me with Greyback. Saw how upset I was. I was going to your apothecary to warn you that you were a target. Antonin followed me and tried to demand answers I couldn't give him. Then he kissed me."

Hermione stared up at the cloudy night sky looking for something other than Igor's blue eyes to focus on.

"I didn't want him to kiss me."

"Are you positive about that, Charodeyka?"

There wasn't any bitterness in his words. Simply the resignation of one who seemed to already know where he stood. Hermione's stomach clenched at the almost hurt expression on his face. When did they become more to each other than just really close friends?

"No, there's no need to answer that," he insisted with a wave of his hand. "I'm not sure I could bear to hear a lie right now."

"Igor…"

"I knew at New Year's actually. Knew that you weren't over him. Not hard to figure out when I saw you two talking out in the garden."

Hermione was at a loss. Nothing she could say would put Igor's mind at ease. And besides that, she knew there was truth to what he was saying.

"You're not over him, Hermione. Though I can't even pretend to understand what you could possibly see in him, I know our feelings don't always make sense."

"Igor, I don't know what to say."

"I appreciate at least that you're not trying to deny it. When I kissed you at midnight, I got the feeling that would be my only chance. Had to make it memorable."

His strange behavior when they kissed outside of Margie's house suddenly made sense. She thought at the time that he might have simply being trying to show off in front of Antonin. It hadn't occurred to her his true motives.

Her cousin's sage words when it came to Caradoc rushed to mind. Igor deserved better than someone like her. He was worth more than that.

"I've been unfair to you, Igor. You deserve to be someone's first choice, someone's _only_ choice."

Igor reached out to pull Hermione into his arms. She allowed him the embrace knowing he was too respectful of her to push past her boundaries. They stood in the silent, empty lane from several minutes saying nothing. He finally kissed the top of her head and dropped his arms.

"I sincerely hope you can find whatever love and happiness you are searching for, Charodeyka. I just don't believe you will find it with Dolohov."

Hermione reached up behind her neck to unclasp the beautiful locket she never took off. Igor's hand instantly reached out to stop her movement.

"What are you doing, Hermione?"

"It doesn't seem right to keep it now that we're no longer…"

"No, no. That is yours to keep. I still want to keep you safe even if I'm not your wizard anymore."

She felt the first of many tears roll out of her eyes at those words. It sounded so _final_. Even with the knowledge that her future lay elsewhere with another wizard, Hermione still felt sadness that whatever it was she had with Igor was ending. Would they ever get back to a place where they could be friends again? Or were they doomed to forever be awkward and uncomfortable in each other's presence?

"You're still in danger, Igor," she declared, wiping her eyes on the sleeve of her jumper. "Greyback said that heart's blood only worked as long as your heart still beat. He's going to try to kill you."

"I'm not afraid of him."

Igor reached under his collar to pull a silver chain out. A much smaller and more masculine-looking locket hung from the end. Where hers was crafted for beauty, his was clearly crafted for simplicity.

"Sveta knew I'd be at risk," he explained. "She made me one too. Put her own blood in it. I'm protected."

"Your sister obviously loves you very much."

He grinned.

"I'm her baby brother. Of course she loves me. Who wouldn't love me?"

The smile disappeared almost at once. There was pain in his face that only made Hermione feel even more guilty than she already did. If she had known how much she was going to hurt the wizard she once believed incapable of being hurt, she would've left him alone from the very beginning. She almost wished her time turner would allow her to go back in time to the day they met just so she could force herself to run away in the opposite direction. Selfishly though, she was thankful she'd had him in her life. Without him, she probably would've gone on believing she was broken for a great deal longer. He helped her to heal.

"I'm going to miss you," admitted Hermione.

"I'm not leaving the country, Charodeyka. You will still see me from time to time."

"It won't be the same."

"No, it won't ever be the same."

Neither of them spoke again for a few uncomfortable minutes. Hermione had never really been forced to have the awkward 'break-up' talk before. Hundreds of miles seemed to do the trick with Viktor. A time turner meant she hadn't had to technically break up with Ron, though she knew that that certainly might change if she was ever able to get back to the future. Antonin fucking his neighbor on his dining table was as close to an actual break-up as she could recall. Even the first time that Igor broke off their not-exactly-a-relationship, he'd done so in a terse note nestled amongst beautiful flowers. This was an experience Hermione wished she never had to have firsthand.

"I should get going," Igor finally declared. "It's getting late."

He leaned down to kiss her cheek. Hermione had to bite the inside of her cheeks from crying. It was such a formal, impersonal gesture. Gone was the wizard she used to be able to spend lazy Sundays entirely in bed with. In his place was a man that was becoming more and more like the stoic, cold Headmaster of Durmstrang she met when she was in fourth year. The thought of _her_ Igor disappearing forever was almost too much to bear.

"Would you like me to walk you back to the pub?"

"No, thank you. It's not that far. I'll be fine."

Igor seemed relieved that she didn't insist that he accompany her back. With a final pained smile in her direction, the wizard Disapparated away from the area. The moment the crack of his Apparition sounded in the still night air, Hermione exhaled. She knew she made the right decision breaking her relationship off with Igor in the long run, but it didn't make the pain in the short-term lessen any.

She took a calming, deep breath and turned around to begin her walk back home. Wednesday nights were usually painfully slow in the pub. She would have to be extra creative in finding ways to keep her mind off of the Russian wizards in her life.

"If you need a body to keep your cold bed warm now that Karkaroff is gone, I'll be glad to volunteer for the task."

It seemed strange that Hermione wasn't even frightened by Greyback appearing suddenly out of the shadows of the long-abandoned shop next to The Hog's Head. Any other day and she might have been terrified and unable to breathe being in his presence again. Knowing how easily she could hurt him with just a touch of her hand helped her keep the level of her fear down.

"Fuck off, Greyback."

His disturbing bark of a laugh sounded much louder in the silence of the village than it actually was. It carried over the air straight through the fabric of her jumper to settle into her bones. She hated that sound. Any time she heard the feral monster laugh she was reminded of the night he held her down on the floor of the pub and…

Hermione shook her head to try to banish any thoughts or memories from _that_ night. She might still be afraid of the werewolf. She was a fool if she wasn't, but she was not about to grant him any more power over her than he already had. Greyback had already taken too much from her. Knowing that it would drive him mad to think she was not afraid of him, Hermione just kept walking.

"Such vulgar language from a witch trying so hard to pass herself off as a… what did you call yourself? 'A properly brought up witch'?" Greyback stated, laughter still present in his tone. "What do you think the Dark Lord would think if he found out you weren't what he thought you were?"

"Stick to skulking around in the shadows and eavesdropping on private conversations if you must, Greyback, but don't think for one moment that you have anything remotely resembling a brain."

His broad frame lunged forward to block her path to the pub. He was only inches from her, close enough she could feel his hot breath on her face. Knowing that the monster seemed to get off on the smell of her fear, Hermione tried to trick herself into not being afraid. If she could march into the unknowns of the Forbidden Forest with her head held high, if she could walk into Gringotts disguised as Bellatrix Black, if she could face down fully trained Death Eaters multiple times in her life, she could show no fear in the presence of Fenrir Greyback.

"You have a bit of fight in you tonight. I think I like you best this way."

He wouldn't move out of her way. If she tried to go left to move around him, he would move. When she tried to go right, so would he. Though he wasn't touching her, Greyback was still able to keep her from rushing away. Hermione reached into her pocket to pull out her wand. If a jinx to his eyes worked well earlier that day, surely it would work twice.

"Put your wand away, little girl. I'm not going to harm you."

"Then get out of my way, Greyback. I don't have time to stand out here talking to you. Tell me what you want and then leave me the fuck alone."

"You know what I want. I can be patient."

His hand reached out to grasp one of the loose curls that had fallen out of the messy bun on the top of her head when she'd been sleeping. The charms in Igor's locket appeared to only affect the werewolf from skin-to-skin contact. Hermione struggled to regulate her breathing as he twirled the curl around his finger. He leaned in, keeping his grasp on her hair, to whisper directly into her ear.

"The moment you take that locket off, I'll be there waiting for you. I dream about being back inside of you. The next time it happens, we won't be interrupted."

Greyback stood up to his full height. With a final grin at his intended prey, he released her hair and slowly walked away towards High Street. Hermione stood in the darkness of the lane to watch him disappear. Only when he was no longer in sight did she allow herself to panic. She felt her heart race and almost hyperventilated in her attempt to breathe regularly again. Several minutes passed before she trusted herself to be able to enter the pub without setting off Aberforth's suspicions.

She spent the rest of the night scrubbing every inch of the pub she'd neglected earlier in the day. When she finally lay down in bed that night too exhausted to even pull her quilt over her body, her blood chilled at the sound of the familiar howl just outside her bedroom window.

* * *

June 29, 1974

 **5:52 pm**

Regnault Lestrange stood at the gates to his family estate impatiently tapping his foot. Only moments after arriving, her uncle crossed the distance between them to begin spouting his displeasure at her tardiness. Hermione learned enough in the previous three years in the past to know there was no stopping him when he got started on a tirade. She simply nodded her head as he hurled question after question.

Yes, she was aware that she was expected to arrive at the family estate two hours before the first guests were set to arrive. Yes, she knew that until the bonds were completed later that evening welcoming Bellatrix Black into their family, she would be the female representative of their family. Yes, she understood the importance of that role. No, she wasn't trying to bring shame and dishonor to their family. No, she wasn't jealous of her cousin's impeding marriage.

The last question was asked in a much softer tone than she was used to hearing from Regnault. He seemed legitimately concerned that she would have issue being near any couple about to pledge their lives to one another. In the months since she had ended her relationship with Igor, her uncle had shown her a great deal of concern. More so than she ever expected.

"Karkaroff is upstairs with Rodolphus right now," explained Regnault. "If it were up to me, he would be thrown out these gates on his pompous Russian arse, but your cousin seems to have a fondness for him that I cannot understand."

Hermione actually snorted at the unusually coarse words coming out of her uncle's mouth. With the exception of his rampant use of the word 'Mudblood', Regnault found other forms of swearing to be unnecessary and beneath him as the proud Head of a Sacred Twenty-Eight family. He took almost as much pride in being a member of the coveted circle of Pureblood families as Vadim Dolohov took in his quest to ingratiate his son into a member family. When the indelicate noise came out of her, Regnault allowed a small, private smirk to appear on his face for his niece's viewing pleasure only. Almost as soon as it appeared, he removed it.

"I'm sorry I'm late, Uncle."

"No harm done. No guests have arrived yet. I believe Rosie has her army of elves under control at the moment."

"With Rosie in charge, I'm hardly needed here, am I?"

Regnault placed his arm around her shoulders in another uncharacteristic gesture of affection.

"Nonsense. You are my hostess for the evening. You are very much needed. This will be the last chance you have to be the formal hostess until you have your own home."

Hermione stopped listening to Regnault when he began the tired discussion of when she needed to find a husband. More often than she could count she had been subjected to the reminders from nosy, old gossips that she was growing ever closer to permanent spinsterhood if she didn't settle down. She was almost twenty-two, for Merlin's sake! How many prime baby-making years had she already missed out on as she sowed her wild oats? It was perfectly acceptable for young wizards to delay getting married, but not for young witches. She could probably recite Regnault's lecture by heart.

"Oh, look, Uncle. Guests are arriving!"

She was never more thankful to see a couple of garishly dressed fourth cousins than she was at that moment. Regnault ceased his concerned speech about the importance of Hermione moving on and finding a suitable husband to greet the first few guests. Every invitation was a specially approved portkey direct from the Ministry. Once the invitations were activated, group after group of arriving guests began to fill the Lestrange estate.

It was all the same people she was used to seeing at those kinds of events. As representative of the Lestrange family, Hermione was often called upon to be her uncle's companion to the many society weddings. While she wasn't naïve enough to expect him to stop insisting she tag along to every wedding, engagement party, betrothal ceremony or christening hosted by a Sacred Twenty-Eight family or merely one that desperately wished to be a part of that coveted circle, Hermione hoped that they would slow down now that Bellatrix could be taken in her place. She asked her uncle once why if he believed marriage to be such an important institution for _her_ to enter in, why wouldn't he get remarried? Regnault simply laughed and told her not to be impertinent. He had two sons. There was no reason to get married again.

Only Rabastan's presence at the gates made the receiving line bearable. When his father wasn't looking, her younger cousin would make jokes and pull terribly unattractive faces that would have Hermione giggling. He had a commentary for every single person that passed through the gates. Half of them would have gotten him at the very least a mild stinging hex to the gut if his father overheard. She never would have guessed that he had a talent for mimicry until the first time she heard him do a spot-on impersonation of her Uncle Albus. Whenever she was with her cousin, she tried very hard not to imagine his future. It only served to make her sad. He would be running off to do his own Grand Tour with several of his friends from Slytherin in only a few weeks. Realizing she would not get to see him for two years made Hermione sad. When she first arrived in the past, she never would've imagined that she would ever be as fond of the Lestrange brothers as she was. It would only make her eventual journey back to the future even harder.

In the midst of the crush of guests, she almost missed the well-dressed and painfully beautiful Shacklebolt family arrive. Katie's younger brother and his family came at the same time as representatives of the Shafiq family. Clearly tempted to pick her up off her feet as he normally did, Dean heeded his wife's sharp glare. He simply kissed her cheek and squeezed her shoulders. Hermione couldn't help but laugh. He could act like an overgrown child one moment and then be the completely serious Warlock of the Wizengamot the next.

"I'm pleased to see that you are representing our proud House with your dark blue gown, Hermione," Dean said with a wink. "You look beautiful."

"She looks beautiful in everything she wears, Dad," stated Thomas as he kissed her cheek in greeting.

"Or doesn't," muttered Kingsley.

Despite being a full foot shorter than her youngest son, Katie was able to land an impressive smack to the back of his head that even her mother would have been proud of. All three of the Shacklebolt men stifled their laughter when they saw how annoyed their matriarch was. Hermione was far from being offended. She laughed right along with them. It wasn't as if Kingsley had ever actually seen her undressed. It was a harmless joke.

When the newly appointed full auror stepped closer to greet the hostess, Hermione almost gasped. They had not seen each other since the Hogmanay party at his grandmother's house over six months earlier. A lot changed over those months. Standing in front of her was the man she remembered from the day they met on the stairs at Number Twelve Grimmauld Place. Kingsley had fewer lines on his face, of course, but he'd finally reached his full adult height. His continued physical training filled out all of the muscles she remembered as well. She smiled up at the man to try to not make it obvious she had been surprised by his appearance.

"Is Roxanne not joining you this evening, Kings?" she asked, looking around for the woman he confessed to being serious about only months earlier.

Instantly she wished she had kept her mouth shut. Kingsley's face dropped. He was embarrassed by the sudden attention. His mother reached over to pat his arm.

"No, afraid Roxanne won't be accompanying me _anywhere_ again."

"Oh, dear, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said anything."

He covered his disappointment with a bright smile she remembered. Hermione wasn't convinced that he wasn't hurt by the fact that he was no longer with his girlfriend, but she did try not to make it obvious that she noticed.

"Let's go in and find our seats," Katie said, reaching for both of her sons' arms.

The Shacklebolt family was only a few feet away when Regnault leaned down to speak in a soft tone.

"You and the younger Shacklebolt boy. Is there something there?"

"Not that I'm aware of, Uncle."

"Try not to discount him. Influential family. You could do much, _much_ worse. And the way he looks at you… well, let's just say that I'm sure _he_ wouldn't be opposed if I approached his parents for a potential alliance."

"Uncle, you know very well how I feel about arranged marriages. Leave Kingsley alone."

The subject was quickly dropped. Both Regnault and Hermione knew it was not the time nor the place to bring up that tired, old discussion. Hundreds of guests were still waiting to be greeted.

* * *

 **9:07 pm**

It had been a beautiful ceremony. Even knowing that neither party was excited about getting married, the bonds were some of the most spectacular Hermione had ever seen. She knew that both the Lestrange family and the Black family were interested in putting on a grand show in front of all of their peers. They delivered. She played an integral role in the bonding ceremony just as she had in the betrothal ceremony. It had been a relief when the newest married couple finally kissed to seal their lifelong bond. There were two pairs of eyes focused on Hermione throughout the entire ceremony that she longed to run away from. Having two exes in the same room was enough to drive her mad.

The reception was slated to be the social event of the season. Hermione rolled her eyes every time she heard her uncle or Druella Black declare that something 'must be _perfect_ '. According to the both of them, a centerpiece with only 23 roses would be a disaster and completely ruin the evening. She was grateful when the formal meal was finally over and the dancing began. At least by that point, both of them had imbibed enough alcohol to mellow out their moods enough that they weren't completely unbearable.

Hermione stood at the edge of the dancefloor watching the happy couples twirl around in circles. Rabastan hadn't left the side of his intended for a second once the lavish reception began. He had been excited to see that the pretty blonde he was set to marry two years in the future had only grown more lovely in her absence. Uncle Regnault performed his duties as the Father of the Groom and host by taking each of the wives of his Pureblood mates for a spin. Even Rodolphus was making an effort to show his new bride a good time. Bellatrix's attention might have been solely focused on Lord Voldemort seated in a corner surrounded by simpering acolytes, but at least they both seemed happy.

Hours were left before the reception was set to end. She had been given strict instructions that she must remain on the estate until the last guest left. Though she wasn't afraid of her uncle, she knew life would simply be easier if she did as he asked. There was plenty she could do to keep her mind occupied. As the official hostess of the event, Hermione was able to use empty platters and warming champagne as excuses to not mingle amongst the guests.

It had not been a good evening. Between the knowing looks that Lord Voldemort kept shooting in her direction and the false smile that Igor kept on his face every time their paths crossed, she was half-tempted to hide in the library until she was too tired to keep her eyes open. Rodolphus' best friend was doing his best to dance with every even slightly attractive single witch underneath the massive white tent set up in the middle of the formal gardens. She thought he was trying too hard to prove that he was enjoying himself.

"What is the most beautiful witch at this wedding doing just _watching_ everyone else dance? It's something of a tragedy, isn't it?"

Hermione laughed hard enough that she snorted. It was quite an indelicate reaction in such a formal setting. A flash of a camera bulb startled her just for a moment. Her new companion laughed right along with her.

"If you think I'm naïve enough to believe that line for one second, Augie, you don't know me as well as you think you do."

Augustus Rookwood continued to softly chuckle. Hermione gestured towards a familiar couple on the edge of the dancefloor furthest away from them. Their exes were still seemingly a happy couple on the outside. At least they were doing an excellent job keeping up appearances. It made Hermione more than a little annoyed to know that neither of them were in love with each other and yet they continued the charade.

"You and I both know that you don't think I'm the most beautiful witch here."

"No, you're right," he sighed, but there was still a hint of amusement in his tone. "You're definitely in the top three."

Hermione scoffed and playfully swatted his arm.

"'Top _three_ '? I would have been satisfied to be second in your affections behind Miss MacMillan, but not _third_. Who is the other witch I must compete with now?"

"Isn't the bride supposed to be the most beautiful woman at her wedding?"

They both laughed again. Every time she found herself in Augustus' presence she found herself laughing. She wished she had known him better in school. He was one of the good ones. It still bothered her to know that he would be a resident of Azkaban's lifetime cells in only a few years in the future, though she did all she could to try to forget that horrifying fact. Since the horrible night Kingsley saved her from making a terrible mistake with Ludo Bagman, she had seen Augustus almost weekly when she started making trips to the Ministry to watch the Wizengamot proceedings with her uncle. Regnault liked the Rookwood boy and had been not so subtly suggesting she spend more time with the wizard.

"All right. I suppose I can take third place after the bride and the love of your life."

Augustus grasped her hand to pull her out onto the dancefloor before she could protest. Truthfully, she didn't want to. For whatever reason, she felt at ease around the young Unspeakable. It didn't take too many twirls before they were laughing again.

"Speaking of the love of your life," Hermione began when the tempo of the song changed to allow for a slower dance. "Are you done being an idiot yet?"

"What exactly are you trying to ask me, Miss Dumbledore?"

"If Lettie was available again, would you stop being an idiot and make your move?"

He almost stopped dancing entirely to stare at her with the most adorably bewildered expression she had ever seen. Hermione couldn't help but chuckle. Augustus didn't even need to answer. His answer was written all over his face.

"She's with Dolohov."

"And yet, she's still in love with you. I have it on good authority that she would leave him in a second if she knew you still wanted to be with her."

"Who told you that?" He was not convinced.

"Antonin. In fact, he's been thinking about punching you in the face to knock some sense into you."

Augustus sighed the sigh of the defeated. Hermione leaned up to place a chaste kiss on his cheek. He seemed only slightly mollified by the gesture.

"If I could _guarantee_ that Lettie breaks up with Antonin, are you going to not be stupid? Or are you going to ruin another chance?"

"You can guarantee she will break up with him?"

"Uh huh. _Tonight_. What are you going to do, Augie?"

His entire face beamed. Hermione didn't even need verbal confirmation that the wizard still in love with his ex wouldn't waste a second a chance.

"I'd marry her tomorrow if she wanted, Hermione."

"Good. Leave it to me."

The song ended moments later. Hermione curtsied to her dancing partner before rushing off the dancefloor. It only took a few moments to spot Narcissa Black seated at a table with Lucius trying to feed him a piece of cake. One thing was certain in their society. Once Narcissa learned some juicy gossip, it wasn't long before everyone else knew it too.

"Are you two enjoying yourselves?" Hermione asked as she took a seat next to Narcissa.

Lucius, at least, seemed pleased by the interruption. It was obvious to tell that he was annoyed by his betrothed's insistence that he try some of her cake. He used Hermione's arrival as an excuse to push the fork away.

"Beautiful wedding, Miss Dumbledore," Lucius declared. He had been unable to remove the formality that existed between them since the day her father picked him up out of his chair by his collar and demanded he treat his daughter with the proper respect. Truthfully, she didn't mind. Lucius Malfoy would never be a close friend. "If you ladies will excuse me, I must do my proper duty as a son and ask my mother for a dance."

He seemed excited to run off. No doubt he was growing weary of the sad expressions Narcissa was constantly giving him. He would be one of Rabastan's companions on his two year long trip. Hermione could only imagine that she had been smothering her future husband in the lead up to his departure.

"Do you think he will forget about me when he's off on his adventures?" asked Narcissa. She seemed sick at the very thought.

"No, Narcissa. Not at all. I'm certain that in this case, absence will merely make the heart grow fonder. Anyone with eyes can tell how besotted Lucius is with you."

Her words cheered up the younger witch immensely.

"I saw you dancing and laughing with Augustus Rookwood," she began. The girl loved to gossip almost as much as she loved Lucius. It was a trait that would get her in trouble more than once as she got older. "Is he helping you forget a certain Russian wizard that can't stop looking in your direction?"

Hermione bit her tongue before she asked _which_ Russian Narcissa was referring to.

"No, Augie and I are just friends. He's still in love with Violetta MacMillan. As long as he holds out any hope that they might one day get back together, he won't be able to move on with another witch."

"Really? He's still in love with Lettie? I had no idea."

"Oh, he would just _hate_ it if anyone found that out. I shouldn't have said anything. Promise me you won't say anything to anyone."

Narcissa sat up straighter in her chair. She seemed reluctant to make any such promise, but Hermione wasn't about to demand a wizard oath out of the excitable girl.

"No, I wouldn't say anything," Narcissa assured her. "But Lettie is with Antonin Dolohov. They seem quite serious too. Father said some nasty things about his mother recently when he returned from his cousin's house. Lettie's father was trying to work out an agreement with Mr. Dolohov's father. My father said it was a shame that the MacMillan family would ever allow a halfblood in their family."

Hermione resisted the urge to slap the scandalized witch's face. Based on Narcissa's tone, one might assume that the worst possible event could be the intermingling of _pure_ blood with less than pure blood. But remembering just how prejudicial her son would one day become, to the naïve witch, it likely _was_ the worst thing.

"Miss MacMillan deserves better than Antonin."

"But _you_ were with him for a long time."

"Yes, and while I'm not terribly proud of that time in my life, at least he never kissed another witch while we were together."

Narcissa's eyes lit up like Christmas had come early. Hermione really wanted to laugh in her face, but stopped herself.

"Promise me you won't tell anyone what I'm about to tell you, Narcissa. I'm so embarrassed by the whole thing!"

"Of course. It will be our little secret."

"Well, the reason why Igor and I broke up was because Antonin _kissed_ me in the middle of Diagon Alley back in March."

"No! But he's been with Lettie for over a year."

Hermione pretended to be embarrassed. She thought she was convincing. In the corner of her eye she could see Augustus trying and failing not to look in her direction. He seemed every bit as anxious to know what was happening as Narcissa was to get all of the details of the forbidden kiss.

"Antonin kissed me right there in the middle of the day in front of Igor's apothecary. They even got into a fight because of it. Igor was so angry. I think he broke Antonin's nose."

"And Lettie doesn't know?"

"I don't think so. Would you stay with a wizard you knew was still in love with his ex?"

"No, I would _not_. I am worth more than that and so is Lettie. She is going to be heartbroken."

"Oh, no, Narcissa. You can't tell anyone! I would just _die_ if anyone knew what happened."

After a couple more extracted promises out of Narcissa that Hermione was certain she wouldn't keep, she made her excuses to get up from the table. She brushed past Augustus with a cheeky wink. All hint of nervousness fell off his countenance at the expression. Hermione hadn't even made it to one of the floating trays of champagne before she witnessed Narcissa jump up and head straight to where Lettie was just returning from the dancefloor with Antonin. Narcissa grabbed her cousin's arm to pull her away from her date and outside the tent.

"Something funny?"

Kingsley's amused voice startled Hermione enough that she almost spilled her champagne. He stood next to her sipping at his own glass and watching her with a smile. The figure he cut in his fashionably tailored robes made her stomach flip. She could almost imagine that he was the same man she'd last seen as he exited The Hog's Head three years earlier when she was still in her correct timeline.

"I shouldn't tell you," she replied, her grin mirroring his. "I think you would appreciate it just a little _too_ much."

"Well, now you have to tell me. My curiosity will kill me."

"You are being a bit dramatic for a Hufflepuff, aren't you?"

Her last teasing words were spoken in a soft whisper. No one was around to hear them, but that didn't stop Kingsley from looking around to make certain. His fallen smile returned when he realized there was no one nearby.

"I think I shouldn't have told you my darkest secret when we first met."

"I meant what I said at the time, Kingsley. I won't ever tell anyone your secret. I also never promised I wouldn't tease you about it for the rest of your life."

"It seems you have a bit more Slytherin in you than I expected."

"One doesn't have to be a Slytherin to be cunning and sly, Kingsley. Just like one doesn't have to be a Gryffindor to be brave and stupidly noble."

Understanding that she was simply teasing him further, Kingsley was not insulted. With a broad smile still on his face, he reached to take her empty champagne flute out of her hand. He set both of their glasses down on a tray with a charm that instantly transported the dirty dishes to the massive kitchen where the house-elves would promptly wash them. Kingsley reached for her hand and for the second time that evening, she found herself being dragged out onto the dancefloor without an invitation.

She liked the confidence she was seeing in this Kingsley. It was a nice change from the obnoxious boy she met only a short time earlier. More and more he reminded her of the wizard he would become one day. She often wondered when the time would come when the Kingsley of the past would start to become the Kingsley of her future. Realizing that he was already beginning that change excited Hermione for a reason she wasn't quite sure of just yet.

"Mum told me to be a good boy and make sure that I asked you for at least one dance," he declared once they were on the dancefloor and already moving around the other couples.

"Oh, I see. So you only wanted to dance with me because your mummy told you to?"

"Actually, you are the only witch I've danced with this evening and the only witch I _want_ to dance with."

Hermione felt her stomach flutter at his words. Maybe it was the champagne that she drank quickly going straight to her head. Maybe it was the warmth of his hand on her bare, exposed lower back. Maybe she was just lonely. She wasn't sure why she was feeling so strangely in his presence. Certainly she'd not been nervous to be around him since she met him that day he refused to leave her alone as she walked to the castle. He had once been nothing but an annoyance. When did that change?

"Are you going to tell me what you were laughing at now or not?" Kingsley teased.

"I'm fairly certain your mate Dolohov is about to get his heart broken."

"Why? Are you about to rip it out of his chest?"

She maneuvered them so he could see the part of the tent where an agitated Violetta MacMillan had just reentered. Her usually fair complexion was bright red and she was headed straight for an unsuspecting Antonin standing in the back talking to Augustus and Walden Macnair.

"No. His girlfriend is about to break up with him."

"Can't imagine that will break his heart. He's been staring at you all night."

There was a definite tone of bitterness in Kingsley's tone. Would he be so quick to jealousy if he knew that they would end up together?

"Yes, well, she just heard something I'm sure she didn't know. I can't imagine Miss MacMillan will continue to date him if she knew the truth."

Her suspicions were confirmed only moments later. Violetta MacMillan might have been a Hufflepuff, but she knew how to make a scene. She grabbed Antonin's glass of fire whiskey out of his hand to throw straight into his confused face. Though they couldn't hear the content of their conversation over the sound of the orchestra, it was clear that the spurned witch was not happy. Antonin tried to calm her down. The moment his hands touched his girlfriend, she threw them off. More of the assembled guests began to pay attention to the lovers' spat in the corner. Augustus took the arm of his angry ex to lead her out of the tent into the fresh air before anything could get worse.

"You shouldn't laugh," Hermione gently chastised Kingsley. His booming laughter was almost as loud as the swell of the orchestra. "It's not kind."

When Kingsley failed to stop laughing, Hermione stopped the dance. She tugged at his arm in much the same way that Augustus had just done. The wizard continued to chuckle to himself long after they were outside. Hermione didn't want Antonin to see that Kingsley was so amused by the moment that had to have been extremely embarrassing for him. All she needed was for the hotheaded Russian to be involved in _another_ physical fight in her presence.

She kept pulling on Kingsley's arm until they were well away from the bulk of the guests. Her uncle's prized topiary garden would be the perfect place for Kingsley to laugh to his heart's content. At least there it would be private. She led the wizard to a section of the garden where they were completely hidden from the white tent.

"You're being unnecessarily cruel," she rebuked him again.

"I'm sorry, Hermione, but that was hilarious. Did you see how the fire whiskey got in his eyes? They are going to burn for days."

Hermione swatted at Kingsley's stomach. The moment her hand touched the defined muscles under his robes, the wizard grabbed her hand in his. He didn't immediately relinquish his hold. In fact, with her hand firmly in his, Kingsley tugged at her arm just enough that her small frame bumped into his much larger frame. Without taking his eyes off of hers, he brushed his free hand against her cheek. The tips of his fingers slid into the loose curls just behind her ears. A sudden heat was present in his eyes that she hadn't seen since that night she told his older self she thought he was gorgeous.

He was going to kiss her. That realization didn't surprise her in the slightest. What surprised her was the fact that she _wanted_ him to. Kingsley lowered his head to bring his lips closer to hers, inch by inch. She could smell the champagne he'd just drunk on his breath. Though he seemed nervous, he was determined. Hermione closed her eyes and waited for the moment their lips would touch for the first time. The tiniest hint of his mouth brushed against hers.

"Hermione?"

Antonin always had the uncanny ability to ruin a moment.

* * *

August 9, 1998

 **9:05 am**

He should have known that Rabastan would have at least _some_ suspicions about Hermione Granger. No one would ever call a Lestrange an idiot. Kingsley wasn't sure how much he should just come right out and admit to. Even locked up in Azkaban, Rabastan could be complication.

"The night we went to the Department of Mysteries to steal the prophecy orb from the Potter boy, I noticed that there was a certain curly haired witch with him that reminded me quite a bit of someone I used to know. Someone I assumed was dead."

Kingsley sighed.

"Dolohov noticed too. We talked about her later after we were thrown back into this place. Once he got over the idea that she was something that his demented mind had created to fuck with him, he seemed to believe that she was his daughter. Made a bit of sense, I guess. Can't imagine that Hermione would disappear out of everyone's life like that though."

"What do you think happened?"

"I don't know, Kingsley. I have a theory that seems completely impossible. This Hermione Granger girl who looks so much like my long-dead cousin disappeared at the same age that my cousin suddenly appeared in my life. I think you know _exactly_ what happened. Why don't you tell me?"

He sighed again. Part of him was going to have a difficult time forgiving Andromeda for insisting that he go to Azkaban to tell Hermione's cousins the truth about her before he announced it to the press. It would have been a great deal easier to not tell the truth.

"There's no easy way to say this, Rabastan."

"Then just say it."

"Hermione Granger _is_ Hermione Dumbledore."

Rabastan whistled when the truth tumbled out. He didn't seem upset or angry. Merely intrigued like he'd just been given a riddle that needed figuring out. He focused his gaze on the scuffed top of the wooden table he was chained to. Just when Kingsley thought he was going to have to speak again to fill up the uncomfortable silence, the small interview room rang with Rabastan's loud laughter.

"Well, that does make a lot of sense," the prisoner declared. "I always thought it strange and impressive that _anyone_ was brave enough to take on my father. She never feared him. Not even once. She came right in and basically told my father where he could shove his ideas of how witches should behave. I always admired that. No proper Pureblood witch would be able to stand up to an intimidating man like Regnault Lestrange. But she's no ordinary Mudblood, is she? Bloody Harry Potter's best friend. Always willing to put herself in danger to help out someone she loved. Foolish child."

He was an altered man from the last time they had a conversation of any value. Not long after Hermione's disappearance, Rabastan spiraled out of control. Kingsley never knew if it was the stress of losing a loved one or if it was something else. The wizard had experienced a great deal of heartache even before Hermione disappeared. It saddened Kingsley to realize he had been changed so much.

"So is she still alive? She was clearly sent back in time. Is that what happened when she disappeared? Is she going to come back to us?"

Kingsley hated that he was surprised by Lestrange's desire to see Hermione again. He'd assumed that the wizard would be so furious about being lied to for so many years that he would be unable to see straight. The desperation in his voice was surprising. Unless he was very much mistaken by the man's motivations, he didn't care that Hermione wasn't _technically_ his cousin. Perhaps after years of indoctrination at his father's knee, Rabastan learned that blood really wasn't that important.

"I don't know that, Rabastan. Maybe. We did an inventory of the time turners in the Department of Mysteries. Only one was unaccounted for following that debacle your lot was responsible for. It was an experimental turner that only allows a person to move in time by years. I'm assuming that she will wish to come back to this year. If she used her time turner when she disappeared, she may be back in a few months."

"She's going to be so disappointed in me."

Rabastan sighed and shook his head.

"You remember what I was like after my wife and daughter…" He cleared his throat before he could trust himself to speak again. Some pain simply never went away. "I'd like to say that I'm not responsible for my actions, but I am. She will be so angry at what I became. Of course she will be heartbroken for Roddy. It's not like he had a choice in everything, but I did. I _knew_ what I was doing was wrong, but I didn't care. She's going to hate me."

A few words in the midst of his babbling caught Kingsley's attention.

"What do you mean Rodolphus didn't have a choice?"

"You should ask him what happened that night with the Longbottoms. I belong here. I've always belonged in here. Barty belonged in here too, the sneaky fuck. Bellatrix most certainly belonged in here, but never Roddy. Ask him what happened that night. He should've never been locked up with the rest of us."


	48. Chapter 48

_Author's Note: Please excuse any and all mistakes. I will be editing this tomorrow when it's not an ungodly hour. I wanted to go ahead and get it posted before I went to bed._

* * *

Chapter Forty-Eight

June 29, 1974

 **10:15 pm**

Antonin's voice stopped Kingsley's movement before he could properly kiss Hermione. She only felt a hint of his lips brush against hers. It surprised her slightly how disappointed she was by the missed moment. Kingsley groaned loudly, his disappointment evident to anyone with in twenty-meter radius.

"What the fuck do you want, Dolohov?" he demanded.

It was Hermione's turn to groan. All she needed was for the two of them to start fighting. It would be too embarrassing. There were hundreds of guests in the area who could be potential witnesses to a humiliating scene. She ripped her hand out of Kingsley's and without uttering a word, began to walk away further into the back of the gardens away from the bickering wizards.

"Wait, Hermione. Where are you going?" Kingsley asked.

"I thought I'd walk away so if you two idiots had an argument, I wouldn't have to be a witness to it."

"Hermione, wait. I want to talk to you," replied Antonin.

"Well, we were about to do more than just talk when you interrupted, Dolohov, so kindly bugger off."

Not wishing to be there any longer, Hermione leaned down to take her shoes off. Once free from the confines of the ridiculous footwear, she sped up her pace until she was jogging away with her shoes in one hand and the hem of her dress in the other. Calls from the two wizards were ignored. She kept running until she was inside the privacy of the hedge maze.

She always felt a sense of safety and security inside the large hedges. Considering she hated the very idea of the mazes that were the status symbol of any self-respecting wealthy family because of the third task of the Triwizard Tournament, it was quite odd that she actually felt at peace within that section of the garden. Hermione slowed down her pace to put her shoes back on.

Since her relationship with her uncle had improved to the point that she was a more frequent visitor to the Lestrange Estate, she grew familiar with the confines of the maze. She took her time to walk to a secluded bench in one of the dead ends. It was the place she discovered a couple of years earlier when she needed some time to calm down after a particularly frustrating row with her uncle.

Hermione sat down on the middle of the bench, adjusting the full skirt of her formal gown for something to do with her hands. It had been a horrible night. Sure, there had been a few pleasant moments here and there to break up the monotony of one, long miserable evening, but as a whole, she would likely always remember the night the Rodolphus married Bellatrix as being one of the worst nights she experienced in the past. It didn't help that all through the ceremony she tried not to think about the fact that her cousin was bonding himself to a lunatic for the rest of _her_ life. Hermione didn't remember seeing Rodolphus' name on the list of the dead following the Battle for Hogwarts. She tried to hold on to hope that when, _if_ , she returned to the future that Rodolphus would be there. Though explaining her true identity would not be easy, she couldn't bear the thought that he wouldn't be there.

Realizing that her mind was going down avenues that she wanted to avoid for the time being, Hermione shifted her thinking to what just almost happened. Kingsley would've kissed her for the first time if they hadn't been interrupted. She wondered if she was ready for that. As much as she cared about Kingsley, future and present Kingsley both, she knew she wasn't at that point yet. It was a shock to see him looking much like his older self, but one word out of his mouth and he was the obnoxious sixteen year old she met years earlier. Either he still had some growing up to so or he would never get over his stupid rivalry with Antonin. Or it could be both. All she knew was that their time wasn't yet. She didn't believe that future Kingsley would have any reason to lie to her about the seriousness of his relationship with Aberforth's daughter. Hermione trusted him. She still trusted him. They would end up together before she disappeared. She just wasn't sure _when_.

Her thoughts turned to Antonin. She'd been thinking about him a lot lately. For months really. What did he want to talk to her about that was so serious he went searching for her in the gardens? She did not feel guilty about her part in his very public break-up. No, Augie had been moping around for over a year. He clearly wasn't going to act on his own. Why should three people be miserable when they all could be happy with a little interference? She would never feel guilty. Augie would be locked up in less than ten years. He deserved a little bit of happiness before he ruined his own life.

Hermione knew she should stay away from Antonin. It was madness to think it was ever a good idea to pursue any kind of relationship with the man. Even a simple friendship seemed impossible. Too much history and too much of it was unhealthy. They would never be able to just meet at a pub and catch up over a pint or two. There would always been something hanging between them.

Their relationship was far from resolved. Hermione felt there was no closure. In the beginning, when her wounds from Greyback were still so fresh, she was able to ignore the pain and humiliation she felt at Antonin's immature way of making sure she broke up with him. He lashed out to hurt her purposefully. Nothing about how he chose to end things was kind. At the time, she saw no longer having Antonin hanging over her as a relief. She didn't want to tell him the truth about New Year's. If he wasn't around, she wouldn't need to. As she moved from barely existing from moment to moment, to actually learning how to move on with her life following her attack, she thought more about her ex.

Maybe they just needed to figure out what to do to be able to move on with their lives. Perhaps she wasn't the only one feeling that way. Hadn't Igor made it perfectly clear that Antonin still loved her? She wouldn't have believed him until the day he kissed her in front of the apothecary and everything went to shit. Hermione had to resolve her past before she could ever hope to move on to a future. Kingsley was supposed to be in that future. It wouldn't be fair to him if she was still holding on to remnants of her past.

"Hermione?"

Antonin's voice startled her enough that she jumped. He had been so quiet that she did not even hear him approach. The hedge maze muffled a lot of sound from outside. It was specially charmed to make its inhabitants feel isolated from the rest of the estate.

"How did you find me?"

Her ex seemed embarrassed by the question. Staring down at the ground instead of at her, Antonin shrugged his shoulders and sighed before answering.

"I cast a tracking spell on you when you were running away."

"That's really creepy."

She didn't mean to laugh. Ordinarily if she heard that someone cast a tracking spell on her, she would have been furious. For whatever reason, she found it strangely amusing to know Antonin resorted to such lengths to find her again. She didn't expect that. Antonin smiled at the sound of her laughter. Hermione gathered up her skirts to scoot over on the bench to allow him to sit down too. Neither of said a word as they sat there in silence for a few minutes.

"What did I just interrupt back there with Baby Shacklebolt?" Antonin finally asked when it was clear he was about to burst with curiosity.

"You interrupted what would have been our first kiss."

"Then it looks like I arrived just in time."

Hermione laughed again. It had been a really long time since Antonin teased her. She hadn't seen the less serious side of the wizard since long before they stopped seeing each other. Realizing she not only missed when he teased and joked with her, Hermione also realized that she had missed _him_ a great deal too. Immediately, she hated herself for thinking those kinds of thoughts. Igor was right. So was Rodolphus. Emotions rarely made sense when it came to love.

"You realize he's going to hate you even more than he already does, don't you?" she asked.

"I don't care. Now he will spend the rest of his life remembering that this was the night he _almost_ kissed Hermione Dumbledore. He will have to learn to live with regret."

"I guess I will just have to make sure he and I get another opportunity to kiss in the future."

"You would do that?"

"To annoy you? Absolutely. I'd let sweet, awkward Baby Shacklebolt snog me a hundred times."

They both laughed at her confession. Antonin seemed happy and relaxed. She liked seeing him that way. He was usually too serious.

"Were you looking for me for a reason earlier or were you just being a pest?"

"Kind of hoped for a dance."

"I don't think that would be appropriate considering the very public scene Miss Macmillan just made back there."

Antonin smiled again. She fought the urge to kiss his dimples. What was wrong with her? She should just get up from the bench and run away from his as fast as she could before she did something stupid. Like kiss him. Or push him down to the ground and climb on top of him. Either of those actions would definitely send him the wrong message.

"I should apologize to your uncle for that. It was unseemly."

Hermione snorted. Kingsley hadn't been wrong. It had been pretty funny. She didn't want to encourage him at the time. Hufflepuffs weren't usually known for making big, dramatic scenes in public. That was usually the job of the impassioned Gryffindors.

"I take it you and Miss Macmillan are no longer?"

He sighed, but the smile never left his face.

"No, I think it's safe to say that Lettie wants nothing to do with me."

"How are your eyes?"

"A little uncomfortable. Walden was able to get most of the whiskey out with a few charms."

"What was she so upset about anyway?"

Antonin sighed again, but this time his smile was nowhere to be seen. All hints of his dimples were gone.

"You can probably guess," he answered.

"Yes, but I'd rather you told me."

"Lettie found out about me kissing you months ago in Diagon Alley."

Hermione was not surprised that Antonin didn't tell his girlfriend the truth about that day. Certainly she wasn't excusing his actions, but she understood. He surely had been embarrassed by the ordeal. Adding his girlfriend getting angry enough to break up with him on top of it all was incentive enough to not say a word.

"Why didn't you tell her?"

"You made your choice that day. Yes, it was wrong of me not to tell her, but I didn't see the point if you didn't want anything to do with me."

There was some bitterness in his voice as he explained his reasoning. It was subtle, but still there. Hermione sighed. She didn't want to have such a serious discussion. She's ready to call an end to the night. The wedding and reception had taken a lot out of her. She wondered if she could somehow sneak away without her uncle finding out. _Probably not._ Hermione knew that she should leave the maze soon to make an appearance back at the reception.

Just as she was about to make her excuses to leave, the sound of a woman's giggle reached their ears. If they were able to hear, it would only mean that they were about to have company. The low tone of a man speaking mixed in with the obnoxious giggles. Hermione rolled her eyes. The maze wasn't just a good hiding place to get away from an awful party. Lots of couples liked to sneak in there too. There wasn't enough time to get up from the bench before the couple entered their secret place.

"Just turn left. I promise."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive. I've been there dozens of times."

Hermione realized the male voice she was hearing belonged to Igor. Yes, he'd been there many times before. With _her_. They could hear the footsteps getting closer. Igor and his date would be there in moments. Panicking, Hermione turned to Antonin and without warning, kissed him. He was startled at first, but it didn't take him long to respond. Kissing Antonin felt both comfortable and familiar.

"Oops!" declared the witch. "Looks like someone else had the same idea we had."

Antonin was the one to break the kiss to look up at the intruders. Hermione hesitantly lifted her eyes. Igor was fuming. His jaw was clenched and he looked ready to commit murder. The witch he brought to the secret niche was one of those awful Rowle sisters. Hermione didn't have much use for their horrid cousin in the future and certainly didn't have any use for them in the past. She was still giggling, completely oblivious to how angry Igor was and how tense the area was.

"Let's find somewhere else," Igor suggested.

Hermione stood up from the bench. She reached for Antonin's hand.

"No need, Igor. We were just leaving to find somewhere a little more _private_."

"Of course you were," he retorted. "I should've known I'd find you two in here."

She hated that he was so angry with her. Beyond a few terse words in greeting when they saw each other earlier in the evening, they hadn't spoken since their break-up. He probably wouldn't have been as upset if she'd been there with anyone other than Antonin.

"Please don't let our presence here ruin your evening, Igor. We are leaving. Have a good night. You as well, Miss Rowle."

Hermione pulled Antonin out of the secluded spot with a little more force than was probably necessary. She did not want them to argue or worse, continue their fight from months earlier. They were almost to the exit before Hermione dropped his hand. She started to walk out, but her companion stopped her.

"Care to explain to me what that was about back there?"

"I'm sorry, Antonin. That was inappropriate of me. As soon as I heard his voice, I just did what I thought would make him the angriest."

The wizard smirked at her explanation. He put his hands on her waist to pull her closer to his body. Hermione could hardly breathe and her heart was beating rapidly. She was unsure what he was about to do or say. All she knew was she wasn't pushing him. Antonin leaned down to whisper in her ear.

"I'm available any time you want to make Karkaroff angry."

His lips moved to her neck. Hermione felt her stomach flutter and a familiar heating up of her blood. Her traitorous body always responded to his touch whether she liked it or not. Antonin brushed his mouth against the sensitive place where her neck met her shoulder. Following her almost-marking by Greyback, she usually didn't care to be touched there. Igor understood enough to keep his touches in that spot to a minimum. She tried to ignore the feeling of fear that was threatening to take over her body. It was similar to the last time she allowed him to kiss her in his flat. Just as she was afraid she would have another panic attack, Antonin's tongue flitted across her collarbone making her softly moan. He chuckled. Hermione pushed him away.

"We can't do this, Antonin. It's wrong."

"We are both adults. Clearly neither of us are in a relationship any longer. I don't understand what's wrong."

"You _just_ broke up with your girlfriend. Less than an _hour_ ago."

"Yes, the woman I was only still with because of my father and because I thought you were still with Karkaroff until earlier this evening. Why didn't you tell me you weren't with him anymore?"

Antonin moved like he was going to grab her again. She stepped away before he could. Saying 'no' to Antonin with his hands all over her would be almost impossible. Just the few moments they had with his mouth on her neck and bare shoulders made her almost forget all of their previous issues together. She can't think properly around him. Thought he didn't try to grab her again, he did follow her as she walked towards the exit.

"There's still something there," he declared once they stepped out of the hedge maze.

Hermione turned around to look him in the eye again. She was at a loss as to what to say. It wasn't as if he was lying. There might always be something there.

"Antonin, I just…"

Whatever she was going to say was cut off by the approach of one of the other wedding guests. At the sound of his familiar voice, Hermione felt her entire body erupt into goosebumps. Standing just behind her shoulder, she had to force herself to calm down before she turned around. He'd already proven he had no qualms rifling through the privacy of her thoughts if it suited him.

"Good evening, Miss Dumbledore," Lord Voldemort practically purred in her ear. "I have been hoping to catch you for a moment all evening, but it appears as if you've been rather busy in your duties as hostess."

Hermione took a deep breath before spinning around. It never ceased to amaze her how devastatingly handsome the evil wizard was before his defeat the night of Halloween 1981. He was the kind of man that women fantasized about with his perfect cheekbones, his strong jaw and the wavy hair that seemed to just beg for someone to run their hands through. If she did not have the knowledge that came with being a time traveler, she might have very well fallen under his spell too. Lord Voldemort was an extremely charismatic man. She only had to be in his presence for a few minutes to understand why so many people seemed willing to throw their lives away to follow him.

"Good evening, my Lord," she replied, dipping into a formal curtsey. "I'm sorry that I have been unable to speak to you yet."

"If I were a suspicious man, I might think you were avoiding me."

His words were said with a disarming smile, but she wasn't falling for it. All night she made certain that she would be in a position to avoid the Dark Lord. She knew that he would only bide his time before he started asking her to join him again. He wasn't a wizard that was used to hearing the word 'no'. If she insulted him or made him believe that she was an enemy, he would be ruthless in her destruction.

"Please forgive me, my Lord. There has been so much to do to make sure all of the guests are enjoying themselves."

"Of course. I understand the importance of making sure everyone feels welcome. I wouldn't dream of taking a hostess away from her duties. Your uncle was looking for you just now. Asked me if a few minutes ago if I'd seen you."

Voldemort reached out to grasp a stray curl that had fallen from Hermione's restrictive hairstyle. In a similar move to how Greyback gripped her hair months earlier, Voldemort carefully played with the strand. It unnerved Hermione to have him so close to her and acting so intimately. She was reminded of the night a year and a day earlier when he ran his fingers underneath the silver chain of her locket to brush her skin.

"I found it interesting that he assumed I had been alone with you," he continued. "I suppose the last time we were in your uncle's home at the same time, we must have given the new Mrs. Lestrange the wrong idea."

His chuckle would have made most women giggle right along with him. Hermione had to remind herself to smile to prevent him from getting suspicious.

"Perhaps you should run along and find him, Miss Dumbledore. I can keep Mr. Dolohov occupied while you are gone. I have actually been wishing to speak to him."

She felt sick to her stomach. How much of her life would she be doomed to feel as if she were on the verge of vomiting? The nerves of living in the past amongst all of the wizards and witches she knew would make the wrong decision in the upcoming war were difficult to live with. Before she could even turn away to walk towards the white tent, she caught bits and pieces of Antonin's conversation with Lord Voldemort that made her wish yet again that she'd never come to the past.

"Have you completed your apprenticeship yet, Mr. Dolohov?"

"Almost, my Lord. I will be done next month."

"And have you received any suitable offers for employment?"

"I have received a few, but have yet to make my decision. Gringotts has offered me a permanent position."

"Oh, you can do much better than that. Had Vadim told me how talented a son he had earlier, I would have been able to help you sooner. It's curious he always made it seem like you weren't very talented. Nevertheless, I will owl you quite soon. Don't make your final decision just yet."

Hermione forced herself to move her feet away from the two wizards. Was it possible that _she_ was the one who was responsible for pushing Antonin into Voldemort's path? She never would have imagined that was a possibility. Since she met him the first time in the past, she just assumed that either he sought out the Dark Lord on his own or that his father pushed him. Based on the snippets of conversation she picked up as she walked away, it sounded as if Vadim Dolohov didn't want his son anywhere near his old comrade.

Her disturbing thoughts plagued her all the way to the massive tent. Only steps inside she was immediately spotted by her Uncle Regnault. He waved her over to where he was standing by the bar. Before she even addressed her uncle, she plucked a full glass of fire whiskey off of a floating tray. It did not matter that she had been warned more than once by her uncle that a proper lady did not imbibe hard liquor at social gatherings. He could admonish her all he wanted once her stomach was full of the fire whiskey.

"Where have you been?" Regnault asked in a much softer tone than Hermione expected. "I've been looking everywhere for you."

"I was out in the gardens. Did you need something, Uncle? Has there been a crisis with the canapes? Are we out of champagne? Should I run to the corner market for some ice?"

She ignored the exasperated expression on his face. It was clear he was trying to choke down another lecture on how proper ladies did not utilize sarcasm. That had been a discussion that took up the entirety of one Thursday luncheon a year earlier. She was not looking forward to being forced to listen to it a second time.

"No, there have been no crises. Rosie is perfectly capable of running this entire reception without a single hiccup. I was merely… well, if you must know, I was a bit worried about you."

Of all the words her uncle could have used, those were definitely not the ones she expected to hear. He was 'worried' about her? That seemed highly unlikely. He might be worried that she wasn't doing her utmost to bring honor upon their family. Or worried that she would make a fool of him by running off with some wizard unworthy of her affections.

"After that completely appalling display by the Macmillan girl, I noticed you and the younger Shacklebolt boy leave the tent. Karkaroff and one of those horrid daughters of Haldor Rowle left in the same direction. And then young Shacklebolt came back a short time later alone. I was concerned there might have been an _altercation_ out in the gardens."

One surprising trait of her uncle's that she had learned was that he was a terrible gossip. Regnault loved to know all of the comings and goings of his friends and neighbors. Of course he was keeping a close eye on the actions of the younger guests. Perhaps it made him feel young again or more likely, he was preparing himself for any potential row with his niece.

"Well, I did see Igor out in the gardens, but no, there was no altercation."

"Perhaps I was hasty in demanding that you stay until the last guest leaves. You have had a long night and I believe with Rosie's capable help, your presence is not needed. If you wished to go home early, I would not have a problem with that."

She hated that she was surprised by her uncle's thoughtfulness. Concerned that she was uncomfortable being around either of her ex-boyfriends, he was actually willing to allow her to shirk her sacred duties? Hermione leaned up to kiss her uncle's cheek in gratitude.

"I will stay until the bride and groom leave for their honeymoon," she promised.

Satisfied with her answer, Regnault smiled and walked off towards a clump of his close friends. Hermione emptied the glass of fire whiskey in her hand and grabbed another. How strange that she had been almost frightened to share a drink with Kingsley and Aberforth that night she entered The Hog's Head after a long day of helping reconstruct the castle. It had not taken her long to grow accustomed to the once-disgusting liquor. More than a few times in the previous year, she even wondered if perhaps she was becoming a bit _too_ comfortable drinking.

"There you are. I was worried about you after you ran away."

Kingsley seemed to appear out of thin air. For such a large man, he could be very quiet. He stepped closer to Hermione at the bar. She felt the sudden urge to run away.

"I'm sorry, Kingsley. I just couldn't stand to listen to you and Antonin bicker another moment."

She turned around to place her empty glass on the bar. Kingsley stepped closer to speak to her in a quieter tone.

"I was hoping we could have another few minutes alone. This time _without_ being interrupted."

A harsh bark of a laugh sounded from the other side of Kingsley. Hermione didn't need to turn to see who it was, but Kingsley's entire body spun in the direction of the noise.

"Sounds like you lost your opportunity, Shacklebolt," Igor announced. "I'm afraid I just walked in on our Hermione here alone with Dolohov in a private section of the hedge maze. And they weren't just talking, if you know what I mean."

Kingsley's hurt expression made Hermione want to hex Igor in a very sensitive place. If he wanted to lash out and cause _her_ pain, that was one thing. To do it to Kingsley for no other reason than he was feeling nasty was something completely different. The younger wizard stared at her for several awkward moments silently begging her to dispute the words of her ex. Igor knocked back an entire glass of fire whiskey with another laugh. When she wasn't willing to come forward to reassure Kingsley that Igor wasn't telling the truth, Kingsley slammed his glass down on the bar and stormed away.

"Fuck you, Igor," Hermione spat between clenched teeth. "That wasn't necessary."

"The boy needs to know what to expect for any potential relationship you might have to offer. Needs to know that he can be dropped at any moment with just a flutter of Dolohov's pretty eyelashes in your direction."

She bit the inside of her cheeks to take her mind off of the tears forming in her eyes. Igor might find some sick sort of pleasure in knowing his words affected her so. Antonin would always bring out the worst in the other Russian wizard. Hermione hoped that there would be a day when she could be at minimum friends with Igor. Perhaps that was a foolish hope.

"Good night, Igor. I hope the next time I see you, you are in better spirits."

A derisive scoff was all she heard in response from the wizard as she pushed past him. With her uncle's permission, she didn't have to stay the whole night. The moment her cousin left, she would leave too. She returned to the gardens with hope that she could remain calm enough until then. It made her indescribably sad to know that her Igor was all but gone. Maybe he would get over his bitterness, but she knew it wouldn't be any time soon.

"I must thank you again for introducing me to Mr. Dolohov," Lord Voldemort declared. She was only a few feet away from the tent when his voice broke through her depressing thoughts about Igor. He stood alone by a large hedge watching the exit to the tent. "I firmly believe he will be a valuable asset. How fortunate I am that you pushed him into my path. You may continue to play this farce that you are nothing but some meek and mild witch waiting only for a suitable marriage, but I'm not that naïve, Miss Dumbledore. Perhaps if you aren't interested in joining me yourself, you can help me by introducing me to a few other recruits instead."

Lord Voldemort smiled at her once more with that unnerving smile of his. He disappeared into the crush of the guests still enjoying the festivities within the tent moments later. Hermione moved away from the reception through the gardens at a quick pace. She needed the cool air to calm her senses. Would that night never be over?

"Hermione, where are you going?"

She almost groaned at the sound of Antonin's voice. Of course he wasn't going to simply leave her alone after she kissed him in the maze. It had been a terrible idea. If she wanted to make Igor jealous, all she really had to do was be in the same room as Antonin.

"I just needed some air. There are too many people in there and I'm beginning to think that this night will never be over. I'm ready to take this stupid dress off and go to bed."

"You're always welcome to take your clothes off and climb into my bed."

His wink actually made her laugh. Clearly the weight of no longer being in an unhappy relationship with Miss Macmillan put him in an unusually playful mood. Hermione always preferred the all-too-brief moments when he was silly. Sometimes the serious, broody bit could be exhausting.

"You're awfully bold this evening, Antonin. What makes you think that I would just willingly go back to your flat after everything that has happened between us?"

Antonin closed the distance between them. He reached for her hand. Hermione felt her breath catch in her throat. It was so infuriating to know that she allowed him to affect her the way he did.

"We never finished our conversation from earlier. There wouldn't be any chance for interruptions at my flat."

"If you think that I'm just going to fall back into bed with you, Antonin, you have more confidence than you should."

"No, of course not. Just come back with me and we can talk. That's all I want to do."

"You're a shit liar, Dolohov."

There was no heat in her words. Antonin actually laughed.

"All right. Yes, that's a lie. That's not all I _want_ to do, but I will be the perfect gentleman. We can just talk."

"Come find me after the bride and groom leave."

Hermione found she no longer needed the serenity of the gardens to improve her mood. With Antonin's promise that he would find her, she directed her steps back to the reception. She wanted to be able to spend at least a few minutes with Rodolphus before he left. The parents of the bride presented the new couple with a month long honeymoon in the hope that perhaps by the end of the trip, they would either have developed affection for each other or that Bellatrix would be pregnant. Hermione did not envy her cousin in the slightest.

The rest of the reception passed by quickly. After a private talk with her cousin that she was proud did not end in tears, Hermione was ready to leave the estate. She stood in the line with all of the other guests cheering and watching the newest married couple exit the main gates. Regnault promised that there would be plenty of dancing and drinking left until the earliest hours of the morning. Many of the guests, especially the younger ones, would happily remain to overindulge.

Hermione said her goodbyes to those guests she cared anything about. It saddened her that Kingsley avoided her when she approached his family. Rabastan hardly even noticed her existence. He was too consumed with the pretty blonde Selwyn girl that would one day be his wife. She wasn't insulted. It made her happy to know that at least her younger cousin was happy with his arranged marriage. Regnault kissed each of her cheeks and promised her that he did not mind in the slightest that she left early. He was softening towards her the longer she was in his life.

Antonin was waiting for her at the front gates. If anyone noticed the two exes leave together, they had the courtesy to keep their observations to themselves. Truthfully, Hermione did not know why she was allowing herself to be taken to her ex-boyfriend's flat. It was likely a terrible idea that would end in even more poor decisions. In that moment, however, she didn't care. She wanted the chance to be alone with him. Even if all they ended up doing was talking, they needed that.

Once they Apparated to the entrance of Knockturn Alley, they kept a respectable distance between their bodies as they walked towards his building. Neither of them spoke. Almost as if they were waiting to be off of the pavement before saying anything. His building looked exactly the same as it had when he first moved in. A swift, practiced kick to the door opened it up on the first try. The familiar smell from the locksmith pervaded the stairwell. It was a little after midnight when they ascended the stairs. Most of the residents were already in bed.

There were several changes to his flat. Nothing major, but he seemed more settled in the large room. He had a few new pieces of furniture. There were more books in the bookshelf, more pictures on the walls. Hermione stood just inside trying to forget the fact that the same dining table he fucked his neighbor on top of was still in the exact same place. She certainly would never eat there again. If anything developed between them, the first order of business would be to get him an entirely new dining set.

"I have a bottle of fire whiskey around here somewhere, if you want a glass," Antonin suggested. "Or I might have some wine."

"Thank you, but I think we should stay away from the alcohol tonight. Besides, I've had enough already. I can hardly keep my eyes open."

She excused herself to enter his small, familiar bathroom. Memories of the first time they tried and failed to shower together made her laugh out loud when she closed the door. Hermione removed her beaded bag from an inside pocket of her skirt. It didn't take long for her to get out of the formal gown she'd been wearing all night. A light set of pajamas in the bottom of her bag were quickly put on. As she washed her face and brushed her teeth, she found it strange to feel like almost no time had passed at all since she used to spend nights with Antonin. She could almost forget everything that happened since they stopped seeing each other.

Antonin was already changed out of his dress robes when she exited the bathroom. He took one look at her attire and laughed.

"Some day you are going to have to explain to me _why_ you carry around a bag like that everywhere you go."

"You never know when you will need to move places in a hurry. There's not always time to pack."

"I wish I knew more about your past."

"Perhaps it's better that you don't."

He didn't make another statement. Just walked into the empty bathroom and closed the door. Hermione crossed the flat over to his large bed. It looked the same since the last time she was in it. She stood at the foot of the bed just staring at the pillows. Maybe this had been a terrible idea. Some of her favorite memories took place between those sheets. Not just the sex, though that was certainly fabulous. They used to stay up to all hours of the night just talking.

"It might be almost July, but this flat still gets freezing at night," Antonin stated.

"How clean are your sheets?"

"Excuse me?" He laughed, surprised by the question.

"I don't want to sleep in sheets that have been used in the defilement of a Hufflepuff."

Antonin chuckled with a roll of his eyes. He moved to the side of the bed he liked best and climbed in.

"Lettie hasn't even been in this flat for a month. Neither has any other witch."

Satisfied with his answer, Hermione crawled on top of the bed. It felt weird to be lying in bed next to Antonin again. Weird and yet not all at once. She was beginning to lose her nerve. Yes, she should have had a conversation with him about their relationship. Yes, she should have considered maybe even trying to go out on a date with him again to see what happens. But spending the night? That seemed foolish. What was she thinking?

"I can hear you thinking, Hermione. I will stay on my side of the bed. You need not fear that I will touch you."

She felt only slightly better by his assurances. When all of the lamps were extinguished with a simple wave of his wand, only the lights from out in the Alley shone through his large windows. They lay in the semi-darkness without speaking for a long time. Just when Hermione thought that Antonin had fallen asleep, he spoke.

"This feels really weird, doesn't it?" he asked.

"Extremely," she answered with a soft laugh. "I have to admit that when I woke up this morning I didn't expect to be back in your bed."

"Neither did I. Not even in my most inappropriate fantasies."

Hermione snorted. She reached across the bed to playfully swat at his stomach.

"What do we do now, Antonin?"

"We try to get some sleep and you try to keep your hands to yourself. We can figure out the next step later."

* * *

August 9, 1998

 **9:35 am**

Rabastan was not making any kind of sense. Perhaps his years in Azkaban coupled with the time he spent under the complete control of Lord Voldemort finally made the wizard lose control of his senses. Kingsley didn't know what to make of his statement. He remembered the days following the horrific attacks on Frank and Alice Longbottom. After years of working with Frank and then Alice in the Auror department, he considered both of them to be very close friends. The investigation had been thorough with the entire Department of Magical Law Enforcement involved.

Eyewitnesses could put Rodolphus at the scene of the crime with his cohorts. When he was placed in an interrogation room to confess, he had not said anything to claim his innocence. Charges were filed and he was informed of what was to be expected. Not once did he say a word in protest. What innocent man would remain silent when they were facing a lifetime in Azkaban?

"What are you saying, Rabastan?" he asked, his curiosity finally getting the better of him.

The inmate sighed and dropped his eyes to the top of the table. Rabastan's entire demeanor changed from the happy, joking wizard he'd been when Kingsley's first entered the room. Clearly whatever was weighing on his conscience was quite heavy.

"Roddy never hurt anyone, Kingsley. At least not by his own will."

"Are you trying to claim that Rodolphus was under the Imperius Curse? Because we checked all accused Death Eaters for the curse…"

Rabastan's bitter laughter rang through the small room, interrupting Kingsley's explanation.

"Ahh, yes, I believe your associates in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement did a wonderful job. After all, they discovered that Lucius Malfoy, Walden Macnair and those horrid Carrow siblings were all under the Imperius Curse."

Kingsley's stomach felt tight with the accusation that there were mishaps in the investigation of Voldemort's loyal soldiers following his perceived death at the hand of the infant Harry Potter. It pained him that he couldn't even deny what Rabastan was saying. Yes, there were several known Death Eaters who were able to avoid prosecution by pretending they were under the influence of an Unforgivable. It had been more than a little embarrassing to find out later that they were lying when their Dark Lord returned.

"All accused Death Eaters were checked for the Imperius Curse," Kingsley repeated.

"Yes, we were checked by that odious woman with the horrid taste in clothing," stated Rabastan. "She didn't find Barty, Bella or me under the influence naturally. When it came time to check Roddy, she wrote something down on her clipboard and walked right past him. She never checked him. If she _had_ , it would have been easy to find the presence of the curse Bella used to use on her husband repeatedly throughout their marriage."


	49. Chapter 49

_Author's Note: Just a reminder. I haven't really been posting any previews on Tumblr lately, but I have been very active with posting sneak peeks of not only this story but all of my current stories and future stories on the Facebook group I run with Freya Ishtar and Kittenshift17. Come join us if you are interested in connecting with other awesome Death Eater writers. Check out the link on my profile._

* * *

Chapter Forty-Nine

June 30, 1974

 **2:35 am**

Falling asleep in Antonin's bed had been a lot easier than Hermione assumed it would be. She feared once they were both tucked underneath the warm blankets that the awkwardness that seemed to plague the two of them every time they were around each other would return in full-force. Just as he promised, Antonin stayed on his side of the bed a respectable distance away. Whether it was the alcohol or the exhaustion following Rodolphus' wedding, Hermione fell asleep almost immediately.

She had been cursed to be a light sleeper since she was a child. The tiniest noise could usually wake her up from a deep slumber. Those tendencies only increased as her life was in more danger and the war grew worse. A clock on the wall showed it to be a few minutes after half-past two. They'd been asleep for almost two hours. Antonin's heavy breathing next to her gave her the opportunity to stare at him while he slept for the first time in well over a year.

Going to his flat in the middle of the night after they'd both been drinking had been a terrible idea. Hermione didn't care. The entire wedding and awful reception afterwards had been enough to make her make a dozen bad decisions. So far he had kept his promise to be a perfect gentleman. His hands were even both tucked underneath his pillow for fear that they might wander over the invisible line running down the middle of the mattress.

What was one more choice she might regret in the morning? Before she could talk herself out of it, Hermione pressed her entire body against Antonin's. In a similar move to what happened in the hedge maze only hours earlier, she pressed her lips against his neck and trailed her tongue down his shoulders.

"Hermione, what are you…" he tried to ask in an adorably drowsy tone.

"Don't overthink this," she begged, nipping at his collarbone with her teeth.

Antonin reached out to grab the determined witch with both hands. With a practiced motion, he had Hermione on her back underneath him in moments. She stared up at the confused wizard with a cheeky grin.

"No, Hermione. I was serious when I said we were going to _talk_."

"We can talk…" She leaned up to capture his lips with hers, determined to break his resolve. " _After_."

He carefully, but firmly, pushed her back down onto the bed. She could sense his determination. When Antonin Dolohov set his mind to something, he would not be deterred. Part of her feared what was going to happen next. It didn't look good for her spur-of-the-moment seduction.

"Karkaroff found me in the gardens after you went back inside the tent to look for your uncle."

Hermione groaned. If he was going to start up a discussion about Igor, clearly a more pleasant diversion was off the table. She moved over on the mattress back to her own side. Antonin turned to face her without bothering to close the distance between them.

"He made me promise him something," Antonin explained.

She sighed. It was a miracle that neither of them killed the other if Igor stopped him to make demands of him. Knowing that her ex, well, her _other_ ex, was angry enough to lash out at Kingsley only moments later, she could only imagine how that discussion went.

"Karkaroff made me promise him that no matter what happened between us that I made sure you weren't ever alone for New Year's."

His confession shocked Hermione to her very core. Though she didn't believe for a second that Igor, even in his anger and petty frustration at being passed over for another wizard, would intentionally reveal her secret she told him in strict confidence, the fear of what Antonin knew was worrying. Would she have to explain what happened that night he was stunned in the back and left in the snow? She had been doing so well lately. Once she confronted Greyback in Diagon Alley and then out in front of her father's pub, she felt some of her power return. Was it necessary to bring up old wounds?

"That's interesting," she replied as she attempted to keep her expression as neutral as possible.

"He wouldn't tell me why. Just made me promise that you never spent a minute alone on New Year's. Why would he make me promise that, Hermione?"

Antonin would not be satisfied with a flippant request to not worry about it. He would not be satisfied with a lie either. Or at least not one that wasn't very good. Hermione might be able to head him off with something that was only a _partial_ lie. Telling him the full truth of what Greyback did to her would only cause more strain in their already fractured relationship. Not only would he be furious to know that she kept a massive secret like that away from him, but he would never be able to look at her the same way again.

Igor never once looked at her like she was broken. When she confessed what happened, he was understandably furious. Though he seemed ready to seek out whatever monster forced himself on her, Igor never once made her feel broken. Hadn't he even proven it to her with his actions? What other man had she ever known would have been so gentle and tender with her when she was still recovering? Still fearful that she would never completely heal?

She made her decision that Antonin could never know the truth. Perhaps beginning any sort of relationship or _renewal_ of a relationship with such a huge secret hanging between them wasn't the best idea. It was likely that she would come to regret her decision. Hermione just wasn't sure she could bear to see the look on his face when he realized what really happened. They were both aware that before that night they were still heading down a tenuous path in regards to any kind of future together. Antonin's temper the night he almost broke her wrist and shoved her up against the brick wall was proof that there were underlying issues to begin with. New Year's simply pushed them further and further away. She knew his future wasn't a happy one. Why poison the few potentially good years he had left with unnecessary chatter about a night she couldn't change even if she wanted to?

Muggle psychiatrists would likely encourage her to open up about her trauma, but fuck, she just didn't want to. Antonin would never be able to look at her the same way again. He wasn't anything like Igor. His emotions ruled him far more than the older Russian wizard. Where Igor was able to think and judge objectively, Antonin struggled. Anger was his most powerful feeling, the one he was always so quick to rush headfirst into without additional thought. He would be too angry to think straight. One word from her and he'd been searching the streets for Greyback. Her silence could be the only thing keeping Antonin out of harm's way.

"I hate New Year's," she declared. "So much promise for a new year ahead, but there's always disappointment."

"So you hate the night. I can understand that, but it doesn't explain why Karkaroff would be so bloody serious about it. He wouldn't have come up to me and forced me to promise him if it wasn't serious."

If Hermione's childhood and adolescence was plagued with males who couldn't be arsed to care about making proper observations about the world around them, her adulthood looked as if it would be full of men who were more perceptive than she cared for. From her father to the dark wizard who wanted her to follow him to the men who wanted to bed her, she was surrounded by wizards always watching. It was enough to make her wish she was still back in that smelly tent with Ron's morning erection pressed up against her bum.

"When I was younger, I was alone on New Year's. All of the adults were at a party and I'd snuck off home because I was tired. A really bad man broke into my house and tried to hurt me. Someone I love very much came looking for me at the right time, and I was saved, but I'm still afraid that night. Horrible memories. I don't like being alone."

It wasn't a lie, but it also wasn't the complete truth. She hoped it would be enough to satisfy even Antonin's prodigious curiosity. He stared at her with wide eyes not saying a word for several moments as her announcement sunk in. Finally, he closed the gap between them to wrap his arms around her.

"I had no idea," he whispered. "Why have you never told me that before?"

"It didn't seem important."

"Of course it's important. Two years in a row I let you leave Madam Shafiq's house all by yourself to wait in an empty pub. If I'd known…"

"Antonin, stop. It's all right. I'm all right."

"Why would you tell Karkaroff that and not me?"

Hermione sighed. She should have known that would have been one of his first questions. Her internal justification for remaining silent suddenly felt like the perfect decision. Antonin would likely never forgive her for sharing a secret like that with Igor and not him. He would see it as a betrayal. Maybe it was.

"Antonin, I don't want to argue about Igor."

"I'm not trying to start an argument. I just want to know why you felt comfortable enough telling _him_ , but you never felt comfortable enough telling me. What did I do wrong?"

How could she possibly answer that? She lay there wrapped in the familiarity of his arms trying to figure out the best way to answer the seemingly simple question. There seemed to be no good answer that wouldn't hurt him.

"You didn't do anything wrong, Antonin," she finally replied when her mind could not come up with anything more suitable. "My relationship with Igor was just… _different_."

She could feel him tense around her. Clearly that had been the wrong thing to say after all. Her decision to go home with Antonin was appearing more and more like the absolute worst decision she could have possibly made. Why did she have to drink so much? She feared that she was heading down a self-destructive path.

"Of course your relationship with Karkaroff was _different_. I'm well aware that it was _different_."

"Stop saying 'different' like that."

"How should I say it then? You know it's the truth. You were more comfortable sharing painful parts of your past with Karkaroff than you were with me."

"Antonin, that's not…"

"Am I wrong?"

Hermione wiggled out of his embrace. She wasn't going to have an argument while she was being held down to the bed with his body weight. Space was required if they were going to expand to a full-blown row. Antonin didn't even stop her when she got out of bed. He hadn't been lying earlier. Even in the heat of summer, his flat was freezing. She started pacing the space in an effort to keep warm.

"It's not always very easy to share things with you, Antonin," she admitted.

"But with Karkaroff…"

"Stop! For Merlin's fucking sake, stop! If you can't get past my history with Igor, then there is no point to me even being here anymore. I'm not with him right now, am I?"

Antonin seemed to consider her words for a moment. She hoped that they might actually sink into his thick skull. It was true. If they were only going to rehash old arguments without actually moving past them, she didn't want any part of his life again. It would be better to just move on and pretend that there wasn't still something unresolved between the two of them.

" _I_ was the one who broke up with Igor, Antonin. That's why he was… _is_ so angry with me. I'm not holding on to any unrequited feelings for him. I'm with _you_ right now in _your_ flat. Does that mean nothing to you?"

He cleared his throat before attempting to speak.

"When did you end it with him?"

"The night you kissed me."

Antonin's eyebrows almost disappeared into his hairline he was so shocked to hear her announcement. He looked as if he had something he wanted to say. His mouth kept opening, but before a sound would come out, he would close it back. Taking pity on him, she sighed.

"Go ahead and say whatever you're trying to talk yourself out of saying, Antonin."

"I didn't realize it had been so long since you two broke up. Am I the reason?"

"Partly."

"Partly?"

"Yes, I didn't think it was fair to stay with Igor when I still cared about you."

He didn't seem to know what to do with that information. Hermione stood at the foot of the bed just staring at him, waiting for him to make some kind of remark. It was awkward to make a declaration like that and not receive an immediate response. She almost wished that she hadn't said anything.

"How long have you… when did you…" Antonin rubbed his face with his hands. "How long have you felt that way, daragaya?"

"Honestly, Antonin? I never stopped. Not even when you made it very difficult to continue to love you. There was nothing but friendship between Igor and me until months after you… I shouldn't have encouraged him that night seventh year with the letters. I was feeling lonely and undesirable and then we had that huge fight. I snuck out of the castle grounds that night because I needed an escape. It was too much for me there. Igor wouldn't even do anything at first when he realized how upset I was. And just when I finally convinced him I was okay, my uncle interrupted us before anything could happen.

"He's a flirt and he liked to wind you up, but when we were together, _nothing_ happened. Nothing happened with me and Ted Tonks either. Or Thomas. Or Kingsley. Or any other wizard. I was exhausted of your anger. Sick to tears of your jealousy. And then after I… after I got sick, you were even worse. Suspicious of me and not trusting me when I was telling you the truth. I couldn't live like that. Even though I still loved you, Antonin, that day I was supposed to come here to meet you after work and I found your neighbor on your table instead…"

His cheeks flushed bright red at the reminder of that horrible incident. At least she knew that his guilt was sincere. No doubt he wished he could go back in time to change his own decisions.

"I was coming here to end it with you because I was tired of every time we were together, you acted like you didn't trust me. I couldn't live like that anymore. Your anger was…"

"It was bad, I know," he whispered. "My mum always says no one can deny I'm my father's son because of my dimples and my temper. It's not something I'm proud of. It makes me sick to think that I'm the reason you left."

Antonin threw the blankets off as he got out of bed. Just a few steps were all he needed to take to reach her. He placed both of his hands on the outside of her arms and simply stared in her concerned face. Few times in her acquaintance with him could she recall him ever looking so vulnerable. She had to resist the urge to pull him closer and end their serious, and much needed, discussion with ill-timed affection.

"I wish I could go back in time and make everything right, but I can't. I can only promise you that if you give me another chance I won't fuck it up."

She rose up on her tiptoes, wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him. Antonin sighed into her mouth, his relief clear. They would likely continue to have problems. After all, Hermione knew that she wouldn't end up with Antonin when everything was all said and done. There was still an expiration date on their relationship. She knew, however, that if she was ever going to have any hope of being able to have a healthy relationship in the future with Kingsley or anyone else, she had to resolve whatever there was between her and Antonin. Lack of closure could make moving on impossible.

Antonin enveloped her small frame in his strong arms as he deepened her kiss. He didn't rush into escalating anything too quickly. They stood at the foot of his bed simply reacquainting themselves with the other's mouth. In that moment, it all felt right. Hermione no longer worried about whether or not she was making a terrible mistake by even attempting to resolve matters between them. It was absolutely the right decision. Though she wasn't naïve enough to believe that she could change the future, she knew right then she had power in the present to make certain their relationship could at least end on a better note.

Though if he kept nipping at her bottom lip like she liked, Hermione wouldn't be in any hurry to bring about that end. His hands moved all over her body as he kissed her with the pent up passion of a prolonged absence. Clearly their primal sides had been missing and longing for the other. Antonin seemed determined to remember the feel of every single square centimeter of her flesh. She gasped at the feel of his warm hands on the skin underneath her pajamas. One went up her body while the other searched further down.

He used to be hesitant every time his hand slipped below the waistband of her knickers. Time had only made him grow bolder. He tugged at the top of her pajamas, pulling them down off her hips with each motion grower closer to between her thighs. Hermione moaned at the feel of his hand cupping her breast and fingers lightly plucking at each of her nipples in turn. Antonin's hand seemed determined to make sure neither felt left out.

It was only a matter of time before her knickers pooled around her ankles with the lower half of her pajamas. Somehow the chilly air in the flat didn't seem to matter when Antonin's fingers slid between her thighs. Though it had been a long time since she was touched so intimately by him, he had not forgotten where to apply pressure in the perfect combination to make her scream out in no time. Without even removing his mouth from hers, she could feel his proud smirk against her lips. Clearly he was pleased that he had such power over her. Once they'd gotten over the initial awkwardness that always seemed to exist between new lovers, he had been a quick study on the mechanics of making her body sing for him. Like a well-practiced musician, he knew just where to pluck and blow. Hermione appreciated that their absence of over a year and a half from the other's bed had not made him forget all that he had learned.

Overly satisfied with himself, he removed his hand from between her pulsating heat. He used both hands to unbutton the last piece of clothing she still had covering her body. When it fell from her shoulders to join the rest of her clothes on the floor, Antonin carefully pushed her back against the bed. The tremors running up and down her legs from her first orgasm had not yet abated when he dropped to his knees, pried her thighs open with his hands underneath, and immediately went about proving to her that some skills only improved with time. If he was trying to prove to her with the use of his lips and his tongue that he was sincere in his desire to make their relationship work for the third time, he was off to a wonderful start.

He was both brutal and tender in his actions. With the exception of one almost hilariously awkward kiss with Augie the month before, she hadn't been touched at all since her painful breakup with Igor. So long an absence with the feel of a firm touch on her body only seemed to make Hermione crave even more. She could almost close her eyes and imagine that no time passed since the last time Antonin buried his head between her legs.

"I could listen to you scream all night," he declared in a husky tone as he tried to catch his breath right along with her. "I never thought you could get even _more_ beautiful."

She felt her cheeks heat up at his words. Though she always struggled with seeing herself as beautiful or even somewhat attractive, Hermione couldn't deny the truth she saw in his eyes. To Antonin, she _was_ the most beautiful witch he'd ever known. It was a heady and intense feeling. He peppered the inside of her shaking thighs with soft kisses.

"I've missed you so much, Hermione. I'm terrified to close my eyes for fear that this is all a dream I'm about to wake up from."

Hermione's throat tightened. She reached down to run her fingers through his hair. He laid his cheek against her bare stomach.

"I'm ashamed to admit how often I've fantasized about being with you again, daragaya. I can't believe it's happening."

She gently pulled at his arms to bring him back into the bed with her. It took some maneuvering to scoot back up the mattress so her feet were no longer dangling off the end. He started to drift off to the side of her body, but that's not what she wanted. She wanted to feel the weight of his entire body pressed against hers. There was a comfort in just feeling him lay on top of her that she had missed dearly.

They returned to the same unhurried kissing they had been engaged in when their discussion was over. Hermione knew there was still a lot to discuss. Still more reassurances to give the wizard that he should never expect her to walk into his flat while he was pumping between another's witch's thighs and she would just leave without hurling painful curses. Next time, if he was foolish enough to let there be a second time, she would make him regret hurting her again. They still needed to figure out where exactly they stood with each other. Were they back in a relationship together? Was it appropriate to be public about it so soon after his very dramatic breakup at the wedding? Would they pick up where they left off or were they back at the very beginning? Was this a new relationship or simply a continuation of the previous?

"Stop thinking so much, lyubimaya. We have the rest of our lives to worry about what happens next. Let's just enjoy this right now."

Ignoring the fact that he always could tell when her mind was in danger of running away, Hermione grasped the bottom of his vest to pull it up over his head. Pleased with the direction she was headed, Antonin divested himself of the rest of his clothing with no need for instruction. The feel of his bare skin against hers brought back a number of pleasant memories of happier times. She gasped when she felt him slide into her body with no resistance. Both of them sighed after the initial intrusion. They didn't have to explain that the feel of him inside of her felt _right_.

"I missed you so much," he declared over and over again with each gentle thrust.

The deliberate tightening of her inner walls made the young wizard groan and forget the tender pace he'd set for a much more vigorous one instead. Within only a short time they were both panting for air.

"Don't think for even a second that we are done yet," Antonin whispered directly into her hair. "We have only just begun what I've got planned for you."

* * *

 **11:35 am**

The insistence of the sun shining in her eyes was what finally woke up an exhausted Hermione just before noon. Frustrated with the brightness of the flat, she hid her head underneath the pillow to allow her eyes to adjust. Memories of only a few hours earlier rushed through her mind. The sun was rising by the time they were both too tired to continue with the passionate exertions responsible for the delightful ache between her legs.

She reached her hand over to touch the wizard who also played a large role in creating soreness in muscles she hadn't been using properly in months. To her disappointment, there was nothing but cold, empty space next to her in bed. Hermione pulled the pillow off her head to survey her surroundings. A piece of parchment lay on Antonin's pillow. Just like the man who wrote it, the note was of few words.

 _Needed food. -A_

Hermione chuckled, forcing herself to sit up. Her entire body ached. Antonin had been very thorough the night before. A hot shower would be exactly what she needed while she waited for him to return. It took a little bit of effort to cross his flat to enter his bathroom. Once inside she was pleased to see that he had done some remodeling to the tiny, broken shower stall he used to have. She hadn't even paid attention the night before.

There was initial fear when she stepped under the stream of water in the expanded shower that there would be temperature and pressure issues like he used to have. He must have fixed all of that when he expanded and improved the shower. She was torn between being grateful and a little annoyed that he hadn't made the effort while they were still together.

Her head was underneath the stream when she felt a pair of strong, familiar hands grip her hips. Antonin's lips sought out her neck. They took their time cleansing each other's bodies and gently kissing. Neither of them pushed the other to escalate their touches. There seemed to be an unspoken agreement that there would be plenty of time to repeat the actions from the early hours of the morning. Somehow the feel of Antonin's hands on her body as he covered her in soap felt even more intimate.

"I think I'm jealous you didn't have this shower when we were together."

Antonin's awkward throat clearing and the way that he resolutely refused to respond only served to make Hermione laugh. She'd had her suspicions and his lack of speech only confirmed them.

"I suppose I should thank Miss Macmillan for her persuasiveness. She was obviously a woman who knew how to get things done."

"Can we institute a new rule where neither of us brings up one of our exes when we are naked?"

She laughed. Of course she couldn't argue with the sagacity of such a request. Hermione leaned up to kiss him on the mouth in agreement. They finished their shower a short time later. The heat of the water had done wonders for her sore muscles. She wrapped herself in a towel until she could dig out clean clothing from her bag. Antonin watched her with an amused smirk.

"Still not ready to tell me why you keep that bag?"

"Nope."

He found his own clothes to dress in. When they were done, they moved over to the kitchen where the smell of food was strong. Thankfully, Antonin had the presence of mind to cast an effective stasis charm on their meal before he joined her in the shower.

"When I ordered your favorite, Hector was so pleased to hear we were back together that he didn't even charge me."

"That was kind of him."

Hermione picked the bag off of the dining table and pushed it in to a confused Antonin's arms. He watched silently as she used her wand to destroy the dining table and its matching chairs. A few charms were all she needed to remove the evidence that that particular piece of furniture ever existed.

"We can go to Diagon Alley next week and pick you out a new dining set," she announced. "But if you thought for one second I was ever going to eat at that thing again, you were mistaken."

Antonin wasn't bothered by her actions in the slightest if his chuckle was anything to go by. He simply sat down on his sofa and opened the bag. Hermione was just about to join him when a tapping at the window caught her attention. An owl sat just outside with a letter tied to its foot. She motioned to Antonin to keep his seat. The creature seemed familiar, but she couldn't place who it belonged to. After relieving it of its burden and ruffling its feathers, she turned over the envelope.

"Oh, it's for me," she declared.

She waited until she was seated next to Antonin to break the seal. It was curious that she was receiving post at his flat, but some owls were able to find their deliveries every time regardless of location. A glance at the handwriting made her chuckle. By the time her eyes reached the bottom of the parchment, she was wiping tears of mirth away from her eyes.

"What's so funny?" he asked.

"Looks like we won't have to worry about anyone finding out about what happened between us last night. There's an even bigger scandal now."

He narrowed his eyes and tilted his head in confusion.

"Well, we aren't naked anymore so I can talk about her," teased Hermione. "Your Lettie ran off with Augie last night after she threw your drink in your face. Looks like your Miss Macmillan is going to be _Mrs._ Rookwood before the day is out. The groom-to-be was just thanking me for my meddling last night."

"Your meddling?" He wasn't upset. A broad grin across his face was proof.

"I might have promised Augie that I could make sure the love of his life broke up with you last night."

"You sneaky little minx."

Antonin's face was split into an even larger grin as he leaned over to kiss her lips.

"I made him promise me that he wouldn't ruin his second chance. I'm glad to see that he listened. The news of their unexpected marriage should quickly overshadow the embarrassment of the drink in your face last night."

He laughed, clearly pleased with the unexpected turn of events. Realizing she didn't grab any plates or forks, Hermione rose from the sofa. She opened a cupboard in the kitchen. Two beady eyes stared back into hers. Though rodents didn't terrify her, she didn't exactly care to see one when in the area where food was kept and consumed.

"Antonin, there's a huge rat in your cupboard."

"Fuck! Not another one. The old wizard on the ground floor who fancied you died about eight months ago. Before he died, he released all of his rats from their cages. We got most of them, but clearly, some escaped."

She screamed when the rat threw itself out of the cupboard. Moving out of the way quickly was enough to keep it from landing on her body. The rat scurried across the kitchen floor towards the door. Antonin pointed his wand at the creature, said something she couldn't understand in Russian, and hit the rat with the same purple flames she still saw in her nightmares sometimes.

Witnessing him use the deadly curse that almost killed her when she was sixteen made her entire body erupt into goosebumps. Antonin stared at the dead rodent with a pleased expression on his countenance. Of course he wouldn't understand why she was so upset by what he had just done.

"What was that curse?" she asked, her voice shaking slightly.

"Just something I've created on my own. It's been helpful killing the rats that sneak in here from time to time."

"Please… _please_ don't ever use that curse again. It's… it's horrible."

Suddenly getting back together with Antonin seemed a lot more complicated than she expected. It was hard to forget that he was already moving towards a future that would ruin his life.

* * *

August 9, 1998

 **9:45 am**

Again, Rabastan wasn't making any sense. There were records proving that all four of the accused were tested for the Imperius Curse. It was a matter of _public_ record even. Kingsley remembered all too well the horrible moment he learned that Rodolphus hadn't been acting under the Unforgivable. He'd held out hope that there was a mistake. Torturing aurors into madness was _not_ something he could imagine his Little Witch's favorite cousin was capable of.

He could not, however, say the same for Rabastan. It had not been a shock at all to learn that he was a willing participant. Hermione used to tell him with tears streaming down her cheeks that there would be a day when her younger cousin was irredeemable. At the time he didn't understand how she could possibly know that, but it was all too clear once he knew she was a time traveler. Rabastan always seemed the jovial sort. All of that changed the awful day that his young, pregnant wife slipped walking down the marble staircase in the Lestrange Manor. He went down a path none of them could anticipate. Except Hermione, of course.

"The official report shows that all of you, including Rodolphus, were checked for the Imperius Curse prior to your trial," Kingsley said, trying to keep his frustration from seeping into their conversation.

"Yes, well, I can assure you that the Umbridge woman did _not_ test Roddy. She had some sort of grudge against him. I don't know the details. I did what I could, Kings. I promise. When they came in to take us to the courtroom, I yelled and said that he was under the Imperius Curse. They just looked at me like I was rubbish."

Rabastan's shoulders fell.

"Well, I suppose they weren't wrong, but they wouldn't listen to me. They wouldn't _listen_!"

He slammed his fists down on the table in front of him. Though the chains wouldn't allow him much movement, he was able to make his point anyway.

"Just dragged us out into the courtroom. Roddy didn't say a single word. Bella told him to shut up when we were captured. She never gave him the order to stop. I don't have any idea how long it lasted once we were in Azkaban. How long do Imperius Curses last? Do you know?"

Kingsley shook his head. It was an impossible question to answer. Every cast curse was different. Depending on the severity of the cast, it could last indefinitely. Considering the fact that only minutes after they were declared guilty of all charges, they were thrown into Azkaban at the mercy of the dementors, he imagined any curse wouldn't last long. It wouldn't take much time before the prisoner's mind broke under the strain. Everyone, _everyone_ went mad in Azkaban.

"Get a hold of someone's memory of that day. Preferably that horrid woman's memory. You can tell just by looking at him he wasn't in his right mind. Just sat there in the courtroom not even watching what was happening."

"Rabastan, he was checked."

"No, he wasn't!"

It was too horrible to consider the alternative that Rabastan was telling the truth. Kingsley didn't want to believe it. If guilty men like Lucius Malfoy could wiggle their way out of prison by pretending to be under the influence of someone else's curse, he didn't want to imagine that it was possible that they missed an innocent man.

"Ask him about that night, Kings. I know you're going to talk to him next. Ask him what really happened. Promise me you will ask him."

"I will. I promise."

Seemingly satisfied that someone was finally listening to him, Rabastan settled down. The smile he had on his face when the Minister first walked in reappeared.

"Now, let's talk about Hermione. How did our girl get sent back in time? Seems like a very irresponsible act. Only someone who really, _really_ wanted her to exist in the past would do something so foolish. So who was it, Kings?"

Kingsley cleared his throat. Though he hated that he now owed Dolohov anything, at least he could give the prisoner a plausible lie for an answer.

"Dolohov. He stole a time turner when he saw Hermione in the Department of Mysteries. She left Ab's pub alone the night she disappeared. He probably seized his opportunity."

"Well, that makes perfect sense. For a minute there, I thought maybe our illustrious new Minister for Magic was dirtying his hands with illegal activity."

Rabastan's cheeky wink did nothing for Kingsley's rising blood pressure.


	50. Chapter 50

Chapter Fifty

July 4, 1974

 **11:59 am**

When she first started having a weekly lunch with her uncle, Hermione was certain that she was in some sort of hell of which there was no escape. Their first few meetings were particularly memorable with their heated discussions about the place of witches in their society. She was surprised when time changed enough that she found herself looking forward to her weekly meetings with Regnault. She was led to their usual table with only seconds to spare before she would be considered tardy.

"Ahh, you're here, Hermione. You were almost very nearly late."

She tried to resist rolling her eyes as she leaned down to kiss his cheek. Admonishing her for actually _being_ late was one thing. Almost being late was another entirely. Regnault would always be a wizard set in his ways of how proper Purebloods should behave. It did not matter that his niece could not be counted amongst those of pure ancestry thanks to her Muggleborn grandmother. He did not hold her to a different standard.

"I apologize, Uncle Regnault. I don't have a good excuse."

"Well, I certainly appreciate you being honest."

Neither of them spoke while they viewed the menu. Though Hermione could have recited the restaurant's offerings if prompted, she used the opportunity the perusal afforded to not begin another fruitless argument with her uncle. Once their orders were taken by their usual waiter who seemed to have never quite gotten over his nervousness in front of Regnault, the air was a bit lighter between the uncle and his niece.

"It was a beautiful wedding," Hermione stated knowing that he would be anxious to discuss what was being hailed by the Daily Prophet as the social event of the summer.

"Yes, it really was. With the exception of the Macmillan girl making an unnecessary scene in the middle of the reception, I would call it almost perfect. Certainly, I didn't expect it to go _that_ well."

His proud smirk made Hermione chuckle softly. He might claim that he didn't expect perfection, but she knew better. Regnault Lestrange would never settle for anything less than the absolute best. If he had to curse every single guest at that wedding, including his children and his new in-laws, he would have done so to make sure everything went just the way it was supposed to. When she stopped to think about the fact that Regnault had very little else in his life to look forward to, it made her sad. Even though Rodolphus explained his father's long-term mistress, she couldn't help but think that his life was a bit empty. Would it ever improve? She wished she knew more about the future of the Lestrange family. Rodolphus, Rabastan and Bellatrix certainly had nothing happy in the coming years. What about Regnault? Would he survive the war to be doomed to sit alone in his empty manor with no one but his favorite house-elf for company?

She sipped at a glass of chilled white wine to give her mind something else to focus on besides that charming slice of morbidity. Already she knew that Regnault's future was what he made of it. He was one of the first outwardly supportive followers of Lord Voldemort. Hermione didn't believe he would go so far as to have his arm Marked when he was perfectly capable of lending his moral and financial support instead. She did not doubt that he would be the driving force behind at least one of his sons following the Dark Lord. Possibly both. She just assumed that Rodolphus would finally give up his resistance at the insistence of his new bride.

"We still had guests until four in the morning. Asking you to stay that late would have been just painful. I'm glad that I made the decision to not keep you."

"As am I, Uncle Regnault. That sounds like a very long night."

"Well, that _Russian_ that your cousin is so fond of made a bit of a fool of himself dancing with so many different witches. I don't know what is common amongst the wizarding elite in Russia, but unless the wizard is the host of the celebration, asking that many different women to dance is just unseemly."

Hermione appreciated that her uncle was doing what little he could to show her he was happy that she and Igor were no longer together without actually saying the words. He was the perfect example at times of how wizards gossiped every bit as much as witches did. It usually made her laugh when he subtly asked impertinent questions about people and events he had no business asking about. When conversation between the two was stilted, they could usually fall back on the amusing topic of what quiet scandals were happening all around them. Regnault still believed that a properly brought up witch should only have her name in the newspaper three times in her life: her birth, her marriage, and her death. As long as it was someone _else's_ niece in the paper and not his, he would gleefully discuss all of the sordid details.

"He disappeared at one point with one of those horrible Rowle girls. I don't know what happened to that family, but it certainly isn't the same respectable family that it used to be when I was younger. Haldor's older brother just welcomed a son about a year ago. One can only hope that this Thorfinn child can bring back some amount of dignity and prestige to that family. It is upsetting to see a Sacred Twenty-Eight family fall so far. Next thing you know, they'll be just as bad as the Carrows or Merlin, the _Weasleys_."

She was almost unable to hide the undignified little snort that came out of her mouth at the horrified way in which he mentioned Ron's family name. It was customary for all extant families belonging to the venerable collection of the Sacred Twenty-Eight to be invited to any major celebration or ceremony one of its members hosted. Regnault dutifully invited the Weasleys and the Carrows every time and each time thanked Merlin that they did not show up. Just as Draco Malfoy would tell Harry Potter years in the future, Regnault definitely believed there were some wizarding families that were better than others.

"I'm not sure I'd put a lot of faith in Thorfinn Rowle to do anything productive," she replied. "He's more the destructive type."

Regnault's brow furrowed and he looked almost as if he was going to scoff.

"He's only a baby, Hermione. How can one tell anything about a _baby_?"

Of course no one could tell the future of a baby just by looking at it. She knew because she used to be tormented to tears by a seventh year Slytherin when she was just a first year. Her interactions with Thorfinn Rowle once he was out of school did not improve either. He'd tried to kill her a couple of times at least. Before she was sent back to the past, she learned he had been captured after the final battle. At least she had one less person who held a grudge against her to worry about when she returned. _If_ she returned.

"I hope there were plenty of wedding photos and articles in the society pages before the scandal of elopement overshadowed it," Hermione said desperate for a change in the conversation away from the blond cretin she never wanted to see again.

"Oh, naturally, there was. It made for interesting news certainly, but a Rookwood would have to do a lot more than just run off to get married to overshadow a Lestrange."

Hermione smiled. It had been fun to read about the details of Augie's impromptu marriage in the newspaper. She only did so away from Antonin. Though he might not have been in love with the newest Mrs. Rookwood, she knew it was slightly embarrassing for him that she made such a drastic change only hours after publicly ending their relationship. She looked forward to when Augie returned from his honeymoon. There were many questions she had that just simply could not be answered by his short letter to her the morning of his wedding.

"I suppose I should admit I was wrong about the two of you," Regnault stated with a slight grin.

"Yes, Uncle, you were. Augie and I went out on a date last month. We both were getting a little tired of your not-so-subtle suggestions that we date."

Regnault's slight grin turned into a full-blown smirk. No, even he had to admit he had not been subtle in the slightest. Every time Hermione accompanied him to the Ministry to watch the Wizengamot proceedings, he made sure that their paths crossed with the young Unspeakable. Augustus had been a good sport about the thinly veiled remarks her uncle made about how they looked good together and perhaps they should meet each other after work one night to get better acquainted alone. Truthfully, Hermione would have found her uncle's attempts at matchmaking endearing if they didn't happen quite so frequently.

Unable to ignore him any longer, they went out for a lovely dinner one night in Diagon Alley. They had a delicious meal, pleasant conversation and an enjoyable evening. When Augie kissed her at the end of the date, they confirmed their suspicions that they were destined to only be good friends. But not before they erupted into childish giggles about how awful their physical chemistry was. Kissing Augie was almost as bad as kissing Thomas Shacklebolt. It had been a bit of a relief for Hermione. She didn't want to even entertain the thought of falling in love with another future Death Eater. It was too complicated and too heartbreaking.

"I suppose then that you and Dolohov have renewed your relationship."

Hermione did not want to say anything about whatever it was that was going on with Antonin again. They hadn't announced anything yet. Only Andromeda knew because she wouldn't accept anything other than the truth when she floo called to cancel their standing Monday evening wine. And if Andy knew, Ted knew too. She never kept secrets from her husband even though Hermione knew for a fact that Ted was keeping a very large one from her.

It seemed sudden to announce their relationship or whatever it could be called with their history. She did not want to hear a lecture from her uncle or anyone else. Hermione _knew_ their relationship was unhealthy. No one understood that better than she did. Their unhealthy relationship had to be resolved in some way before either of them could hope to move on.

After he cursed the rat in his flat, it had been tense. Antonin couldn't understand why she was so upset. He promised he would never use it again, but she knew it was a lie. A day would come when he would use it again to try to kill her.

"I see your rush to deny the facts is all the proof I need," stated Regnault, clearly proud of himself for discovering the truth.

"How did you…"

"I have eyes, child. I saw the two of you leave the reception together. It didn't take much to explain what I saw."

Hermione was annoyed. Not only with her uncle for being aware of everything that happened on his family estate, but also annoyed with herself. She thought they had been so careful. Clearly she should have taken her uncle's curiosity and his constant need to uncover all of the secrets of his family members into consideration.

"That and our Lord… well, _You-Know-Who_ , told me later that he found you two exiting the hedge maze. I'm not so old that I don't remember why young couples sneak off to hide in there during parties."

"Oh."

"Yes, our Lord and I had a nice, long chat about you too. He seems very interested in your prospects for the future. Most noticeably, your prospects for marriage. Is there some truth to the rumors that he might be seeking you out as a romantic partner?"

The very suggestion made Hermione choke on the tiny piece of salmon she'd just tasted. She had to gulp down large mouthfuls of water to dislodge the fish and calm herself down. What was her uncle asking? It was a ridiculous notion! She fascinated Voldemort, but certainly not in any kind of sexual or romantic way.

"If there's any truth, I'm certainly not aware," she answered truthfully.

"I understand that you may have strong feelings for the Dolohov boy. You may even fancy yourself in love with him, but those emotions are fleeting. If the Dark Lord _does_ have designs on you, I would highly encourage you to cultivate those designs."

Hermione could hardly believe what she was hearing. Was her uncle truly attempting to persuade her to encourage the Dark Lord to marry her or at the very least welcome him into her bed? Of course without him knowing the truth about Voldemort, he was easily swayed. Regnault believed without a doubt that Voldemort was the answer to their society's problems. She couldn't even imagine what any kind of relationship with him would be like. Being with him when they were in the middle of a crowded house terrified her almost out of her wits. Being completely _alone_ with him and intimate was unfathomable.

"Uncle, I don't believe that's the case at all."

"Perhaps not, but from an outside glance, it certainly appears that way. He would be an extremely powerful ally to have. I know this goes against your whole modern witch thinking, but a woman has a great deal of power over a wizard in bed. The influence you would have as his mistress should not be discounted."

"Are you seriously advocating that I _prostitute_ myself for the opportunity to gain a bit of _influence_ with the Dark Lord?"

She was so angry that she could feel her hands shaking. Was it not bad enough that he was always trying to pressure her into making a marriage of consequence? Now he was telling her to use her body to leverage some kind of power with a wizard she loathed and feared. It was upsetting that he didn't even seem to understand why she was bothered by the notion. Hermione knew that if had more power over her life as her father, he would force her into Lord Voldemort's bed if he showed interest. It was disgusting to witness how these Heads of Pureblood families treated their daughters. She was more than just a commodity. No wonder Roesia Lestrange ran away from her father. If her "grandfather" was even worse than Regnault, she couldn't even imagine how difficult life had been for her.

"Do _not_ put words into my mouth," Regnault warned in a tense whisper. "Of course I am not advocating prostitution. There is a certain status afforded a wizard's mistress."

"If I wouldn't allow you to pressure me into a respectable marriage with a man I was not in love with, what makes you think I would give up all opportunities to actually marry a man I do love to be some power-mad wizard's lover?"

Regnault's face turned bright red as the dangerous words dripped out of her mouth. She didn't care. Let him bluster and keel over dead of a heart attack. She would _not_ be bullied into being anyone's mistress. It was disgusting to think he believed he had enough say in her life to make her do what she did not want to do.

"You will _not_ speak of the Dark Lord in that manner, girl. You _will_ show him the proper amount of respect he is owed."

Unwilling to continue any longer, Hermione rose from the table. She did not even kiss her uncle or say a word in farewell. In that moment, she did not trust herself to speak. She was far too angry to listen to another word. Ignoring his calls that she return immediately, she rushed out of the busy restaurant.

She was supposed to meet Antonin at Andromeda's shop so she could replace the dining table and chairs she destroyed the previous weekend. They planned to meet at one after Antonin finished some important job interview for a potential new employer. Due to her interrupted meal, she had almost thirty minutes to waste until time.

Still fuming, she walked down the Alley in an attempt to calm herself down. Her uncle was being utterly ridiculous and out of line. She still couldn't believe that he was basically telling her that she should give up any chance at love to jump into Voldemort's bed. What kind of future would that provide her? It was unconscionable. Dating a Death Eater here and there was bad enough. Willingly climbing into the bed of the Dark Lord was too far. She would not allow her uncle to use her in that way. No, she would continue to play the game for her safety as long as she was in the past, but she would not use her body to her advantage. Times were not that desperate yet.

By the time she was near Andromeda's shop, Hermione was much calmer. A slow walk around Diagon Alley helped to alleviate some of the rage she was feeling. Antonin, also a stickler for punctuality just like her uncle, would be arriving any moment. About twenty meters from The Junk Shop where her best friend spent most of her time, Hermione's foot caught on one of the uneven cobblestones. The stupid shoes that Seraphina just _insisted_ she purchase to match the robes she bought the week before were not great on the treacherous surfaces. A strong hand grabbed her arm to keep her from falling on her face.

"Thank you. I wasn't paying attention to where I was walking."

"A lot on your mind, little girl?"

Fenrir Greyback's deep, gravelly voice splashed a chill through to her bones. Hermione turned just enough to see a dragonhide gloved hand still holding tightly to her arm. Evidently, the werewolf had discovered a way he could touch her without incurring the wrath of Igor's charms and curses. When he did not immediately relinquish hold of her arm, she worried that she was about to panic. At least they were in the middle of a busy section of the Alley in broad daylight.

"Let me go, Greyback," she warned in a stern voice that sounded much more confident than she felt.

His hoarse chuckle was a noise that visited her in nightmares. She heard it so many times that night that she was certain she would never be able to _un-hear_ it. He made no move to release her. If anything, his grip grew a bit tighter.

"Dragonhide gloves are just a temporary solution," he explained. "I imagine I won't need them much longer."

"The Dark Lord warned you that I was not to be harmed."

It made her sick to her stomach that she was actually relying on Lord Voldemort to keep her safe. When she attempted that when she first arrived in the past, it had disastrous consequences. Hermione could see how effective the promise of his protection from the monster could sway a person to seek out the Dark Lord's favor. She only hoped that there would never be an instance when she was desperate enough to beg him for help. He seemed to be under the impression that there would be a day when she sought _him_ out instead of the other way around. Part of her wondered if that wasn't precisely why Greyback was accosting her in public. Maybe he was hoping that frequent visits from the creature would send her running straight into his loyal forces.

"Do you think the Dark Lord would continue to be so magnanimous in his offers of protection if he knew that you were actively telling people to stay away from him?"

Hermione felt her heartrate speed up slightly. There was a very real possibility that the werewolf had already ratted her out to Voldemort. He seemed to believe that she would be an excellent asset in the recruitment of his Death Eaters. If he knew that she was telling those he showed an interest in to not trust the wizard, she was in a great deal of trouble.

Greyback's free hand cupped her cheek. She felt the few bites she'd managed to consume at lunch start to churn around faster. Even through the blasted dragonhide gloves that protected his bare flesh from the boils that the curses wrought, she couldn't bare his touch. It made her skin crawl. He brushed his thumb across her cheek in what may have been a tender manner if it came from anyone else.

"I haven't told him, little girl. I _could_. At any moment. I could tell him how I snuck back behind the pub when you thought I left through the Muggle exit to wait for you to come back out. How you told that boy that the Dark Lord couldn't be trusted and that he needed to stay away from him."

"What makes you think that he would trust a monster like you over me?" It was a flimsy retort, but the narrowing of his eyes made Hermione wonder if it wouldn't work after all. Werewolves weren't exactly known for being well-trusted by wizards. "I could just tell him that you were lying about what I said. He'd believe me."

A low growl in the back of his throat reminded her of the danger she was in every second he was near. She had to figure out a way to get out of his grip. Antonin would be there soon. If he saw him holding her arm like he was, he would be furious and demand answers. Greyback would probably even taunt him with the knowledge that they'd been… She couldn't bear to complete that thought.

"Do you know what tonight is, little girl?"

She hated that he kept calling her that. Wasn't it bad enough that he could overpower her physically with little effort? She did not like being reminded over and over again that without Igor's locket, she would be at his complete mercy again.

But she knew what he was getting at. Yes, she knew that in only a few hours the full moon would rise. She knew exactly what phase the moon was in every single day. Since the first day she crossed his path in Hogsmeade when he interrupted what would've been her first kiss with Igor, she kept track. It might save her life one day.

"Yes, this is the night you become even more of a monster than you already are."

A proud grin crossed his face. He leaned down to speak softer and move his body closer to hers.

"You're mistaken. I'm _always_ the creature you fear. He just gets to come out and play tonight. I do enjoy sitting outside of your bedroom window when it's a full moon. Did you know that?"

Of course she did, but she wasn't about to admit it to him. He would get some sort of perverse pleasure out of knowing that once a month she huddled underneath her covers trying desperately to ignore the sounds of the howling outside. It had gotten bad enough that every full moon, Aberforth brought Agnes and Gladys inside the pub. The other residents in Hogsmeade tried to get the Ministry to do _something_ about the dangerous monster on the outskirts of their village. To no one's surprise, the Ministry promised to look into the matter and then did nothing.

"Oh, I didn't realize. I tend to coat the pub in strong silencing spells late at night."

The soft growl returned in full force. He tightened his grip on her arm even further. She wondered if there would be marks left behind.

"Hermione? What's going on here?"

She sighed in relief when Antonin's voice drifted through the midst of the warning growl. Surely the werewolf wouldn't be stupid enough to try something when a wizard had his wand trained on his back. Greyback turned around just enough to sneer at Antonin before dropping her arm.

"Are we back together now?" Fenrir asked with an amused smirk on his face when she rushed over to Antonin. "How lovely."

"Leave me alone, Greyback."

He didn't seem to even hear her voice. His focus rested solely on an incensed and confused Antonin. The younger of the two men had his wand out, ready to use it if necessary.

"Hey, boy, does it not bother you that your witch wears that token around her neck?"

Hermione groaned. The creature was desperate for her to remove the locket. He would stoop to anything to make certain he could touch her again.

"What?" Antonin was startled by being addressed directly.

"That locket she wears. Does it not bother you that it contains heart's blood from another wizard? I don't think I'd care much for my witch to wear something like that around her neck. What kind of message does that send the other wizard?"

Greyback winked in Hermione's horrified direction before turning on his heel to retreat back into the shadows of the Alley. She would _not_ be staying in Hogsmeade that night. The Ministry would not be able to ignore a werewolf running loose in the streets of London like they would at home. Aberforth wasn't expecting her home anyway. He'd not asked her for details of what was happening in her personal life. Whether it was one Russian or the other one, or perhaps, someone completely different, he didn't want to know.

"What did I just walk up on?" demanded Antonin, reaching to grab Hermione's arm in the exact spot Greyback had been squeezing it.

"He was lurking and being obnoxious."

She ripped her arm out of his grasp before he could tighten his hold. The last thing she needed was to go from one dangerous man hurting her to another. Antonin didn't seem bothered by her pulling her arm away. He reached underneath the collar of her robes to pull on the silver chain she usually kept hidden. Once or twice in the days since they'd hardly come up for air he'd asked about it. Asked where it came from and the significance. Why was she always wearing it? Who gave it to her? Hermione had been successful so far in diverting his attention away with the use of her tongue. She knew that particular method would not work again.

"Where did you get this locket, Hermione? Why do you never take it off?"

There seemed no reason to lie. He would find out eventually if he hadn't already figured it out for himself. It wasn't exactly like he was an idiot.

"Igor gave it to me."

"Did the werewolf speak the truth? Is there some of Karkaroff's heart's blood in this?"

Hermione sighed and nodded her head. Antonin dropped the locket as if it was on fire. The expression of disgust on his face was enough to make her want to run away. Everything had been going so well. Well, _after_ the incident with the rat it had improved. Were they going to end whatever it was they had after less than a week?

"Yes, Igor put some of his blood in the locket for added protection. It's meant to keep me safe from werewolves. Greyback has been bothering me for years now."

"Let's just ignore the fact that I've only _recently_ learned that you were being troubled by a fucking _werewolf_. Do you understand the significance of heart's blood, Hermione?"

"Yes, I do. He's offering me his protection and his family's protection as long as he's alive."

"In some cultures around the world, accepting anything with heart's blood in it is just as serious as getting married! My great-grandparents exchanged heart's blood as part of their marriage ceremony. By accepting the locket knowing full well what was inside, Karkaroff could claim you were his _wife_ if he wanted to."

Each word he spoke grew louder and louder until he was practically screaming at her in front of the shops. She was embarrassed by the attention she was garnering. Other shoppers made it clear they were watching the lover's spat. Hermione wanted to be just about anywhere else.

"Igor wouldn't do that. Our relationship is over, Antonin. He's not interested in marrying me, but he did want to keep me safe."

"I don't want you to wear that locket anymore."

She should have known he would make that demand. Once it was known that Igor gave it to her, he would not want to see it again. Hermione knew from her discussion with Lord Voldemort that heart's blood was important, but she didn't quite understand _how_ important. He was playing right into Greyback's sick plan. No doubt he had been biding his time waiting for a moment when he could mention the locket she wore around Antonin.

"No," she stated firmly. "I will continue to wear it."

"Hermione, you are telling the world that you _belong_ to Karkaroff. I will not stand for it!"

A burst of rage that subsided earlier after her walk bubbled back up inside of her. She would not allow any wizard to speak to her the way he was.

"I _belong_ to no wizard, Antonin. Not Igor and certainly not _you_! If you can't respect that, then I can't be with you any longer."

She pushed away his attempts to try to grab her. He wasn't going to detain her any longer. Attempting any kind of relationship with him was a terrible idea. Hermione spun around and rushed away from the sputtering wizard. As she walked as quickly as she could to the nearest Apparition point, she tried and failed to ignore the deep, amused chuckling coming out of the shadows.

* * *

 **10:05 pm**

If Aberforth was surprised to see his daughter enter the pub flustered and angry at just a few minutes past one in the afternoon, he didn't say anything. He knew enough about a woman in a temper. It was best to leave them be until they were ready to talk. Hermione was grateful that he was a perceptive enough man to understand the need to not push her.

She spent the rest of the afternoon and most of the evening tending to all of the tasks around the pub that had been neglected for too long. Each of the unoccupied rooms upstairs were fully aired out and cleaned. Aberforth didn't understand the reason for scrubbing the floor _underneath_ the beds, but again, he didn't say anything. Hermione scoured everything that would sit still long enough. She even threatened to finally get a rag to the disgusting patch of skin behind Mundungus Fletcher's ears before he ran out of the pub just before nine.

Nights of the full moon had been slow for months. She knew it was because of the increase of werewolf activity in the area. Aberforth didn't seem to mind as it was the one night a month his girl didn't argue about the other girls in his life being allowed inside the pub. Just a few minutes after ten that evening while she continued to channel her rage into making the front windows the cleanest in the village, she was surprised to see a familiar figure walk in front of the pub. Kingsley caught her eye through the glass. For a brief moment, she feared that he was about to turn around and run in the opposite direction, but reluctantly, he entered.

"Kingsley! What a pleasant surprise," she said as she started to get down from the chair she was standing on. In an almost exact recreation of the moment they met, he extended his hand to help her down. "We didn't expect to see anyone else this late."

"Oh, well, I just ended a shift at the Ministry," he explained, struggling to look her in the eyes. She could've slapped Igor for what he said to him at the reception. How long would it take before they were back to normal? "Mum wanted me to stay the night with Granny since it was the full moon, but Granny kicked me out. Said she didn't need some fool boy staring at her just because werewolves were about. I thought I'd come here and have a couple of pints while I waited for her to fall asleep. I'll sneak back in when she's gone to bed."

Hermione chuckled. Margie was usually good for a laugh. Without thinking, she grabbed Kingsley's arm to lead him directly to the bar. There weren't any other customers once Mundungus ran out. Kingsley sat down on the same barstool he would one day in the future sit on when they had a glass of fire whiskey together. She climbed onto the barstool next to him with a small smile on her lips.

"Has it stopped raining yet?" Aberforth asked.

"Not yet. Still pretty wet out there."

Aberforth set two glasses of fire whiskey down on the bar in front of them both. Kingsley didn't hesitate to take his first sip. Temperatures even in July weren't exactly warm in their part of Scotland and with the incessant rain, the fire in their bellies felt comforting.

"How's the Ministry?" inquired Hermione. She didn't want there to be any awkwardness between them. "Thomas told me the other day he never sees you."

"It's busy. Lots to do. Moody is not an easy man to work for."

She snorted and instantly regretted making the sound. Kingsley stared at her strangely for a moment before taking another sip. Soon the three of them fell into a lively discussion about the comings and goings of the village. Since he was working as an auror, the youngest Shacklebolt wasn't able to make it to Hogsmeade as often as he used to. Dark wizard activity had noticeably picked up since he started his training. It was getting harder and harder to deny that something awful was happening in their society. They tried to keep the conversation as light as possible.

After their second glass, Aberforth excused himself from the main room to check on his goats in the kitchen. Hermione didn't miss the conspiratorial wink he gave her before he left. He liked Kingsley a lot. Just like the rest of the entire village of Hogsmeade, her dad was hoping that they would end up together. She tried to ignore the sudden flush to her cheeks when they were finally alone.

"Kingsley, I owe you an apology."

He sighed and drank half of his third glass in one gulp.

"Do we have to talk about the other night, Hermione? I'm embarrassed enough as it is."

She knew they needed to talk after their almost-kiss at the reception. Especially since Igor had to make it worse by gleefully blurting out what he had just witnessed in the hedge maze. Kingsley was one of her best friends. Even if they rarely saw each other, she loved and cared for him already. At times, it was so easy to see why they fell in love with each other eventually. He could make her laugh until she cried with hardly any effort. Rarely did they have a lull in their conversations. How many times had they been sitting at his grandmother's dining table and they caught each other's eye to have a private laugh about something going on around them? Enough times that the rest of the family and her dad noticed.

"I'm sorry, Kingsley. I'm sorry that Igor was so rude and I'm sorry that I ran away. I'm sorry that Antonin interrupted us when he did. I'm _really_ sorry he has such shit timing."

Kingsley perked up slightly at the end of her apology. A hint of a smirk appeared on his face. She laughed out loud at his face making the smirk morph into a full-blown Kingsley smile that she loved so much.

"So you're sorry that he interrupted, huh?"

"Extremely sorry. I'm sure I will regret it for the rest of my life."

"You should, Little Witch. It was probably going to be the best kiss you ever had."

"Probably? Only probably?"

"No, you're right. It would have _definitely_ been the best kiss you ever had."

He winked at her just as they both burst out into loud laughter. The tension that seemed to exist between them since that night felt like it had finally broken. She refilled both of their glasses. Neither of them had anywhere to be in the morning. Caradoc was using Rodolphus' honeymoon as an excuse to close up the shop for a couple of weeks to travel abroad with Gideon. She was unsuccessfully trying not to be jealous. Kingsley wasn't back on duty until the following Monday.

Their conversation picked up once they laughed. Though they stayed away from personal topics in the beginning, by the time the bottle was half empty and Aberforth still was nowhere to be found, Kingsley brought up Antonin.

"Are the two of you back together?"

"I don't really know, honestly. I thought we were, but then we had a big fight this afternoon."

"You know you can do a lot better than him, right?"

She smiled, thinking he was about to make a joke about himself. When she turned to look at his face, she saw no hint of joy in his expression. Kingsley was completely serious. He looked so much like his older self that Hermione felt her heart clench.

"I know," she admitted. "Antonin and I… well, honestly, Kingsley, Antonin and I aren't meant to be together. He's not my future."

"Then why are you with him if there's no future?"

"It's complicated. I once thought he could be, but not anymore. I feel like I need to resolve whatever there is there before I can move on. Today just proved that he's not the one I want to end up with."

Kingsley cleared his throat softly before speaking again. He took a deep sip from his glass.

"Is there someone else you're interested in?"

"Maybe... yes."

"The Karkaroff wizard?"

"No."

Later she would blame the alcohol. Why had she been drinking so much lately? Before she could talk herself out of it, Hermione hopped off of her stool. She placed both of her hands on Kingsley's cheeks and lifted her mouth to his. He needed no encouragement to kiss her back. His arms slipped around her back to pull her body up against him.

Her first kiss with Kingsley was everything she hoped it would be. It was tender, gentle and just heated enough to make her stomach flutter. The fire whiskey seemed to be enhancing all of the sensations. Only the sound of a cough in the next room made them break apart. Realizing her dad wasn't about to interrupt them, Hermione pressed one final kiss onto his lips. Kingsley rested his forehead against hers, his dark brown eyes stared into hers.

"I can wait," he promised. "I can wait for you."

"No, Kingsley. That's not fair to you. Don't wait for me."

Part of her wanted to just forget about Antonin, but she didn't want to enter into a relationship with Kingsley until she had a clean slate. She would need to deal with Antonin very soon. It wouldn't be fair to him to leave things the way they were.

"I should go home."

Kingsley stood up from the stool, reluctantly removing his hands from Hermione's back. He brushed his lips against her cheek and made his exit out into the pouring rain.

* * *

August 9, 1998

 **9:57 am**

"You know it's funny, Kingsley," Rabastan began. "I remember the night we broke into the Department of Mysteries very well. It didn't seem like there was enough time or an opportunity to steal a time turner in all of the chaos."

The Minister didn't know what to say. It was obvious Rabastan didn't believe that Dolohov was responsible. Arguing with him was futile.

"Looks like the Minister for Magic has a pretty big secret. Could get pretty ugly if it got out. One of the big changes I've noticed since the last time I was in Azkaban is the ability for prisoners to send and receive post to the outside world. There's an obnoxious witch still at the Daily Prophet who might be interested in what _really_ happened to Hermione Granger."

"Are you trying to blackmail me, Rabastan?"

A broad smile on Lestrange's face was all the response he would give. Kingsley was worried. He knew he shouldn't have listened to Andromeda when she insisted he come to Azkaban personally to tell Rodolphus and Rabastan the truth before it was in the papers. What was he playing at?

"Blackmail sounds like such an ugly word, Kings. I wouldn't presume to do that. It's a crime."

"What do you want, Rabastan?"

"Your promise that you will find out the truth of what happened the night we were all arrested. Find that horrible woman and get her memory. My brother doesn't deserve to be in here. Get him out. Or I'll tell Rita Skeeter that Dolohov didn't send Hermione back in time."

As far as blackmail attempts went, it was relatively mild. There were worse requests, he supposed. He could respect Rabastan wanting to do whatever he could in his limited power to right a wrong that was done to his elder brother years earlier. Kingsley agreed with a handshake.

"Always a pleasure to see you, Kingsley. Congratulations on your new position."

Rabastan was led out of the interview room by one of the guards. Kingsley settled down in a chair waiting for the next prisoner to be brought into the room. He wasn't sure what he would say to Rodolphus and he only had a few minutes to figure it out.


	51. Chapter 51

_Author's Note: For those of you needing a visual, I fancast the gorgeous Henry Cavill as Tom Riddle._

* * *

Chapter Fifty-One

July 5, 1974

 **12:23 am**

Hermione watched Kingsley's large form disappear into the rain. She stood at the front windows watching him walk down the side street leading to High Street until he was too far away to see. Part of her was nervous about him wandering around in the village when there was a known dangerous werewolf running loose, but she knew that he would not have been able to complete his auror training without proving that he could take care of himself in dangerous situations.

It felt right to kiss him. When her lips made contact with his and his arms pulled her body against his chest, Hermione felt safe for the first time since she'd arrived in the past. She almost felt like she was coming home, as silly and cliché as it sounded even within her own brain. More than once in the future she was enveloped in his arms when she was scared or sad. Hermione always assumed that she simply trusted the wizard. Now it made a little more sense why she always felt so secure around Kingsley.

She had to stop herself from running after him when her mind began to wander back to their kiss. Antonin had to be dealt with first. It was only right to make sure that her past was resolved before she attempted to move on with her future. Everyone involved deserved a clean break.

Aberforth's steady footsteps and his presence behind Hermione brought her an immense amount of comfort. The man who had become her dad in so many ways placed his arm around her shoulder. Hermione sighed.

"He didn't run off on my account, did he?" asked Aberforth. "I tried to be quiet."

"No, Dad. I think I scared him off."

"Somehow I doubt that."

He dropped a kiss onto her forehead. In three years, the gruff, taciturn curmudgeon who showed affection only to his beloved goats became almost a different man entirely. Not to anyone else, of course. To those not fortunate enough to sleep in his spare bedroom and share breakfast with him each morning he was the same as he ever was. But to Hermione, he was affectionate and protective. It seemed almost another lifetime ago when his entire body stiffened every time she tried to hug him. He might still give off an aura to everyone else that he wanted to be left alone, but never to his girl.

"I've always been in support of you ending up with either of the Shacklebolt boys. Wonderful family. You could do so much worse."

"I know Kingsley from the future," she declared. Usually they tried to keep all talk about her time travel to an absolute minimum, but in that moment, she wanted to talk to him about it. "When I first got here, he was so obnoxious that I could hardly believe he was the same person I'd known and trusted. The more time I'm here and the older he gets, the more he reminds me of his elder self. I used to have the most embarrassing crush on him."

Aberforth chuckled at her confession. She soon joined in. It had not taken long after she met the respected auror when she was fifteen to like him. He never treated her like the other adults did. In her mind, she imagined that he was just seeing her as more than just an annoying kid running through the halls of the crumbling, old house. She thought that he must have believed she was more mature than all of the other underage guests. It made her feel special.

"You deserve to be happy, lass. He will make you happy."

* * *

 **8:05 pm**

The Friday night after a full moon was busy in The Hog's Head. Most of the regular patrons were there. With the summer season well under way, there were also a number of tourists to care for. Hermione loved when they were busy. The clientele was always interesting and time seemed to fly by. There were few opportunities to dwell on the ugly fight she'd had the day before with Antonin or how disappointed she was in herself for letting Kingsley walk away. Just because she knew it was for the best didn't make it any easier.

Aberforth sent her down to the cellar to bring up another case of butterbeer just before eight. Now that the pub was clean, it was a popular Floo station once again. Many young couples liked to stop in for a drink or two on dates. It never ceased to amaze her dad just how much more business they could get with a simple cleaning routine. She found the case she was looking for and levitated it out of the cellar door. When she carried it into the main room of the pub to set behind the bar, she noticed a distinctive expression of annoyance all over her dad's face.

"You have a visitor."

Clearly, he was not pleased with the wizard standing just a few feet away from the bar. Hermione wasn't exactly surprised to see Antonin but she wasn't excited either. She knew he wanted to talk about the argument they had the previous day in Diagon Alley. It would likely be awful and dramatic. She was hesitant to encourage such an exchange. Knowing he would not leave until she did, Hermione sighed and removed her apron.

"Will you be all right by yourself for a little while, Dad? I think Antonin and I should go outside for some air."

"Of course, _I'll_ be all right. Will you?"

She reached up on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek in reassurance. Aberforth did not seem mollified by the affection. His eyes remained fixed on an increasingly nervous Antonin. Without saying a word in greeting to the impatient wizard, Hermione reached for his arm to tug him out of the pub.

The rain from the previous day was nowhere to be seen. She was glad. Having what she was certain would be a difficult row within earshot of her father would not help matters. They walked down the side street the pub was on towards High Street. It was awkward. Neither seemed willing to be the first to break the silence. Finally, steps in front of Honeyduke's, Antonin spoke.

"I would like to apologize for my behavior yesterday. I should've remained calm until we could have had a civilized conversation."

"Thank you, Antonin. I accept your apology."

"I'm still angry, Hermione. I feel like I have a right to be angry."

Hermione sighed. She did not want to get in a row on whether or not his anger was justified. Truthfully, she _knew_ he had every right to be angry. If the situation was reversed and she found out that he'd been keeping a secret from her for years, she would be upset too. She also knew that her first reaction to finding out that he was wearing a gift given to him by his ex and someone she hated would be to demand he remove it.

Antonin had a frightening temper. She feared that it would only grow worse the older he became. From the first time he charmed her feet frozen to the ground just to be able to scream in her face without her being able to leave, she knew that there was something terribly unstable about the man. Even if she wasn't a time traveler and had no idea that he would pledge his life to an evil Dark Lord, she wouldn't have been comfortable continuing a relationship with him. A simple friendship might even be too much.

"I don't disagree that you have a right to be angry, Antonin…"

"Then tell me what went wrong yesterday."

"You didn't even give me a chance to explain about the locket before you just started demanding that I take it off. There was a very valid reason that I was wearing it and it wasn't because I was trying to allow Igor to _own_ me."

She could feel her own latent anger over the entire situation begin to rear up once more. Once she was back in the pub following the confrontation in Diagon Alley, she channeled all of the ire into productivity. Remembering how Antonin seemed less concerned by the fact that a werewolf was bothering her in the street than he was by the fact that she still wore a fancy necklace around her throat was tiresome. Would he ever trust her? It was feeling less and less likely.

"Okay, what is the reason that you continue to wear that locket even though you know how upsetting it is for me to see it?"

"First of all, this isn't some kind of blatant, defiant act to make you angry, so you can stop acting like it is."

Antonin narrowed his eyes. They stopped walking as they edged nearer to the end of the village. It seemed that they were both settling in for a row they would both remember for some time to come.

"Igor had this locket made for me when he found out how much of a nuisance Greyback was being to me. He was afraid that the werewolf would move past just threats and actually hurt me. His sister filled it with plants known to repel werewolves and they both imbued it with powerful protection charms. Greyback can't touch my skin without being in great pain. That's why he was wearing dragonhide gloves in the middle of the summer yesterday. Igor strengthened the power of the locket with heart's blood. Not as some way to claim ownership on me. He cares about me and wants me to be safe."

He didn't seem satisfied with her explanation. Likely he never would. There was too much history there between them when it came to Igor to ignore. One more reason why they would never work in the long-term. Antonin might claim he'd forgiven her for the night seventh year when they broke up the first time, but he was not fooling anyone. He was a man that held a grudge. Even if he didn't believe it himself, he was too stubborn to move on.

"I was also angry that you never told me about the werewolf bothering you. Why didn't you?"

"What would you have done if you'd known, Antonin?"

"I would've gone after him!"

"Exactly. And you would've gotten hurt or maybe worse."

Antonin did not care for that answer. Hermione knew she wasn't wrong. She had no doubt that a day would come when he was stronger than the werewolf. It simply hadn't yet. Telling him what was happening would have only gotten him injured. She would never feel guilty about keeping the truth from him. Even after Greyback…

She shook her head to dislodge any potentially disturbing thoughts better left unthought. There was no reason to think about that night again. Just as there was no reason to ever tell Antonin the details of the New Year's he spent face down in the snow. He couldn't change anything. No one could. All it would do was make him look at her differently. He would do something foolish. No, it was better that Antonin be ignorant.

"I don't feel comfortable being around you when you wear the heart's blood of another wizard, Hermione. I know it doesn't mean that much to you, but it does to me. Every time I saw that locket, I would be reminded. Can you not understand how difficult that would be for me?"

"And can you not understand that the moment I take this locket off, I'm vulnerable again? It may be the only thing saving my life at this point. Greyback is a monster. He will stop at nothing. I will _not_ remove the locket and it's been charmed so no one else can remove it either."

"Hermione…"

They were getting nowhere. Antonin looked as if he was ready to dig in his heels and argue until she unclasped the locket. He was tenacious enough to try. Hermione began to feel a wave of exhaustion wash over her at that point. She didn't want to fight any longer. In the spirit of being honest and clearing the air, she knew she would have to come clean. They would never be able to resolve their relationship as long as he continued to believe it worth fighting for.

"I kissed Kingsley last night."

If she thought he was furious when he found out where her jewelry came from, she was in for a rude surprise when she saw the change in his countenance. Igor would always be a sore subject between them no matter how many years passed between their meetings. The Other Russian could make Antonin angry with very little encouragement. But their rivalry had only existed for a short time in comparison to the lifelong hatred he shared with Kingsley.

"What do you mean you kissed Shacklebolt last night?"

His teeth were clenched and she could almost hear his heart thumping against his chest in his rage.

"Exactly what I said. Last night he came to the pub. We had a few drinks and I kissed him. It was nice."

She didn't know what possessed her to say the last three words to the fuming wizard. It wasn't wise. Maybe she wanted to sever it completely. There could be no coming back if he knew that she preferred Kingsley to him.

" _Why_ would you kiss him?"

"Because I care about him, Antonin. Very much."

He clenched and unclenched his fists. If he went for his wand or started moving closer to her, she would not hesitate to hex him.

"Then I suppose I will just wish you and Baby Shacklebolt a happy future. Perhaps he won't have any problems with the other wizard's blood around your neck."

Before she could say anything in response, Antonin turned in a circle and Disapparated. When the sound of the 'crack' filled the night air, she couldn't help but sigh. It was a relief off her shoulders. Any guilt she had been feeling disappeared almost at once.

"I always knew that one wouldn't last, little girl."

Hermione rolled her eyes and spun around to head back to her father's pub. She wasn't surprised at all when Greyback emerged from the shadows. He looked a little worse for wear. No doubt terrorizing the village the night before in his werewolf form was exhausting. She could sense him following behind her, but she didn't look back.

"Nice effort with the locket, Greyback, but as you can see, you failed."

His amused chortle made her heart clench. She hated that sound.

"That was only my first effort. I will improve in the future. Eventually, I'll get that off of your pretty, little neck. Only a matter of time."

She quickened her steps to make it back into the safety of the pub.

* * *

July 6, 1974

 **9:36 am**

Sunday mornings were usually quiet hours in The Hog's Head. After raucous, late Saturday nights, the small Dumbledore family slept in late. Two days after she kissed Kingsley, Hermione couldn't sleep. After her fight and subsequent end to her relationship with Antonin the night before, she was anxious to find Kingsley. She didn't want to rush off to him immediately and seem _too_ eager. Besides, it was best that they not rush into anything.

Long after she realized that she would not be able to fall back asleep, Hermione was in the kitchen baking. It was a task that she enjoyed and had steadily been getting better at. She had a new scones recipe that she wanted to try. At six in the morning, she had plenty of time to try it out. Measuring the ingredients helped her keep her mind off of subjects too serious. There would be plenty of time later to stress and fret and worry over what to do next.

At half-past nine, Hermione loaded up a basket full of her best-looking scones. Every Sunday like clockwork, Margie had her children and grandchildren over for a late breakfast. Knowing that Kingsley wouldn't be back on duty until Monday, she thought it was a perfect opportunity to just drop by unannounced.

Thomas answered the door with a bright smile. Hermione tried not to wonder how much Antonin may have already told him about the previous night. Despite being a painfully private man, Antonin always confided in his best friend. The elder Shacklebolt son took the basket out of her hands to lead her into the dining room.

A quick scan of the room once she arrived proved that her visit was for nothing. Kingsley was nowhere to be found. Hermione tried to hide her disappointment as she greeted each member of the Shafiq/Shacklebolt family in turn.

"Have you eaten, child?" Margie asked, clearly about to extend an invitation.

"Thank you, but I have been nibbling on these scones all morning. I couldn't eat another bite."

"It was very kind of you to bring these by, Hermione. Thank you," stated Katie.

"I don't want to keep you. Dad and I just couldn't eat all of these ourselves. Merlin knows he'd _try_."

After she said her farewells to everyone around the table, Thomas escorted her back to the living room.

"He's in Tutshill," he said when they walked out of the dining room.

"Excuse me?"

"Kingsie. He's in Tutshill. Went there last night to watch Roxanne play for the Tornadoes."

Hermione tried to hide not only her disappointment, but the sharp sting of pain that accompanied his words. Only a couple of days had passed since their kiss. What happened?

"They won, so I don't expect him to be in any condition to get out of bed for a few hours yet."

"Oh, I didn't know he was seeing her again."

"I think it _just_ happened. He came home yesterday morning from Granny's home in a better mood than I've seen him in for a while. Then an owl came with tickets and an invitation."

"Oh, well, I hope they can really make a go of it this time. Roxanne seemed very sweet."

Their conversation was interrupted by Dean entering the room. He sent Thomas back to the dining room to finish up his breakfast while he had a moment alone with Hermione. When the head of the Shacklebolt family placed a gentle arm on her shoulder when they reached the front door, she was afraid she would burst into tears. Why did she let Kingsley walk away? Why did she tell him not to wait for her? She had the worst timing.

"They won't last."

Dean's simple declaration startled her enough to keep the tears from forming. She took a deep breath before speaking.

"I only want Kingsley to be happy."

"And he will be once he realizes the Quidditch girl isn't the witch he really loves."

* * *

October 12, 1974

 **7:16 pm**

It seemed that no matter how hard Hermione tried to speed up her preparation for an awful dinner party she was expected to be at already, she struggled. Her dress wouldn't zip up no matter how many charms she tried. Her hair would not lay flat. She was missing a shoe. Each small crisis only made her more nervous. Regnault could not abide tardiness.

Aberforth finally had to step in to help her calm down enough to finish getting ready. A wave of his wand unstuck the zipper on the back of her dress. He always knew just the right spell to use to tame her hair. Why hadn't she considered a simple summoning spell to find her missing shoe? She needed his cool head and presence of mind to get her ready.

Somehow, beyond working in the pub and in the Magical Menagerie, she managed to avoid all public appearances for three months. She continued to have her weekly lunches with Regnault, but other than her weekly wine night with the Tonks family, she had not been social. Months passed since her kiss with Kingsley. He was back in a relationship with his ex-girlfriend and from all accounts, he was happy. She regretted telling him not to wait for her. They hadn't seen each other since the night she watched him walk away.

She also hadn't spoken to Antonin in months. It seemed easier to stay home than to run into those she didn't want to see. As hard as she tried, her Uncle Regnault would not allow her to miss his dinner party. He insisted.

"Are you all right to Apparate, lass? You seem out of sorts."

"I'll be fine. Just don't want to go."

Aberforth poured her a small glass of fire whiskey to settle her nerves. Hermione thought about refusing the drink, but knowing who she might expect to see at the manor, she knocked it back in one swallow. After a kiss on her father's cheek, she stepped out into the street to Apparate to Norfolk.

Hermione approached the front door of the manor with extreme hesitation. There were about a hundred different ways she would rather spend an evening that she could rattle off if prompted with no hesitation. If given sufficient time to consider her answer, she could come up with even more viable options.

Before she could knock on the massive piece of wood that was the only thing standing between her and an evening of what she was certain would be sheer torture, the door swung open. A tiny elf stood in front of her with her fists on her hips and a harsh glare on her wrinkled face.

"Missy Hermione is _late_ ," declared an irate Rosie. After three years, the elf was still suspicious of the witch. "Master Reggie does not appreciate when his guests are late."

"I'm sorry, Rosie. Would it help if I told you that I would rather be literally _anywhere_ else but here?"

Based on the narrowing of her large eyes and the lowering of her pointy ears, Rosie was not amused. Hermione sighed and stepped into the main reception hall. Voices could be heard down the corridor coming from her uncle's study.

"You are the last to arrive," Rosie declared, her annoyance clear in her voice. "Master Reggie is very angry."

Hermione rolled her eyes behind the formidable house-elf. All of her experiences with house-elves when she was in the future did not prepare her for an elf like Rosie that seemed to be in charge of all that went on in the manor. She was so unlike the timid, eager-to-please elves she'd known before.

As the voices grew louder, she grew more nervous. Regnault warned her that there would be very important guests in attendance that evening. It wasn't just a simple family dinner. She could only imagine who she would find when she pushed open the study door.

"Miss Dumbledore, we were all growing worried that we would miss the joy of your company this evening. The hour is growing late."

She did not expect to be stopped in the corridor by a smirking Lord Voldemort. Of course, she should have anticipated him to be in attendance. Uncle Regnault had spoken of little else when they were in the same room since the disastrous lunch three months earlier when he made the ridiculous suggestion that she entertain a possible liaison with the Dark Lord if given the opportunity. Remembering that conversation while the subject was staring down at her with a disarming smile on his handsome features made her cheeks feel warm. Hermione dropped her eyes to the buttons on Voldemort's robes and strengthened her Occlumency shields. He unnerved her so.

"I apologize for being late, my Lord."

Voldemort placed his hand on her bare shoulder to stop her movement towards the closed door to the study. Instantly she felt her skin erupt into goosebumps at the feel of his cold fingertips. He stepped forward, closing the gap between their bodies. Hermione felt her heartrate speed up. What was he doing?

"I'm not the one you will need to apologize to, Miss Dumbledore. Your uncle was growing steadily angrier as the minutes ticked by."

"I should let him know I've arrived. I wouldn't want him to continue to think I'm not here yet."

He seemed reluctant to remove his hand from her shoulder. Hermione stepped backwards, her eyes still focused on his buttons.

"I would like to speak to you in private later this evening, Miss Dumbledore. After dinner. I will make sure I find you before you leave."

She found breathing difficult. The last thing she wanted to do was spend a moment _alone_ with the Dark Lord. Hermione reached for the doorknob, ignoring the shaking in her hand. Over twenty people were gathered inside the large room sipping on pre-dinner drinks. She recognized most of the faces she was able to see first as people she'd met before in her uncle's home. Before she had the chance to see if she recognized the ones in the back, Regnault spotted her. With a scowl on his usually handsome face, he crossed the room in just a few long strides.

"How nice of you to finally join us, Hermione."

Hermione started to mutter out an explanation or some kind of excuse, but her words were cut off by a hand grabbing her waist. Lord Voldemort stepped up from behind her.

"It's my fault she was as late as she was, Regnault. I stopped her in the corridor as she arrived."

Regnault's anger began to dissipate almost the moment the words slipped out of Voldemort's mouth. Hermione hated that she was grateful to the evil wizard for anything. He smirked at her, but did not release his hold. Concerned she would reveal too much in her face, she turned to look at the faces of the guests she hadn't been able to see earlier. Seeing Igor wasn't a surprise. He nodded once in her direction. Antonin's presence was a bit more alarming. Almost all of the guests were witches and wizards that would one day make up the trusted Inner Circle of Voldemort's Death Eaters. A sinking feeling in her gut made her realize that Antonin was now one of them.

Now that all of his guests were there, Regnault led the group across the corridor to the formal dining room. He moved directly to the head of the table to stand behind the ornate chair. Voldemort escorted Hermione to the chair next to the chair on the Head's right side.

"My Lord, please honor me by taking a seat at the head of the table," said Regnault as he pulled the chair back from the table.

"This is your home, Regnault. I would not dream of usurping your place at the head of your table. I will sit here to your right next to your lovely niece."

Regnault seemed pleased by the seating arrangements. Hermione looked up to see Bellatrix glaring at her from the other side of the table. Even if she hadn't already tortured her in the future, Hermione knew the two women would never be friends. They loathed each other. At least Hermione was subtler than her cousin's wife.

The meal was every bit as lavish as Hermione expected. Course after course arrived on their plates. Unlike normal family dinners, the conversations around the table were lively. She caught both Igor and Antonin staring in her direction at different points during the meal. In an effort to keep the awkwardness to a minimum, she tried to focus entirely on her plate in front of her. There were many courses, each with their own pairing of wine. Despite knowing that she shouldn't drink more than a sip or two of each, Hermione emptied every wine glass.

"You are being awfully quiet this evening, Miss Dumbledore."

"I am simply enjoying listening to the discussions, my Lord. I don't believe I have anything valuable to add."

He smirked and returned to the ongoing debate about wand regulations. By the fifth or sixth course, she was growing tired. The food was too rich to consume more than a small bite or two. Only the wine was imbibed freely. If she wasn't careful, she might have trouble standing up from the table when the meal concluded.

With nothing to add to the conversation, Hermione felt her mind begin to wander. She felt a light touch on her left thigh. Realizing with a shock that Voldemort's hand was underneath the table sliding his fingers across her thigh, she tried to keep her face impassive. The tips of his fingers dipped in between her inner thighs. A quick glance at the wizard proved that he wasn't even looking in her direction. His focus was entirely on Regnault. Though she longed to push his hand away from her leg, Hermione did not want to cause a scene. She was terrified with the familiarity of the touch.

Her gaze did not move from her plate, but she did not have any appetite. She was completely frozen in place. Voldemort's fingers squeezed her thigh slightly. A sudden tingling began in her toes. It was a weird feeling. Slowly, it began moving up her legs. It was all very soft and very subtle. Almost like her legs had fallen asleep. The light tingling ran up to her thighs where his hand was still gripping her.

Once the sensations hit the inside of her thighs, they changed. They became almost like fingers. The touch was still light. Hermione turned her head again to find the wizard was still deep in discussion with Regnault. As she watched him not turn in her direction, the touch moved between her legs. She almost gasped. Trying to remain calm grew harder with each passing second.

Even though his hand was still clutching her thigh and it was not moving, the energy felt exactly like a hand was moving up her dress. Touching her body through the fabric of her knickers. She knew her cheeks heating up, so she grabbed a glass of wine with her shaking hand. When the glass was brought up to her lips, she felt her knickers completely vanish. The suddenness of the disappearance made her gasp out loud.

"Are you all right, Miss Dumbledore?" asked a concerned Abraxas Malfoy on her right.

She tried to assure him that she was all right, but she didn't think she was all that convincing. He continued to stare at her out of the corner of his eye. Hermione closed her eyes and tried to calm her breathing even as the touching grew bolder. Firmer. Something in the spell made it feel more intense. She wanted to scream at him to stop, but was afraid. Drawing attention to herself would be both mortifying and dangerous.

It was a complete violation of her body right there in front of everybody. Even if no one but the two of them knew what was happening, she was humiliated. If anybody else tried to cast the same spell on her without her consent, she wouldn't hesitate to hex them, but he was a wizard unafraid to use a Cruciatus Curse or worse. She had to keep playing the game if she wanted to remain alive.

Every minute that passed the sensations created by the spell grew more intense. It felt like the ghostly fingers were speeding up. Hermione knew that she was flushed. She could feel her breathing growing more rapid no matter how hard she tried to keep it under control.

"Hermione, are you sure you're all right?" Igor inquired from the other end of the table.

All eyes focused on the witch.

"Something not settling right?" questioned Rodolphus. "Rosie has been a bit liberal with the spices lately."

"I'm fine."

Just as she tried to assure the diners that she was all right, one of the fingers felt like it moved inside of her body. She almost choked on her wine. Hermione hated that everything felt so good. It was all just a biological response to her body being stimulated, but she couldn't help that she was attracted to the evil wizard. If she didn't know what he was capable of and how he would turn out, she might even be a willing participant.

She could feel an orgasm building up. She was humiliated. He wasn't going to stop the spell until she had one right there at the table in front of all of those people. Calming her breathing and ceasing the squirming in her chair became impossible. Voldemort was still not looking at her, but she could see an amused smile on his lips.

Hermione bit her bottom lip and closed her eyes. To onlookers she must have looked insane. She was steadily growing past the point where she cared how she looked. Just when she thought she wouldn't be able to take the sensations any longer, one of the most intense orgasms she had ever had tore through her body. Her brain felt fuzzy. It felt almost like an explosion. Somehow she managed to quiet all but a soft squeak. Both Igor and Antonin immediately turned their heads in her direction at the sound. She was too embarrassed to worry what they thought.

As it passed and the trembling in her legs began to dissipate, Voldemort gently squeezed her thigh and removed his hand. Hermione couldn't look anyone in the eye for the rest of the meal. She was very thankful when it was over. All of her wine was gone. There was genuine concern that she would be unable to make it home. She hoped that it wouldn't be much longer before she could sneak away to her private room in the family corridor upstairs.

Once dinner ended, Regnault invited his guests to join him on a walk through the gardens. Even as a host he still maintained his routine. Before Hermione could rise from her chair, Voldemort placed his hand on her wrist.

"I understand that your family's library is one of the best private collections in the country, Miss Dumbledore."

"Yes, my Lord. We are very proud of it."

"Please show it to me."

Hermione was terrified to be alone with her Dark Lord especially after what just happened in the dining room, but she couldn't refuse. Too dangerous. She led him down the corridor to the massive three level library. Her improved relationship with Regnault had the added benefit that she was allowed to visit and borrow from his library whenever she wished.

She gave the Lord Voldemort a brief tour. He stopped her on the second level in a quiet reading nook with several squashy velvet chairs. Hermione hardly had time to register what was happening when he grabbed her wrist and gently pushed her up against one of the bookshelves.

"Diverting dinner, was it not? I thoroughly enjoyed the sixth course. What did you think, Miss Dumbledore?"

"My Lord, why would you use a spell like that on me?"

"It seemed to be a more attractive option than a Cruciatus Curse."

Startled by his words, she looked up to see him smiling.

"Why would you have been afraid I would use that on you in the middle of dinner?"

She couldn't speak. Voldemort pressed his body against hers. He lowered his lips to whisper into her ear.

"You have been improving, but so have I. I believe your shields slip during moments of heightened pleasure. I could always break through them if I truly wanted to, but I fear I'd also break your mind."

Hermione gulped. It had honestly never occurred to her before that moment that her Occlumency shields could falter in _intimate_ moments. The Dark Lord placed his hands on her hips. Just when she thought she couldn't possibly be any more frightened, she surprised herself. She was completely at his mercy. He could do whatever he wanted.

"Your mind intrigues me. I don't want it broken."

He moved his right hand off of her hip and grabs her chin to force her eyes to meet his. She struggled to keep him out. Finally, realizing that he wouldn't be able to break through without causing her irreparable harm, he ran a hand through her hair to the back of her head. He muttered an incantation under her breath. Instantly she was struck with one of the most vivid and intense visions she had ever had.

In the jumble of images flashing through her mind, she witnessed Voldemort throw her over the back of one of the armchairs. He ripped the back of her dress and roughly entered her without much of a warning. The coupling was fierce and painful and more erotic than anything she had ever seen or experienced before. It was over almost as soon as it began.

"You aren't interested in power," he began. "You aren't interested in some kind of pro-Pureblood agenda like so many others. You have more money that you can spend in three lifetimes. You have no interest in an influential career and marriage doesn't seem to interest you either no matter what you say to the contrary. I can only deduce that you truly desire two things: increased knowledge and the feel of a powerful wizard between your thighs. Perhaps I can use this knowledge to my advantage."

She felt his wand poke her in the stomach. A burst of magical energy hit her. She was expecting more of a punch, more of an impact. There was hardly a tingle. Hermione had no idea what he'd done.

"You'll know soon enough what I've done to you, and it won't take long before you are desperate to find me. I'm the only one who can tell you what I did and I'm the only one who can break the spell."

He grabbed her hand and made her touch the front of his trousers. It was easy to feel how hard he was through the fabric. Never did she expect that he would be willing to engage in something as lowly and primitive as sexual intercourse. It seemed beneath him, like something he couldn't possibly be interested in.

"I have the only wand that can break it."

Voldemort released her with a chuckle. He stepped back and turned away to head back towards the stairs. Hermione waited until she heard his footsteps descending the staircase before she collapsed into a chair. She had no idea what spell he cast on her. She was terrified.

* * *

August 9, 1998

 **10:20 am**

Rodolphus Lestrange was escorted into the interview room in chains only minutes after his younger brother was removed. Kingsley rose from his chair when he entered. It had been years since they were last in the same room together. The Minister almost didn't recognize the wizard. Neither spoke until the prisoner was chained to the table.

"Is that necessary?" he asked the guards.

"Minister Shacklebolt, this is a dangerous criminal. You are too valuable to be left alone with him unprotected."

There had never been a moment in the long years since he first met Rodolphus that Kingsley ever felt unsafe. Even when they were enemies fighting on opposite sides, none of Rodolphus' curses ever seemed to make their mark. He once believed that he was intentionally not hitting his target, but as it became clear what a dangerous Death Eater he was, Kingsley stopped believing.

"How are you, Rodolphus?"

It seemed as good a way to begin a conversation as any other. They had a lot to discuss. The older wizard nodded his head and attempted a small smile. Like his brother, he seemed so altered from the man that his witch adored so much. Rodolphus had been a frequent visitor to their small London home. He loved his cousin fiercely and often needed an escape from the horrible woman he was forced to marry.

"I'm all right, Kingsley. Thank you."

The uncomfortable silence fell back between them.

"She always said you would be the Minister for Magic. Congratulations, Kingsley."

"Thank you."

Before he could talk himself out of it, Kingsley blurted out that Hermione Dumbledore was actually a time traveler named Hermione Granger. He explained how he always suspected that there was something strange about the Granger girl, but it was only when she went missing that he began to piece it all together. Kingsley told him how when he cornered Antonin Dolohov the Death Eater admitted to being responsible. Rodolphus sat in his chair staring at the Minister without speaking.

"After the Department of Mysteries, I always wondered if there wasn't something more to Miss Granger," Rodolphus admitted when he had time to process the confession. "When we were broken out of Azkaban for the second time, I read everything about her I could get my hands on. Once I thought she might have been Hermione's daughter with Antonin. No one would blame her for changing the girl's name. Dolohov isn't an easy last name to carry around."

"I thought she was Hermione's daughter when I first met her too. Rushed off to confront Aberforth. It seemed impossible that that Hermione _was_ our Hermione."

"Antonin always was a bit unstable. I'm not surprised."

Kingsley wasn't certain if Rodolphus was actually believing him or if he was too polite to call the Minister for Magic a liar. Either way, he didn't care.

"I thought you and Rabastan deserved to know the truth before the papers."

"I appreciate that, Kingsley."

Rodolphus had always been a gentle, polite man. The wizard seated across the table was only a shadow of the man he once was. It saddened Kingsley. If he was responsible for all of the atrocities he committed, he wouldn't feel so bad that he'd spent so much time in Azkaban. Remembering Rabastan's plea that he find out the truth, Kingsley sighed.

"What _really_ happened that night, Rodolphus? At the Longbottoms'."


	52. Chapter 52

_**Author's Note: I have finally added a new scene to the Additional Scenes story. More information about it will be available at the end of this chapter.**_

* * *

Chapter Fifty-Two

October 12, 1974

 **10:50 pm**

It had taken her a long time to calm down enough after his abrupt exit before she was able to force her way back down to the ground floor. Her uncle was just leading the group back inside the manor from their walk around the gardens when she entered the main entrance hall.

"You look flushed, my dear. Are you feeling ill?"

She hated that all of the eyes of the dinner party guests were focused on her in that moment. All Hermione wanted was to rush home. Even if she was almost too intoxicated to make it back to Hogsmeade safely, she wanted as far away from the manor and the Dark Lord as possible.

"Yes, Uncle. I'm not feeling well. I think I should go home."

"Nonsense. You should stay here tonight. I can owl our family Healer to come here immediately."

Regnault did not lower his voice when making his offer. Hermione was weary of being the subject of such scrutiny. Hadn't she had enough during that horrible sixth course? She would never get over that humiliation as long she lived. It didn't help that both Igor and Antonin were staring at her, clearly curious to know what was wrong.

"That's not necessary, Uncle. Thank you. I would like to go home."

"Absolutely not, Hermione. You are in danger of Splinching yourself if you try to Apparate to Scotland in this condition."

Arguing with her uncle in front of the onlookers was just the perfect ending to an already horrible evening. Their combined stubbornness could mean that their row would last long enough for her to sober up on her own. Hermione wished she'd had the presence of mind to carry a Sober Up potion in her bag. Usually she was prepared, but for whatever reason, she hadn't replenished her stock of potions in her bag.

"I was just about to leave, Regnault. Allow me to escort your charming niece home. It would be the least I could do to thank you for such a lovely evening."

Voldemort's arm snaked around her waist in an overly intimate movement that went unnoticed by no one in the room. Hermione couldn't think straight when he was around her. What if her fear caused her shields to crash and he was able to learn she was from the future? Her life would be in severe danger.

"Thank you for the offer, my Lord, but I can make it home by myself."

"I insist, Miss Dumbledore." He lowered his voice so that she was the only one who could hear his next words. "It will give me the opportunity to see where you live. I think I'd rather like to know where I can find you at all times."

The sudden tightening of his grip left no room for argument. She accepted a kiss on the cheek from her uncle and her cousin. Bellatrix did not even try to hide her anger at the familiarity of her escort's touch. Clearly they were never going to be close despite Rodolphus' fondest wishes. Hermione would not put it past Bellatrix to curse her in the back when she thought no one else was looking. She would need to remember Mad Eye's advice. Constant vigilance, indeed.

She could feel unfriendly eyes following her out the front door. Whether they belonged to Bellatrix or one of her exes, she had no idea. Hermione did not trust herself to keep her composure if she looked up. It was hard enough to keep her wits about her with the feel of Lord Voldemort's hand still on her body. He seemed in no rush to relinquish his hold.

Neither of them spoke the entire walk down to the main gates. Only once they were outside of the Lestrange Family wards did the Dark Lord turn to face her again. There was a clear smile on his features that made Hermione's stomach flip. Any other man looking at her like she was a treat to be devoured and she might be flattered. Not with him. He might have been devastatingly handsome, but she knew enough about him to be able to look past his exterior. He would have already created more than a couple of horcruxes at that point. How could he seem so normal that no one else recognized he was practically a soulless being with his various pieces of soul inhabiting items other than his body?

"I find myself rather amused by you, Miss Dumbledore," he stated as he gripped her arm to prepare to Side-Along Apparate her to Hogsmeade. "I can tell that you are desperate to know what just happened up in the library, but too prideful to ask."

"Would it matter if I did?" she asked, surprising herself with her boldness. "You seem to enjoy playing with your food before you actually consume it."

His laughter brought chills up and down her spine. If she knew how to make it so he never laughed again in her presence, she would do just about anything. It was a sound that brought back so many painful memories. So much needless loss and agony. Why could the horrible wizard not be satisfied with just knowing he couldn't be killed? Why did he have to create an army and try to take over their world?

Before he answered, Voldemort spun them in place. The squeeze of the Apparition almost brought up all of the wine Hermione had consumed over dinner. She never cared for Side-Along. Using someone else's magic to propel one to another place was difficult on the system. She much preferred when she was in control. One thing was certain, though. As long as she was in Tom Riddle's presence, she would _never_ be in control.

They landed just outside the Shrieking Shack in the exact spot that Hermione used to prefer to land. Only when Greyback made it clear that he would continue to bother her did she make the patch of grass just next to her father's pub her normal Apparition point. Realizing that the evil wizard had plans to accompany her through the village to her father's front door was a sobering thought. The walk through the woods surrounding the village was long and rarely travelled once the sun went down.

"Ahh, but I might be enticed to share at least some of my secrets with you if you had but asked, Miss Dumbledore. Now I feel like it would be more amusing for me for you to figure it all out on your own."

His grip on her arm slackened only slightly as he led her down the path towards the main street of the village. Hermione didn't understand what was happening. If he wanted her dead, she would already be dead. If he wanted to torture her beyond what he'd already accomplished at the dinner table, she had no doubt that she would be lying on the cold ground sobbing as waves of the Cruciatus Curse passed through her body. If he truly wanted to further their acquaintance in a more intimate manner, she would not put it past him to force himself on an unwilling partner.

So what did he want? He claimed he wanted her for the prestige that her families would offer his small group of followers. She knew it was more because he wanted to infuriate her Uncle Albus. It had taken many decades before the Dumbledore family was no longer associated with the taint of Percival's attack on the Muggles that assaulted his daughter. Because of his silence and refusal to admit that he had harmed the Muggles because of what they did to innocent Ariana out of fear that she would be locked up for the rest of her life in St. Mungo's, he was labeled a Muggle-hater. Most of the Purebloods from the old families couldn't care less privately if one of their own attacked those they deemed to be inferior beings. In public, however, Percival was condemned. He risked exposure of Muggles to the existence of their world. He had to be punished.

Her Uncle Albus worried about perception every bit as much as her Uncle Regnault. Hermione had lost count the number of times that he spent part of their semi-regular teas discussing the importance of her behaving herself properly as befitted a Dumbledore. She also lost count the number of times she rolled her eyes when he did. If Albus knew that she was practically being seduced to become one of Voldemort's Death Eaters for the simple fact that she bore his last name, she did not know what he would do. She was too terrified to find out. Albus might have fooled a number of people in the past and in the future into believing that he was simply a wise, benevolent old man, but she was no longer one of them.

"Are you still hoping that I will lend you my public support?" Hermione asked when she trusted herself to speak again. "Because I think you already know that you have my support."

"Do I indeed?"

The Dark Lord ceased his steps. Hermione wasn't expecting an abrupt end to his movement and crashed right into his body. She hated that her first thought was to remark upon how firm his chest actually was. Honestly, she was no better than those slags she knew from school who were only interested in physical encounters with the opposite sex. Yes, his deductions in the library were not incorrect. She did desire increasing her knowledge. And of course, she couldn't deny the fact that she enjoyed the time she spent in bed with wizards that knew what they were doing. Those weren't the _only_ things she was interested in, however. Somehow she didn't get the feeling that the most powerful Dark wizard the world would ever know would be amused to learn she held a soft spot for the abused and neglected creatures of their world. He would see that as a weakness that needed to be squashed.

"I have no reason to _not_ support you, my Lord. I do feel a bit confused by the amount of attention you have been paying me since we met. I'm still trying to figure out just what it is about me that you seem to find so fascinating when I feel like I am nothing special at all."

Voldemort's impressive physique suddenly pinned Hermione's much smaller body up against the trunk of a tree. It was a moment reminiscent of the night she was cornered in the woods by Greyback. Did he know what happened that night? Was it a deliberate move on his part to make her anxious and bring up uncomfortable memories? She stopped her mind from wandering too far. Of course it was a deliberate move. Hadn't she discovered already that he was a wizard that liked to plan out his moves at least ten steps ahead of everyone else? Life was simply one long, drawn-out game of chess to the man who was already becoming a monster.

"You are wrong, _Hermione_. There is something very special about you. Something that sets you apart from all of the other simpering, boring witches who seem determined to catch my eye. You intrigue me beyond all others and I want to know _why_. There are many other witches who are prettier than you are, though physical beauty has never been what attracted me to a witch or even a wizard in the past. I can feel you are powerful even if you waste your talents mucking out rat cages and pouring drinks for drunks who don't deserve to be in the same room as you."

She didn't know what to say or even what to think. Perhaps her fear of being around him had been evident from the moment they first met. He was the kind of predator that could smell a prey's fear from a mile away. Maybe he was able to sense something that night under the white tent in Regnault's gardens. Subconsciously, he was attracted to the only person alive who knew exactly how to bring about his downfall. There had to be something deeply psychologically telling about that fact.

"What is it, my girl? Why do I think of you so often? You are nothing more than a silly girl."

"Yes, my Lord. There's nothing special about me at all. Not even…"

Her words were cut off by the hungry press of his mouth against hers. Of all of the actions that she was expecting next, being snogged up against the tree by the Dark Lord was not even in the top one hundred. It seemed more likely that he would flay her alive and leave her crumpled on the floor of the forest for scavenging animals to finish her off. Or that he would boil her blood. Or hit her right in the chest with an Avada.

She hated that he tasted of an intoxicating mixture of mint and fire whiskey. Shouldn't he taste of ashes and bitterness? She hated that it only took a moment for the shock of his actions to wear off before she was enthusiastically returning the ardor of the moment. What would Harry think if he ever found out that she allowed He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named to ravage the inside of her mouth with his skilled tongue? Her best friend would never forgive her for even entertaining an improper thought about the wizard who would go on to murder his parents in a few years. And not only _allowed_ but participated? Harry would never speak to her again and rightly so.

Tom Riddle's hands would not stay in one place on her body. As he bruised her lips and nipped at her jaw, he allowed his hands to brush over parts of the witch that he'd only allowed magic to wash over during the dinner party. Hermione hated herself for moaning into his mouth when his hands cupped her arse. Hated herself for allowing her mind to return to the vision he'd planted in her mind when they were in the library alone. Hated herself for wrapping her arms around his neck and reaching for the dark brown waves in his hair.

"Who is Harry?" he asked as his tongue traced the sensitive line of her neck that led to her collarbone.

The sound of her best friend's name coming out of his mouth brought Hermione back to a startling reality. Had he placed her under some sort of sick spell to even entertain the idea of him touching her? Was that what he did in the library? Hearing Harry's name reminded her instantly that she needed to strengthen her shields. Clearly they were slipping if he was trying to read her thoughts and uncover her most private memories while they were otherwise occupied.

She gently pushed back from the wizard still intent on lavishing every exposed inch of skin on her shoulders with his tongue. It took a couple of tries before he stood to his full height with an amused chuckle. The headiness of the moment dissipated almost instantly when she saw his face awash in moonlight. Yes, it had to have been some kind of bewitchment. There was no other way to describe how she could allow the evil monster such liberties.

"Well, my hypothesis is certainly correct. You struggle with your Occlumency shields when you are engaged in more pleasurable activities. It's a shame that neither Karkaroff nor the Dolohov boy are skilled Legilimens. I'm certain they could have uncovered every single secret you possess in one delightful evening."

Though his mouth was no longer on her and his hands were resting firmly on her hips, Voldemort did not remove his body from hers. Hermione was trapped and entirely at his mercy. She tried not to dwell on those distressing facts for fear that he would be able to slip into her panic-induced mind with no resistance. Even just _suspecting_ that she knew about his horcruxes could get her killed in a painfully bloody manner.

"I can be patient. I think it will be more amusing to wait for _you_ to approach me."

He seemed so certain that she would seek him out. Hermione could only imagine that he had done something truly terrible and Dark. She had to get away from him to think properly.

"I should be getting home, my Lord. I do not wish for my father to worry."

Voldemort stepped backwards with a deep laugh. Once she knew that she could get free from his clutches, Hermione did not hesitate to move. Only three steps away from the tree, she felt his now-familiar hand grasp her waist again.

"I promised your uncle that I would see you home safely, Miss Dumbledore. What kind of trusted friend would I be if I allowed you to run off on your own in these woods? I have heard rumors that there are dangerous werewolves that like to prowl this area."

The chuckle after his words made her entire body erupt in goosebumps. She wished she could curse him for his remark. Why would he bring up Greyback in that moment? Just to torture her? Just to remind her that he had the ability to keep her protected from the hated werewolf if she only allowed him to mark her arm? That wasn't a good enough reason to turn her life over to his darkness.

Knowing that she would be fighting a losing battle if she tried to argue with him to leave her alone, Hermione sighed. She set her course for home and didn't slow down her steps. Unfortunately, his long legs meant that he was able to keep up her pace without even letting go of his hold on her waist. Through her sheer determination to not prolong their evening any longer than was absolutely necessary, they were through the woods and on High Street before much time passed at all.

As they were passing the darkened storefront of Scrivenshaft's, Hermione was surprised to see Thomas walking out of his grandmother's store. She couldn't imagine what he was doing there so late at night. He didn't even live in Hogsmeade. While the Wizengamot was in session, he stayed in his parents' home in London. There was talk of him getting a flat with Antonin, but their plans never made it out of the talking phase. When his eyes landed on Hermione walking through the village with the older wizard, Thomas seemed confused.

"Hermione…"

"Hi, Thomas. How are you?" She tried to keep her voice calm, tried to keep it from being obvious that she was nervous.

"I'm all right. What are…"

"Hermione, dear, are you going to introduce me to your friend?"

She closed her eyes tightly and took a deep breath. Why the sudden change in the way her addressed her? All she needed was for Thomas or anyone else to get the wrong idea about her… she hesitated to even _think_ the word "relationship" with the Dark Lord. Acquaintance?

"My Lord, this is Thomas Shacklebolt."

He all but pushed her out of the way to reach for Thomas' outstretched hand. Voldemort seemed very pleased to be meeting her friend. She hated the predatory expression on his face.

"Yes, I have heard a lot about you, Mr. Shacklebolt. Your best mate Antonin seems to think a great deal about you. He believes that you will one day be a well-respected member of the Ministry. You are clerking for your father now, is that right?"

"Yes, and my mother too."

"Of course. Your mother is a Shafiq, is she not? Two very influential families you are a part of."

A sinking feeling in her gut told Hermione that she was witnessing what may very well be the beginning of Voldemort's attempt to seduce another poor soul to his Death Eaters. She didn't know about Thomas' future. With a Muggle girlfriend, it seemed unlikely that he would ever get involved with a group of people who seemed willing to eradicate them from the earth. They had no qualms ending the lives of any Muggles who got in their way. Surely he would have an issue with that if he loved Grace so much. Of course, it would make sense why he had never heard about Kingsley's older brother when she was in the future. If he made the wrong decision, his hotheaded Gryffindor brother may have been unable or unwilling to forgive him.

"It seems an awful shame that a son of two such prominent families would be forced to resort to stealing from his own grandmother."

Hermione's jaw dropped at the Dark Lord's words. Thomas' inability to look either of them in the eye was all the proof she needed to know he spoke the truth. Likely he was reading Thomas' mind the moment they walked up on him. She couldn't imagine what would make him steal from Margie, but hoped that there was some legitimate reason. At the very least it was encouraging to see that he was embarrassed.

"Not to worry, Mr. Shacklebolt. It will be our little secret. Hermione won't mention anything either," Voldemort declared. "It does concern me though. Perhaps I can be of some service in helping you find a better paying position."

It angered her that there was a spark of interest in Thomas' eye. The Shacklebolts were a family that lived comfortably, but simply. None of them ever had to worry where the next meal was coming from or where they would sleep. There was _enough_ money and very little extra. If Voldemort was able to hook her friend in just with the promise of a more lucrative career… She shook her head. No, Thomas would not willingly follow anyone whose followers referred to as the "Dark Lord". He was the kind of person who would laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation instead.

"Just something to keep in mind. It was a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Shacklebolt. I'm certain we will be seeing each other again very soon."

Lord Voldemort resumed his walk towards The Hog's Head, pulling Hermione along as he went. They did not speak again until they were in front of the well-lit windows of the pub. It was a busy night inside. If she was not careful and firm in her resolve, she might be talked into helping out. All she really wanted was to escape into her bedroom and begin the process of attempting to forget that night ever happened.

"I trust you can see yourself the rest of the way."

She didn't even hide the roll of her eyes from the evil wizard. Instead of being offended by what her uncle would call 'appalling manners' he seemed amused once more. Voldemort leaned down to brush his lips against her cheek in farewell. He took his leave only moments later to her great relief.

Aberforth didn't even stop her when she came rushing into the pub. Simply watched her disappear into the private section of the pub. She was grateful.

* * *

October 16, 1974

 **11:05 am**

As each day passed following her private meeting in the Lestrange Manor's library with Lord Voldemort and the subsequent walk home, Hermione grew ever more paranoid. Once inside the privacy of her bedroom, she examined her entire body for any visible marks that might explain just what the spell was that he cast on her. None were present. Without any kind of clue, she didn't even know where to begin to research what spell Riddle used on her. It could be anything.

Days passed where nothing happened. She wasn't sure what to expect exactly, but he had been very clear in his promise that she would learn soon enough what the spell he cast on her would do. Even promised that she would be the one to seek him out. With all of the uncertainty of what might happen, she was almost too nervous to leave the pub. At least there she felt safe.

On the Wednesday morning following the dinner party, she forced herself to leave the pub to help in the store. Caradoc still visited his grandmother faithfully every Wednesday. It wasn't fair to him or to her that she take that time away from them just because she was nervous about what might or might not happen to her. Once she was inside the Magical Menagerie, she felt more comfortable. She liked routine. Cleaning the cages and sweeping the floor didn't feel like drudgery.

Just a few minutes after eleven she started to feel extremely flushed. It was a gradual feeling. One moment she began to feel a bit warm. Several minutes passed of the warmth growing hotter and hotter. She had a heavy jumper on. Thinking that removing it would be enough, she peeled it off. She really hoped that she wasn't getting sick. That was another complication in her life that she didn't need. Aberforth was positively obnoxious in his own sweet way when she was under the weather. She wasn't sure she could handle much of his coddling and constant surveillance.

A single customer entered the store searching for owl treats. As she led him over to the shelves containing their wide selection, Hermione felt herself start to sweat. She was mortified. Never did she perspire so much! Concerned by what the customer might think if he saw her up close, she stepped a few feet away.

Just like the night in the library, she was suddenly struck with the most erotic vision her brain could ever think up. It was so vivid she could almost imagine it was really happening just feet away. Lord Voldemort had her pushed up against the shelves with the rat tonic. Vials were shaking and tumbling over as he thrust roughly in and out of her. Nothing about it was gentle. She was screaming, begging him for more. Voldemort simply increased his already punishing pace.

The customer was staring at her with an expression of fear and worry on his wrinkled face when the vision finally ended. Hermione felt beads of sweat dripping down her face. Other parts of her body still seemed to be reacting to what she just witnessed in her hallucination. Why did the evil man have to be so handsome? Bewitchment. There was no other way to describe what was happening to her.

"You should really go to St. Mungo's, miss. You don't look well."

Hermione began to calm down slightly. Her breathing slowed. Her temperature lowered. By the time she rang the customer's purchase up and sent him out the door, she was almost completely back to normal. Pleased that she was feeling better, Hermione hit herself in the face with a cold aguamenti spell. It helped to bring her temperature down most of the way.

"You really should see a Healer," Caradoc declared only moments after he arrived at noon. "Hermione, love, you don't look all right."

She shrugged off his concerns. After kissing his cheek in farewell, Hermione stepped out into Diagon Alley. The cool October air felt good on her still-flushed cheeks. She wasn't sure what to do next. If she went directly home to Hogsmeade to help her dad, he would inevitably notice the flush in her cheeks and the sweat that was still clinging to her skin. He never missed anything. Just like the customer and Caradoc, he would insist that she see a Healer. What would happen if she went? Would they discover the spell she was under? And if they did, how could she possibly explain it? No, it was better to just try to figure it out on her own.

With no serious plans on how to fill the remainder of her day, Hermione headed to Knockturn Alley. There was a used bookstore she'd been in several times with a wide selection of books she probably shouldn't read. If what Voldemort did to her was Dark, which she highly suspected it was, that would be the best place to start in her research.

It was a quiet afternoon in Knockturn Alley. Most businesses didn't pick up until evenings in that part of London. She loved the feel of being able to walk through the Alley. Though she _never_ would have admitted it to Harry or Ron, she had always been curious about what she could find in Knockturn Alley. Both of her boys talked about it in almost reverent whispers. It was dangerous. Only Dark witches and wizards weren't afraid to be in there. Her status as a Muggleborn in the future made it a bit less friendly, but she always wanted to explore the shops.

Her last name might have been Dumbledore, but Hermione was widely known as being more of a Lestrange in certain circles. As Regnault Lestrange's niece, no one batted an eye when they saw her walk down Knockturn Alley in expensive robes that most of its inhabitants could never hope to afford. The shopkeepers in the dodgiest of shops always fawned over her when she graced their threshold. They desired her family's galleons and would do just about anything to get them.

The store she entered was almost empty. Not that she was surprised. Many of their regular customers would wait for the cover of night to slip inside. She had no such fear that she was being watched by the Ministry. Being a Dumbledore also had certain perks she had come to find out. So many of the mindless automatons working within the walls of the Ministry respected her Uncle Albus so much that they could never imagine any member of his family would knowingly do something Dark and nefarious. Hermione had no fear that she could successfully argue that her interest in the contents of that bookstore were for purely academic reasons if pressed.

Only one other customer was wandering through the cramped, cluttered aisles of the shop. Clearly a tall man, she could see his head above the shelves in the back of the store. The shopkeeper rushed over to her with a wide smile on his strikingly unattractive face.

"What a pleasure to see you again, Miss Dumbledore. Is there something in particular you are looking for?"

Hermione returned the smile and told him she was just looking. She was not going to admit what she was there for. It would be too embarrassing. She wanted to know everything she could on spells that would give her such strong visions. The wizarding society was somewhat repressive in its views on light and dark magic. Sex magic was definitely considered dark magic. She and Igor had had many lively debates and discussions about how to British Ministry of Magic was wrong in its conclusions.

A pang of sadness struck her at the thought of her ex. She missed Igor dreadfully. They might have said they would try to remain friends, but so far, they'd been unsuccessful. Other than a few words exchanged at dinner parties and various other parties their social set was always throwing, they hadn't really spoken since the night they ended their relationship. Nothing more than a hurtful sentence here and there. They used to spend hours talking and arguing. Sometimes their disagreements would be interrupted for a few minutes for a fierce session of sex that never seemed to affect their debates when it was over.

She hated to admit, even to just herself, that she had been lonely for months. Nothing seemed to be going right in her personal life. She couldn't fault Kingsley for getting back with his ex, even just days after they kissed. How was he to know that she and Antonin wouldn't patch up their disagreement? She couldn't blame him for seizing the opportunity when it presented itself. After all, she told him not to wait for her.

Hermione even missed Antonin. He wasn't the right wizard for her by any stretch of the imagination, but at times it was all too easy to forget all of the bad times and just remember the good. Antonin had a terrifying temper that she knew would only grow more intense with age. Just thinking about it made her wrist twinge where he almost broke it. She couldn't be naïve enough to believe they could ever have a happy, stable relationship.

Just because he had _potential_ to be a good man did not make him a good man. At times, it was easy to forget that he would one day torture Muggles just for the fun of it. He would also be part of a group of Death Eaters that murdered the Prewett twins. And those were only the crimes she _knew_ about. No doubt there were a great number that he got away with.

She returned her focus to the books on the shelves. A previous visit to the shop gave her some idea where she needed to search for the most useful books on the topic. There was no use thinking about Antonin. He would only make her miserable. She would only make him miserable. They quite simply did not work. He might seem like the broody, misunderstood, serious man with a heart of gold underneath his complicated, dangerous persona like the obnoxious romance novels seemed to be full of, but reality was much different.

No one should ever want to wake up next to a man with a hairline trigger who accused her of cheating on him constantly. It was exhausting and completely untrue. When did she ever cheat on him anyway? Yes, sending messages to Igor that night was wrong. She would never deny that it wasn't. But after that? Antonin was always so quick to accuse her of cheating on him with Igor whenever they were in the same room together. And then after New Year's that horrible, horrible night, he even accused her of having an affair with Ted Tonks! It was ridiculous. As if _any_ other woman in the world was capable of turning Ted's head away from Andromeda. Once he thought she was sitting too close to Thomas. Was she looking for a reason to leave him for his best mate? It was exhausting.

Kissing Kingsley had been an impulsive move that she wouldn't regret. Hours earlier she had had yet another argument with Antonin because of his jealousy. Spending a couple of hours with a man who didn't seem to need to remind her what an untrustworthy liar she was had been nice. Besides, that certainly wasn't cheating. Antonin had already made it painfully clear in the middle of Diagon Alley that as long as she wore Igor's necklace, they would not be together again.

The only thing that she couldn't deny was the fact that she was a liar. Just as he said. Lying was second nature to her by that point. She'd been in the past over three years. It was how she stayed alive. If half of the people she met since arriving even _suspected_ she wasn't who she said she was, she would be in very serious danger. Antonin couldn't know the truth either. Likely he wouldn't even believe her if she tried to explain it to him.

Tucked away in the darkest corner of the entire store, way in the back, was a collection of books she'd stumbled upon in her last visit. Hermione carefully surveyed the immediate area, hoping that no one could see what she was looking at. It would make for an awkward discussion. She pulled several books off of the shelves without looking at the contents. Money was not an issue. They could all be taken back home where she could read them without fear.

The sound of footsteps on the creaky wooden floor just behind her startled her enough that she dropped the stack of books she was carrying. As she bent down to pick them up off the floor, she felt another wave of dizziness and heat rush to her face. Another embarrassingly vivid vision appeared in her mind. Voldemort knelt behind her on the floor where he had her pushed down on her stomach. Her cheek lay on the dirty hardwoods while he gripped her hips tightly and plunged in and out of her trembling body.

Just like the others, the vision was over almost as soon as it began. Hermione could feel her heart racing. The temperature in the shop felt stifling. She wanted to get out of there before the walls started closing in on her.

"Miss Dumbledore, let me get those for you."

The shopkeeper clearly belonged to the footsteps she heard just behind her moments before she had the vision. He gently pushed past her to pick up all of the dropped books. She was grateful. If she had to spend another moment leaned over, she was concerned she would topple over. Her head felt light and she was still very dizzy.

She followed the short wizard to the front of the small shop. As she stood at the counter waiting for him to ring up her purchases, she felt a presence just behind her shoulder. Startled, Hermione spun around swiftly to come face to face with Igor. He had been too far away when she first entered the store to realize he was the other customer.

"Are you all right, Hermione?" he asked.

Despite knowing he was truly concerned about her well-being, Hermione rolled her eyes. She was growing weary of that question. No, she was _not_ all right. Whatever Voldemort cursed her with was wreaking havoc on her body and making her fear that she was losing her mind.

"I'm fine, Igor. Thank you."

She turned back around to face the shopkeeper. When he stated the price of her purchases, Hermione dug around in her pocket for her beaded bag. Cursing under her breath, she checked all of her pockets. She remembered taking it out earlier in the shop when she was looking for a handkerchief. A customer came in moments after that and she must have forgotten to put it back in her pocket. Not only was she was without any money, she felt ill at ease being without that bag. It had been a constant part of her since before she went on the horcrux hunt with the boys.

"I'm afraid I left my purse at home," she announced. "Can you hold those for me and I will be back?"

"Your uncle has a charge account here. Would you like me to charge it to him?"

"No."

There was no hesitation in her response. Regnault would be extremely curious to know just why she was purchasing books on a subject better left unstudied. He would be relentless in either his quest for knowledge or in his lecturing about how good girls didn't concern themselves with sex magic.

"Thank you. I will be back shortly. Igor, always a pleasure to see you."

Hermione practically ran from the store. She needed to get out of there before she dissolved into a panic. It was getting harder to breathe amidst all of the musty, dusty, old books. She was grateful again for the cool air. By the time she walked back to the Magical Menagerie, she was almost calm again.

Caradoc was seated behind the front counter sifting through a stack of papers she assumed to be the inventory. At the tinkle of the bell above the door, he looked up with a smile. It quickly morphed into a frown. He stood up from his chair to walk around the counter.

"I forgot my bag."

"I put it in Roddy's office."

"Thank you."

He called after her, but she didn't stop. Finding her bag and her discarded jumper wasn't difficult once inside the office. She shoved the clothing into the recesses of her bag before returning to the main room of the store. One step out of the back and she groaned. Igor stood next to Caradoc holding the stack of books she left behind.

"Charodeyka, do you mind answering some questions I have about your choice of reading materials?"

* * *

August 9, 1998

 **10:30 am**

Rodolphus Lestrange did not look particularly anxious to go over the details of what was likely one of the worst nights of his life. Not that Kingsley could blame the man. He could imagine that memories of that night haunted him every day. How could it not? Kingsley had been one of the aurors that investigated the torture of the Longbottoms. It had been the worst case he had ever worked on in his entire career as an auror.

"What do you want to know about that for?" Rodolphus finally asked after a long pause.

"Rabastan said…"

The older wizard sighed and lowered his eyes.

"Rabastan tried to convince you that I'm innocent?"

"Well… _yes_."

"How could I possibly be innocent, Kingsley? Did I point my wand at either of those poor souls and curse them? No. I did not. But that does not make me innocent."

"If you didn't curse them…"

"I also didn't _stop_ it. We are too quick to call bystanders 'innocent' when they were able to stop an atrocity from happening."

Kingsley didn't see that he was going to get anywhere productive with the man. Clearly years of miring in his own sense of guilt within the maddening walls of the prison had altered Rodolphus. Perhaps he even believed that he was responsible. It didn't matter. The Minister made a promise to Rabastan that he would uncover the truth of that night. Blackmail or not, it was his responsibility to find out if his department conducted a fair investigation years earlier.

"May I have your memories from that night?"

Rodolphus' eyes shot back up to meet Kingsley's. They were wide and confused. His request clearly caught the other wizard by surprise. Both men stared at each other for several long pauses before the elder reluctantly nodded his head. A simple conjuring spell provided an empty vial. Kingsley muttered an incantation while Rodolphus focused on what were sure to be horrific recollections of that night. Once the Minister had the silvery strands of memories removed from the prisoner's head safely sealed in the vial, he returned to his seat.

"I read in the paper that…" Rodolphus seemed unsure how to continue. Kingsley didn't push him. They had all the time they needed. "I read that Nymphadora was amongst the casualties at Hogwarts."

"Yes, I'm afraid she was."

"That night when Potter was being moved, Bellatrix was determined to murder her niece. Said she brought shame to their family or some such rubbish. I did what I could to keep her alive. Even moved myself straight into a curse to shield her from her aunt. I wish… I wish I had seen her at Hogwarts. I would've tried what I could."

His voice grew softer with each word he spoke. Kingsley knew the story. Hermione had told him in confidence how her cousin had never stopped loving Andromeda. It was a tragic story. One that could have been avoided in so many different ways.

"And Ted Tonks also?"

"I'm afraid so."

Rodolphus sighed deeply. If regret was an audible sound, he would have captured it perfectly.

"How is Andromeda?"

"She's hurting, but she's a strong woman."

"I think about her often."

Their discussion did not last much longer. Rodolphus seemed almost relieved when the guards came back in to escort him back to his cell. Once upon a time the two men could sit across from each other with a cup of tea or a glass of whiskey in one hand and talk for hours. Their mutual love for Hermione helped to forge a friendship that Kingsley once cherished. It seemed too much to hope for that there might ever be a day when they could return to something similar.

Hours later as he emerged from the pensieve in his overly ornate office in the Ministry, Kingsley felt sick to his stomach. Not only was Rodolphus innocent of the crime he was thrown into Azkaban for, but in Kingsley's opinion, he was a hero. He wouldn't be able to live with himself if he didn't fight for that man's freedom.

Shrinking his pensieve and slipping it into his pocket, Kingsley headed out the door of his office. There was someone else who needed to see the memories.

* * *

 _ **2**_ _ **nd**_ _ **Author's Note: If you're feeling kind of cheated by the lack of details of what happened the night at the Longbottoms, please don't! It worked better to write it as an additional scene from Rodolphus' POV. It is available now as Chapter Eight in the Additional Scenes story also on my profile.**_


	53. Chapter 53

Chapter Fifty-Three

October 16, 1974

 **1:10 pm**

Hermione wasn't sure why she was surprised to see Igor standing in the middle of the shop waving about the stack of books she abandoned in the used bookstore. No doubt he paid for them only seconds after she stepped out the door into Knockturn Alley. The shopkeeper wouldn't dare give up a sure sale on one that _might_ come back later. He probably ran outside the store and tracked her movements to the Magical Menagerie. She should've looked behind her a few times as she made her way to retrieve her beaded bag. Hadn't she learned by then to always be more aware of her surroundings?

Igor was not the type of curious soul to give up his inquiries just because he faced a little bit of initial resistance. She'd learned that lesson the hard way several times in the years she'd known the Russian wizard. Besides, he had very _persuasive_ methods to uncover the information he desired when he put his mind to it. She tried to ignore the sudden heat to her cheeks at the thought of a few of his more effective devices.

Determined to not let him dissuade her from not telling the truth, Hermione crossed the length of the shop in only seconds. When she tried to reach for the tattered, old books in his hands, Igor deftly moved them out of the way of her grasp. Frustrated, she tried again. Clearly amused by the circumstances, Igor held the books over his head and out of her reach. She really hated it when taller people used her lack of height against her. It was frustrating. Antonin had done it more times than she cared for in the past. Ron had too.

"This is none of your business, Igor. Give those back."

"Well, I did buy them," he responded with a smirk, clearly amused. "So technically, I can do whatever I want with them."

Hermione dug the exact amount of money out of her purse that the shopkeeper requested. She tried to give him the coins, but he refused to take it no matter how often she insisted.

"I'm very curious about these books, Charodeyka. "Sex magic"? Tsk tsk. What proper witch would concern herself with such a _salacious_ subject?"

If she hadn't been so annoyed with him, Hermione might have been encouraged by the fact that he was teasing her again. Igor sounded so much like he used to before all of the unpleasantness happened between them. Perhaps there was a bit of a thaw coming.

"And I believe I told you that maybe I'm not a nice, proper witch, Igor."

The now-familiar sensation of feeling lightheaded suddenly struck her again. Hermione's entire body felt scorching. She was dizzy and worried she was about to fall over. Another vision just like she'd had assaulted her senses. Lord Voldemort had her pushed against a tall hedge in the formal gardens on the Lestrange Estate. He was kissing her fiercely and running his hands all over her body just like Igor did the night of her horrible debut party. It was every bit as intense as the others. She wished she knew how to make them stop. At this rate, she would be mad before much longer.

As soon as the vision ended and her dizziness began to clear up, Hermione looked up to see two matching expression of worry on the faces of the two wizards present. They each seemed almost frightened for her. Neither of them were smiling any longer. Igor rushed forward to feel her heated cheeks. He conjured a cool, wet rag to wipe the boiling sweat off of her face. Also needing to do something to help, Caradoc filled her a glass of water. Hermione greedily drank the icy liquid.

"What just happened?" asked Igor.

"What did it look like to you?"

She was genuinely curious what she looked like from an outsider's perspective when she had one of those mortifying visions. Igor explained that she suddenly closed her eyes, her skin turned red very quickly, and she started to sweat. When he explained that she couldn't stop a throaty moan from escaping her mouth, she grew even more embarrassed.

Caradoc waved his wand to lock the front door and switch the sign to 'closed'. Clearly, he felt this was a much more serious issue than dealing with any potential customers. Hermione begged him not to close on her account, but he wouldn't be dissuaded. He picked up one of the books off the top of the stack. Almost immediately after opening, he slammed the cover shut with bright red cheeks. His reaction made Igor burst out in loud laughter.

"I still maintain my beliefs that everyone in this country is a prude."

Completely ignoring Igor's remark, Caradoc turned his full attention to the lone witch.

"Love, _why_ do you have these books? What's going on?"

Hermione sighed. She knew that between the two of them, they wouldn't give up until she explained something. Where was she to start though? How much detail should she give them? Admitting that she was violated by Lord Voldemort at the dinner table was too much. She didn't think she could live with the humiliation of knowing that anyone else knew that secret. But the more she considered telling them, two men she trusted entirely with her very life, the more appealing the notion began to be. Maybe it wouldn't be the _worst_ idea to let someone know what she'd been experiencing since the previous Saturday. Who knew? Maybe they could even help her figure out a solution.

"Before I say anything, I need a vow from each of you that this will not go further than the three of us."

Both wizards caught each other's eye at the request. She knew what she was asking. Forcing a vow upon someone was no small deed. There were serious repercussions if one did not fulfill their oath. She could almost read their minds as their faces were both so expressive. Finally, each of them sighed and agreed. Not content to just take their verbal oath, she made them swear using their wands. All she needed was for either of them to go running off to her cousin to warn him what was happening out of concern. Rodolphus did _not_ need to know what was happening. He had enough to deal with in his own life.

"I have been having, well, for lack of a better term _visions_."

"What kind of visions? Like daydreams?" Igor furrowed his brow. "Or more like Seer visions?"

She couldn't help but snort at his question. Memories of the dismissive manner in which Sibyll Trelawney informed her that did not possess the _gift_ in her third year sprung forth to mind. It was all positively ridiculous. Yes, she had to begrudgingly admit that there were actual Seers in their world who had real powers and could make believable prophecies. She, however, was not one of them. Even considering the image of her dressed in dozens of shawls peering into a crystal ball made Hermione want to laugh.

"Definitely not Seer visions," she retorted. "I don't quite know how to explain them. It's all a bit uncomfortable."

"How so?" It was Caradoc's turn to furrow his own brow. "What could you possibly have to be uncomfortable with around the two of us, Hermione. We love… well, _I_ love you. I can't begin to even decipher what Karkaroff's true feelings are for you, but I know he is every bit as concerned about you as I am."

"Of course I am," agreed Igor.

She didn't fail to notice how his cheeks colored slightly at the mention of love for her, though she certainly would not press it in that moment. There would be plenty of time when they were done having that horrible discussion to figure out where they stood.

"All right. They are of a sexual nature," she declared outright, attempting to sound more confident than she felt. "At random times throughout my day I am suddenly struck with very uncomfortable sexual visions that I cannot stop. I have a warning of a second or two before they begin due to the change in my body temperature. I also grow a bit dizzy. They never last very long."

"So you're having sexual fantasies so strongly that they are making you sweat and your skin feel like it's scorching? I've never heard of such a thing," Caradoc declared. "I mean, of course, I'm not a stranger to sexual fantasies myself, but they certainly don't manifest quite like that."

"Only make standing and walking around a bit uncomfortable, huh?" Igor teased.

Hermione rolled her eyes when Caradoc chortled. It appeared that no matter the decade and no matter the age of the wizards in question, untimely jokes about erections would _always_ be hilarious. Honestly, it was a wonder she ever put up with wizards at all. They were all infuriating.

"When did this start?" asked Igor in an attempt to bring some gravity back to the situation.

"Last Saturday night."

"At your uncle's?"

It didn't seem right to lie. Not after he made a magical vow to keep what he learned secret. Hermione knew Igor was intelligent enough to put the pieces together. When his head and Antonin's head both snapped into her direction when she couldn't remain quiet at the dinner table, she'd wanted to melt into a puddle on the floor. Maybe even find a nice crack to slip into where no one would ever find her again. The mortification had been so immense. She knew that their attention was grabbed by a sound they had both heard countless times in their own beds. Even if she could keep the truth of the moment she was forced to completion under the table from everyone else gathered around that dining room, she knew that her two exes knew exactly what had just happened.

"Yes. At my uncle's."

"Before or after dinner? Or perhaps, _during_?"

She eyed the front door to the shop. The temptation to run through and never return was great in that single moment. Caradoc was still blissfully unaware of the turn their conversation had taken. Hermione wished she could live in that ignorance with him for a bit longer. Determined not to run away just because the conversation had grown unnerving, Hermione squared her shoulders and looked Igor straight in the eye. She hadn't been a Gryffindor for nothing after all.

" _After_ dinner."

"When you went mysteriously missing with another guest while the rest of us strolled the grounds?"

It was obvious that Igor was trying not to come right out and accuse his master of bewitching Hermione with some unknown spell causing her such misery. The Dark Lord had been a sore subject between them in the months they were together following his receiving of the Dark Mark. Usually they tried to simply avoid all mention of him completely to keep the peace. Hermione knew she was too late and even if she'd gotten to Igor sooner, there was no simply no possible way that she could change the course of their lives. It had already been decided for them. They were simply moving through the motions. Nothing she did would alter the future enough to keep Igor from being murdered by his fellow Death Eaters the summer before her fifth year.

"Yes."

"What was the vision you just had, Charodeyka? Can you describe it?"

She would have rather done just about anything else in the entire world than to go over the details of that vision. It felt like an intrusion. Or rather, more like a desecration of a moment in their history together that she cherished. Since that July night over three years earlier, Hermione had often recalled the precious minutes where she'd had her first, uninterrupted kiss with Igor. To admit that Voldemort had irrevocably altered that recollection, pained her deeply.

"I was standing in the formal gardens on the family estate," she began in a soft, but shaking tone. "I was standing up against one of the large hedges…"

"'Standing up against'?"

"All right. _Pushed_ up against on the of the large hedges. The other person in the vision was kissing me and running his hands all over my body. Kind of like…"

"Kind of like the night I first kissed you?"

Hermione only trusted herself enough to nod in response. When he hadn't said anything for a couple of minutes and Caradoc was also clearly confused, she looked up. Igor was staring at her with his head tilted. She'd seen him look at her with that same expression many times in the past. It was usually reserved for moments when something she said or did puzzled or intrigued him. Finally, she couldn't take it anymore.

"What, Igor? What are you thinking?"

He was in no hurry to answer her query no matter how demanding her tone became. Just continued to look at her as he attempted to figure out the situation.

"And I wasn't the other person in the vision?"

"No, you weren't."

"Curious since that sounds exactly like the night in the gardens."

"Can someone please explain to me what's going on?" chimed in Caradoc.

Neither of them rushed to clarify their silent conversation with the odd person out.

"Charodeyka, do you mind if I try something? An experiment to see if I know what's going on?"

She wasn't exactly in a position where she could tell him 'no'. She was desperate for answers! Desperate to learn whatever she could to make the visions stop. Voldemort warned her that he would be the only one that could break the spell. While she sincerely hoped there was a loophole, every moment that passed where the warning he made as he held her hand to the front of his trousers seemed to be more and more likely, she could feel herself start to panic. He could see through her shields when he did nothing but kiss her. If there was no other way to end the enchantment but to…

No, she shook her head violently, ignoring the slight woozy feeling still present. She would _not_ even entertain the possibility that she would have to do more than kiss the disgusting, evil wizard to break the spell. There was _always_ a counterspell.

"Okay," she agreed.

Nervous about what Igor was about to try by way of an experiment, Hermione held her breath. It didn't take long at all before the flush returned to her body. She could actually feel her blood's temperature begin to rise. The shop began to spin and sweat started appearing at her hairline.

She was standing completely naked in a massive shower. It wasn't just any shower. No, it was one that she very familiar with. The steam from the running hot water filled the space she'd shared countless showers with Igor. Except it wasn't Igor that had her back pressed up against the cool tiles. Voldemort's hands gripped her arse as he set a punishing pace between her thighs. She was crying out for more, begging him to not stop, pleading with him to fuck her harder.

"What did you do?" demanded Caradoc as he caught Hermione before she fell. She had been so dizzy when it was all over that she could hardly stand. Every time she had a vision it was getting worse, more intense, harder to recover from. "Damn it, Karkaroff! What did you do?"

"Were you in my shower?" Igor asked, ignoring Caradoc.

Hermione was able to stand on her own feet by then. The dizziness that came with the vision was already beginning to subside. She stared Igor in the eye and nodded. How could he possibly know where she was in her vision? What did he know that she didn't? It seemed that every minute that passed more questions were developing than were being answered.

"And was it just like the last shower we took together?" He smirked. She felt her cheeks begin to heat up again, but certainly not because of the lingering effects of the spell she was clearly under. Her actual memories were enough to make her blush. "The last night you stayed in my flat? That was a night I'll never forget."

"Oh, for fuck's sake, I don't want to hear this!" exclaimed an annoyed Caradoc.

"How did you know what my vision was?" Hermione hoped she could bring the discussion back to order.

Igor began sifting through his new books without answering. She was growing frustrated, but didn't want to interrupt him just yet. If he made her wait much longer, however, she wouldn't be so kind. One of the bottom books in the stack seemed to be the one he wanted. Still leaving his two companions waiting impatiently for his answer, Igor flipped through the pages of the ratty, old book. Somewhere in the middle he stopped and smiled.

"Remember how I told you about sneaking into my father's library when I was younger?"

"Yes."

"Well, my father has copies of several of these books plus a great number more that might make Dearborn over there faint if he got his hands on a copy."

Caradoc narrowed his eyes. He still hadn't forgiven the Russian for calling him a prude.

"I remember reading about a spell years ago. Long before I understood what my todger was really meant for. There was a time where the spell that I believe was used on you was perfectly legal and acceptable. Wizards who weren't very successful in capturing the heart of their chosen witch or perhaps one who wanted to make certain that his witch remembered who she belonged to. Rather archaic, if you ask me, but I suppose I can see some of the benefits."

He handed the book over to Hermione's eager hands. She could feel Caradoc reading through the single page over her shoulder. Her Old English was too rusty to even attempt to decipher what the name of the spell was. If it was as potent as Igor seemed to believe it was and as strong as she had experienced firsthand, she rather hoped that few people in the world knew that it existed.

The single page described a spell that could be cast on any witch, or wizard if preferred, to make certain that every single time a person had an inappropriate thought about the victim, they would have a vision of the spell caster. Through use of pheromones and even the most rudimentary Legilimency, the victim would be affected every single time they were around people who had nefarious or immoral designs. Designed to encourage the one affected to seek out the affections of the one who cast it, it was disgusting. According to the book, it would only get worse for Hermione the more visions she had. Each one was supposed to get even more intense than the one before it and affect her physically even more. It was no wonder that Voldemort claimed there would be a moment when she would seek _him_ out.

"I can't read anymore," she stated, pushing the book back into Igor's hand. Caradoc reached for it to continue reading. "How do we break it?"

"Well, there are only two known methods to break the curse, I'm afraid."

"Why do I get the feeling that I'm not going to like either option?"

"Okay, it says here the easiest and most common way to break the spell is to have the target have 'sexual intercourse until completion with the one who cast the spell'," announced Caradoc. "Well, Hermione, who was it? Who cast it? Was it that sneaky, little fuck Dolohov?"

It was bad enough that Caradoc knew she was under a spell designed to torment her until she was forced to give her consent to the caster whether she wanted to or not. She didn't want him to actually know that there seemed to be an ever increasing possibility that Hermione would at some point be required to shag the Dark Lord to maintain her sanity. But she could certainly see him seeking out Antonin to harm him if she didn't set him straight.

"No, it wasn't Antonin. It doesn't matter who it was. I'm _not_ going to have sex with them. What's the other option?"

She didn't miss the exchange of serious glances between the two men. Neither of them seemed in a hurry to answer her question. Annoyed with them for saying nothing, Hermione snatched the book back out of Caradoc's hand. If they weren't willing to help, she would just have to figure it out on her own.

Her eyes hadn't even made it to the end of the page before she knew that the second option was no option at all. A potion could be brewed with several highly rare ingredients. As a Lestrange, she could get her hands on just about anything she wanted if she asked the right people and didn't inquire the source. Money was no hindrance. She had a vault that was steadily filling up with gold she could never hope to spend. The one potions ingredient she knew she could never get her hands on, however, was the blood of the spell caster _freely_ given. Voldemort would rather she suffer in agony than give her any of his blood.

"Charodeyka, it can be reversed," Igor explained. "But _he_ would have to do it. Otherwise, I'm afraid Caradoc's right. You'll have to…"

Completing his thought proved impossible. Hermione wished she had the ability to read minds in that moment. What was Igor thinking? He seemed dejected and so much like the man he was the night she broke off their relationship that it made her heart hurt all over again. Was the thought of her having to bed his master truly that upsetting?

"Are we even certain that this _is_ the correct spell?" she asked in some vain attempt to bring back some hope to the situation.

"We just tested it. I'm positive it is."

"Well, maybe you were wrong. Maybe there's another spell that just _seems_ like this one. We haven't exhausted all of the possibilities."

Igor's frustration with her dismissal quickly became evident. He and Hermione were so similar in some ways. She never appreciated her suggestions and theories being questioned either. Understanding that he was going to have to prove it, he sighed and turned to face Caradoc.

"All right. We can test it again. Dearborn, want to have a go?"

Caradoc seemed perplexed by what Igor was asking him to do. Hermione fought the urge to laugh at his expense. Even in such a serious moment, she thought Caradoc's face was adorable.

"Go on," Igor ordered. "You try. Have an inappropriate thought about Hermione."

Caradoc squared his shoulders. With an expression of sheer determination on his countenance, he turned his entire body to face Hermione. She could see him struggling with some sort of internal battle. It was almost enough to make her laugh again. Whether or not he meant to, he was providing quite the needed comic relief to the situation.

A tiny flickering of warmth spread to her cheeks. Hermione could feel her head begin to spin slightly and her palms grew damp. Her eyes grew a bit blurry for a moment as a scene formed in front of her. Voldemort stood only inches away. He had a grimace marring his otherwise striking features. Slowly and with a great deal of reluctance, he leaned forward to brush his lips against hers. There was no heat, no passion, no feeling at all in the kiss. Just tight lips pressed against her mouth for mere seconds.

It was over before it really began. Igor was at her side to catch her if she fell, but it wasn't necessary. There was hardly a tingle with the vision. She had to laugh at the absurdity of Caradoc attempting to have an inappropriate thought about her.

"That's all you've got?" she teased. "That's a little insulting."

"Hermione, love, we've discussed this. You're beautiful and I love you, but unless you've spontaneously grown something hard and long under your skirts, that's all I can do."

His statement proved to be exactly what was needed to break the rising tension in the room. All three laughed until they were wiping tears from their eyes. Hermione knew that the issue was serious, but being able to take a moment just to laugh at the absurdity helped her spirits tremendously. When the laughter died down, she knew she had to ask a question one final time.

"Are you certain this is what is happening to me, Igor?"

He sighed, not wanting to come right out and answer.

"Yes, I'm certain. Like I said earlier, my father has a copy of this book. Several years ago when I was still at Durmstrang, one of my mother's old acquaintances from school came to Russia. He stayed as a guest in my parents' home for several weeks. Most of that time was spent in the library researching. The rest of the time was spent learning more about the locals. My sister Sveta spent a great deal of time with him. I think my parents hoped they would make a match, but he's not exactly the sort of wizard that forms long-term attachments."

As much as she hated to admit it to herself, she knew that Igor was correct. Clearly Voldemort learned about the existence of such a horrible spell at some point in his travels. Whether it was in Russia or somewhere else, she couldn't be sure. It didn't really matter. She had to figure out how she was going to get out of this nightmare as relatively unscathed as possible.

"So the visions I had today. The one in the bookstore…"

"When you dropped the books, the shopkeeper was right behind you. He watched you pick them up. I wanted to hex him when I saw him leering at your arse."

It bothered her immensely to realize that the disgusting wizard's fantasy of what he would like to do to her played out in that vivid hallucination of Lord Voldemort pushing her down on her stomach on the dirty floor. And when she recalled the elderly wizard she was assisting with owl snacks who made her imagine she was up against the shelves… She just felt dirty. No one should be able to read anyone else's mind. She didn't want to know what random wizards thought about her when they crossed her path.

"Let me take you home, Charodeyka. You've had a difficult day."

She couldn't argue. Once she embraced Caradoc and shoved all of her new books inside her beaded bag, she walked to the front door where Igor was waiting for her. He cast a simple Notice-Me-Not spell on her. At least she didn't think she would have to worry about more random perverts activating the spell while they strolled down Diagon Alley.

They didn't speak the entire walk to the Apparition point. Not even a word as they walked from the edge of the village to her father's pub. It was only as they reached the front door of The Hog's Head that Igor stopped to fully look at Hermione.

"Please be careful, Hermione. I know I have no claim on you, but I still care about you very much. He's not a wizard that should be dismissed without caution. If he wants you so badly that he was willing to cast this kind of magic on you, he won't take rejection lightly."

She didn't know what to say. It meant the world to her that Igor still cared about her after all that time. Not even bothering to ask for permission, Hermione wrapped her arms around his waist and laid her head on his chest. A single year had yet to pass since they ended their relationship though at times it felt much longer than that. She took comfort in the familiar smell clinging to his clothes and the feel of his arms wrapping around her back.

All it took was telling Aberforth that she had a bad headache to give her uninterrupted time alone to devour each of the books she purchased. She had to figure out some kind of plan.

* * *

October 24, 1974

 **11:58 am**

Regnault insisted that she skip their weekly lunch the Thursday following the dinner party when Hermione owled him to tell say that she was still not feeling well. Only her repeated promises that Aberforth was keeping an eye on her kept him from Apparating to Scotland with his personal Healer. It meant a great deal to know that her uncle was worried about her health. Though he had the oddest manners of expression, she knew that Regnault loved her as one of his own.

She'd been able to spend most of the week locked in her room reading and sleeping. The effects of the curse were taking a toll on her body. Part of the danger of being a young woman in a pub was the likely possibility of one of the patrons drinking too much and imagining what it would be like to toss the barmaid over one of the tables in a fit of passion. The sheer depravity of Mundungus Fletcher's mind was enough to get him hexed straight to the bollocks. Seeing how upset his daughter was, Aberforth physically threw the disgusting wizard out of his pub by his collar. At least Hermione finally had the answer of what it was that earned Fletcher his lifetime ban. Aberforth threatened him with worse pain if he ever darkened his doorstep again.

Caradoc insisted that she stay home until she figured out a way to break the curse. He gave Rodolphus the same excuse that she'd given her uncle. It had been a nice break away from the store. But she knew it wouldn't last forever. Though he didn't come right out and say so, Hermione could read between the lines of her uncle's note the Thursday morning a week later. If she still wasn't well enough to come to lunch in London, he would be coming to see her and he would not be alone.

She was nervous about returning to London. There was so much that could go wrong. If she had what she was privately referring to as one of 'her fits' in front of Regnault, she would not be able to escape a trip to St. Mungo's. He would insist. Hermione cast a mild Notice-Me-Not spell on her before she left the pub. Not as potent as the one Igor used, it would still make most people look past her.

When she was led over to her regular table, she could feel it working. None of the other diners paid any attention to her. Neither did any of the staff beyond the poor wizard escorting her through the dining room. She caught Regnault's eye long before she made it to the table. A bright grin crossed his face. He rose from the table at her arrival to kiss her firmly on both cheeks.

"You certainly look better than the last time I saw you. How are you feeling?"

"Much better, Uncle. I think rest was all I needed."

"We are certainly pleased to hear that's all that was required, Miss Dumbledore."

In her haste to reach her uncle, she had not noticed there was already someone else seated at their customary table. She could almost _hear_ the smirk in Tom Riddle's voice. What was he even doing there? Hermione was tempted to turn around and run as fast as she could out the door she came in.

"I hope you don't mind me intruding on your customary lunch with your uncle," he continued. Regnault and Hermione took their seats on either across the table from each other. Voldemort sat between them. "I know this is something special that you two like to do together. It's very… sweet."

"Of course you are not intruding, my Lord. It is an honor to have you here with us."

Hermione almost choked on her words. Based on the pleased grin on Regnault's face, she was playing the part perfectly. She strengthened her shields before she trusted herself to look up to meet Voldemort's smiling face. He always seemed to find her amusing.

"It is a simply a surprise."

"It was unplanned," Voldemort declared. "I happened to simply be walking past the restaurant when Regnault arrived. When he invited me to join him for lunch, I knew I couldn't pass up an opportunity to share a meal with his charming niece."

As if _anything_ with the Dark Lord was unplanned. Rolling her eyes would be considered bad manners. All she needed was for her uncle to lecture her about her lack of tact in front of the Dark Lord. No doubt he would see it as some sort of insult to the family honor.

Lunch was surprisingly uneventful. Hermione kept waiting for something awful to happen and it never did. Voldemort kept his hands, and his magic, to himself the entire meal. The two wizards chatted about legislation being debated in the Wizengamot. She sat there silently sipping at her wine. A few times she was able to interject their discussion with some thoughts of her own. Each time she expressed an opinion, she couldn't help but notice the smirk on Voldemort's face. He found her to be amusing. She wished he would ignore her existence.

When the meal finally came to a close, she felt a great sense of relief. Perhaps she might even be able to get away from the Dark Lord completely unscathed. He did seem to be acting on his very best behavior. It was so unlike how he'd behaved a little over a week earlier. Was he just trying to catch her off guard?

She allowed him to walk behind her as they exited the restaurant. Each step she took only reminded her of his presence. She could feel his eyes on her every second. Once outside in the chill of the late October afternoon, she kissed her uncle goodbye. Regnault granted her one of his rare smiles before Disapparating away quickly. If his intention was to leave his niece alone with the wizard he hoped would make a permanent attachment to his family, he succeeded.

"You do look remarkably well," Voldemort stated once they were alone. No one else stood outside the restaurant. There was little traffic in the Alley. "Clever idea using a Notice-Me-Not charm. Has it helped?"

"Yes, it has," she retorted. She did not want to talk to him any longer than was necessary. Unfortunately, he seemed in no hurry to rush off.

"I suppose that explains why you haven't sought me out yet."

Another blasted vision struck her with an intensity that none of the others had before. He was making them stronger. Or perhaps the longer the curse was in place, the worse it would all become. When the image of him throwing her down on top of large bed ended, she was surprised to find his hands gripping her arms to keep her upright. He held her close enough to his body that he could whisper in her ear.

"How stubborn are you going to be, Hermione? Just give me what I want and this can all be over. The more you resist me, the more suspicious I get. What kind of secrets could you possibly be keeping?"

Unsure how to respond, she said nothing.

"I _will_ find them out, girl. You can be assured of that. Only be aware that while you may amuse me at present, my patience is wearing thin."

He released his grip on her with a little more force than she was expecting. He emulated Regnault and was gone in moments. Hermione felt even more relief at his exit. Voldemort was not a wizard to trifle with. The spell was growing stronger and she still did not have a plan that would work. Even as she tried each day to strengthen her shields, she knew her weaknesses. There was simply no way he could be kept out of her mind. She knew he would hurt her if it came down to it. Possibly even make it so she lost hold of her sanity completely.

Hermione wanted as far away from London as she could get. A long walk through the woods surrounding Hogsmeade was exactly what she needed to calm her racing thoughts. Though Greyback made her afraid to be in the woods usually, he was the least of her worries at present. If he chose to appear in her path that afternoon, she wouldn't hesitate to attack.

She was nearing the edge of the village when she saw Thomas up ahead. They had not seen each other or spoken since the night he was caught stealing from his grandmother's shop. Hermione couldn't even imagine what would possess him to commit such an act. She hurried her steps to follow after him. Perhaps it was time they had a chat about the dangers of accepting any kind of help from the Dark Lord.

Thomas was headed towards the village cemetery. She'd only ever been there a couple of times when some of the elderly residents passed away. It was a beautiful spot, if a bit creepy. Large, towering monuments to the beloved dead lined the large area. Hermione found some of the statuary to be unnerving. Wizarding cemeteries were wilder and even darker than the clean, manicured lawns of Muggle cemeteries. There was heavy magic in the air too.

He was already seated on a marble bench across from his grandfather's headstone when she caught up with him. The first Masud Shafiq had been a well-loved and admired man from all accounts. Margie still had a smile on her face every time she mentioned him. Both of the Shacklebolt boys had fond memories of their grandfather. Katie could hardly talk about him even years after his death without getting teary. Hermione knew that Margie was extremely vigilant about making certain his grave always was tidy and had fresh flowers. She didn't understand why Thomas was there.

"I thought that was you," Thomas said as he scooted over on the bench to give her some room. "Couldn't imagine anyone else would follow me in here anyway."

Hermione hated that there was a hint of anger in his tone. What was he expecting? Her to berate him for stealing from his family? She wanted to certainly, but she couldn't help feeling like there was more to the story than what she saw the night at the shop. Though she had a million different questions, she waited for him to speak first.

"Bet you want to know what that was all about the other night."

"It's none of my business, but yes. I am curious why you were stealing from Margie."

Thomas sighed. He covered his face with his hands and rested his elbows on his thighs.

"I made a mistake. I owe some really bad people some money. I… I didn't know what else to do."

She could sympathize. Wasn't she also struggling to figure out how to solve her own problems? At least Thomas' problem had a simple solution.

"How much do you need?"

Her words surprised her friend. He turned his head to stare at her with his mouth open and his eyes wide. Hermione just shrugged her shoulders. Money, she had. It wasn't an issue.

"No, Hermione, I can't ask you…"

"You didn't. I'm offering. How much?"

"Two thousand galleons."

It was an enormous sum of money. Though it was only four months' allowance for her, it was more than a lot of people made in an entire year. She could only imagine what he had done to owe someone that much. Gambling seemed the most likely of vices, but she wasn't going to push him for answers.

"Give every _single_ knut you took from Margie back and I'll give you the money."

"I will pay you back."

"Yes, you will, but you can take your time. And I won't tell your grandmother."

Thomas sighed again, but in relief. His entire aura seemed to change with the weight of fear lifting off of him.

"And I will only do this once, Thomas. Whoever these people are, and I don't want to know, you need to stay away from them."

He enthusiastically nodded his head in agreement. Silence fell between them again. Hermione hooked her arm through his and laid her head on his shoulder. They both seemed like they needed the comfort. If only her problem was as simple to fix as his. She almost envied him.

While they sat on the bench not speaking, she took a closer look at the area. She knew that Margie took pride in their corner of the cemetery. Though it seemed macabre to Hermione, Margie was pleased to tell anyone who would listen that every member of their family already had their plot waiting for them in the same area. As someone who had been around enough death already, Hermione didn't want to dwell too much on members of the family she loved dying any time soon.

Masud Shafiq's headstone was beautiful. It was no wonder Margie took pride in it. Even after years of being in the wizarding world, she still found a lot that fascinated her. She stared at the shimmering carvings on the marble. When lines from a familiar poem scrawled across the stone, she was surprised.

 _As fair art thou, my bonie lass,_

 _So deep in luve am I;_

 _And I will luve thee still, my dear,_

 _Till a' the seas gang dry._

"It's Granny's favorite," Thomas explained. "Grandad used to sing it to her when he was being silly. That's why she always makes Kingsie sing it. It makes her sad and happy."

The weight of her time turner felt heavy on Hermione's chest. She didn't know what made her pull it out from underneath her jumper. Something about that moment just felt _right_. The disillusionment charm she usually kept on it dissolved with a simple mutter. Thomas was curious if his facial expression was anything to go by.

"Can I tell you something, Thomas?"

* * *

August 9, 1998

 **8:54 pm**

Andromeda was in tears when she emerged from the pensieve. When he showed up unexpectedly at her front door, Kingsley surprised her by asking her to view the memories Rodolphus gave him earlier that morning. He didn't know anyone else that he trusted to give him the advice he was looking for. It had taken her some convincing before she agreed, but when she was finished and wiping at her eyes, Kingsley felt confident that he'd made the right decision.

"I always knew my sister was evil, but I had no idea how evil," she whispered.

Kingsley reached across the kitchen table they were both seated at to take her hand in his. She seemed to appreciate the gesture. He squeezed her hand and released it.

"The poor man. What are we going to do, Kingsley? We can't just leave him in there. Not now that we know. He's an innocent man."

"Rodolphus refused to call himself innocent. Said that he could have stopped it and he didn't."

"He saved that child! He saved that little boy who grew up to be a war hero. And that horrible woman! Why did she not check him? A simple spell could have told her that Rodolphus didn't do anything to the Longbottoms. She should be thankful that she's already locked away in Azkaban. If she wasn't, I'd strangle her with my bare hands."

He loved seeing the old Andy shining through. Grief had altered her. Not that he could blame her for not being the same woman she used to be when her husband and daughter were still alive. Kingsley wasn't sure he'd be able to live with that kind of pain. It had been hard enough to survive when Hermione disappeared. But seeing his friend fired up in her righteous anger made him know without a doubt he'd been right in confiding in her. Andromeda needed a cause. Just like Hermione, she longed to right the wrongs and injustice of those she cared about.

"You have to reopen the investigation, Kingsley. It will look bad for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, but you _have_ to."

"Even if we can prove that he was under the Imperius Curse and Umbridge didn't report it, what would it matter? He is still a Death Eater, Andy. We can't ignore his crimes since he was broken out of Azkaban _twice_."

"You seem to forget who you are talking to. I _know_ how the law works, Kings. I know that the Minister for Magic has the power to pardon anyone they want to as long as the majority of the Wizengamot agrees with the decision."

"And you think that we can get enough of the esteemed members to keep the pardon from being overturned?"

He didn't want to be hopeful. Months after the fall of Voldemort, emotions were still high. Getting at least twenty-six members to agree that Rodolphus Lestrange deserved a second chance at life outside of the walls of Azkaban was a tall order. But he didn't want to quell the fire that was steadily burning in Andromeda. It had been a long time since he'd seen her look so much like her old self. He couldn't bear to be the one that stopped that.

"We just have to get the public on our side. Open the investigation, Kings. Let me worry about that part. I think if I could get the Longbottom boy on our side, we can't lose."

She summoned a piece of parchment and a quill from another room of the house. Not caring that she still had a guest sitting across from her at the table, Andromeda began scribbling furiously. When half the parchment was covered in fresh ink, she looked up.

"You know you're going to have to tell Harry and the Weasley boy what really happened to Hermione. Or at least what we're _telling_ the public."

Kingsley groaned. Foolishly he'd hoped he could delay that unpleasant meeting a little bit longer. It was time to tell Hermione's best friends where she actually was. He was not looking forward to the next morning.

* * *

 _Poem is "A Red, Red Rose" by Robert Burns._


	54. Chapter 54

Chapter Fifty-Four

October 24, 1974

 **1:38 pm**

"You can tell me anything, Hermione. It's the _least_ I can do."

She wondered if a moment would appear in time when she would regret her honesty. Probably, but in the meantime, she worried she would crack under the strain and pressure she was under. Wasn't the mark of a strong person understanding and accepting when they needed help?

Thomas was family. Blood meant nothing when it came down to it. From early on in their acquaintance, Hermione felt a closeness to him. There was a reason why they became such good friends so quickly. She always felt like they'd known each other for years. Sliding into his family as an unofficial member had been simple.

"What if what I'm about to tell you makes no sense at all? Will you believe me?"

"If you tell me something is the truth, Hermione, I promise to believe you."

Hermione didn't distrust his sincerity, but she did worry he was making a promise he couldn't keep. Before logic and the never-ceasing prattle in the back of her mind could stop her, she pulled out her wan. As much as she trusted Thomas, as much as she loved him as her brother, she was not going to leave anything to chance. Once the immediate area they were seated in was covered liberally with every kind of silencing spell she could think of, she turned her attention to the perplexed wizard.

"I have a secret, Thomas. Well, I have quite a few, but they're all related to the big one."

"Hermione, what are you…"

She held up a hand to urge him to stop talking. If she lost her nerve, she might never get it all out. Or worse, she'd tell him just enough that she would be forced to Obliviate him. If she could go the rest of her life without casting another memory charm on another human being, she would be satisfied.

"I _need_ to tell someone, Thomas, and I trust you. You would never willfully betray me."

"Of course I wouldn't. You're like my sister. And if Kingsie ever got his head out of his arse and realized he's never going to do any better than you, you could be an actual member of our family."

She swallowed the lump of emotion that formed in her throat at his declaration. When she first arrived to 1971, she _never_ would have dreamed that the future Minister for Magic would grow on her so profoundly. She wasn't even sure when it happened. Her feelings for Kingsley just sort of snuck up on her when she wasn't paying attention.

"I hate to ask, but may I have your oath that _nothing_ I tell you today goes any further than this bench?"

He didn't even hesitate to take out his wand to make a wizard's oath. Hermione sighed in relief. She was afraid she would experience more resistance. Once he swore on his magic to not reveal anything she told him, Hermione took a deep breath.

"Do you know what this is?"

She held up her time turner still hanging from her neck. Thomas touched it gingerly, afraid he might break it. He was an intelligent and inquisitive Ravenclaw. Of course he knew what he was looking at.

"I've seen one in a book before," he answered. "How did you get this?"

"Well, your brother actually."

Hermione expected Thomas to immediately start firing off a dozen questions at her when she revealed the source of her time turner. His confused silence was more than a little surprising. She could almost see the inside of his brain trying to puzzle out how it was possible for his little brother who seemed to be nothing but a brash, reckless Gryffindor to get his hands on a priceless, extraordinarily rare magical artefact. When the internal workings of his prodigious mind could not come up with a suitable answer, the wizard finally spoke.

"I'm trying not to accuse you of making no sense, Hermione, but I'm struggling with my words here. _How_ did my brother come to be in possession of a time turner?"

"My assumption is that he stole it from the Department of Mysteries."

Thomas' beautiful chestnut eyes widened in sheer horror at the very idea. The Shacklebolts were a proud family. Seeming to forget for half a second that he was only recently caught in the middle of stealing from his own grandmother, Thomas was appalled that a member of his family would be so foolish.

"Does he not understand that he is not only in danger of losing his job, but he could be chucked into Azkaban for that? Any of his foolish hopes that one day he will be the Minister for Magic will be for nothing if anyone finds out."

"See, Thomas, _that's_ where it all gets a little more complicated. This is where I'm concerned you will have trouble believing me when I tell you everything."

He furrowed his brow once more and just stared at the witch. Hermione felt ill at ease under his close scrutiny, but she had gone too far to turn back now. After all, _she_ was a brash, reckless Gryffindor too. Her past was littered with moments where she'd done almost as bad and even worse than just stealing from the Ministry's most secretive departments. If Thomas knew _half_ of what she was capable of, he would never look at her the same way again.

"Kingsley hasn't stolen the time turner yet."

It was as simple an explanation as any. Thomas was an intelligent man. He'd been very close to making the best grades of any one in their year. One of the most entertaining parts of his friendship with Antonin was their cutthroat rivalry when it came to grades. Though it was clear that the two wizards loved each other deeply and were as close to brothers as it was possible to be without sharing DNA, they were ruthless in their quest to best the other in all of their classes. Antonin only narrowly squeaked by with the highest grades. Hermione found them both to be adorable in their quest to be better than the other. She tried more than once not to be jealous of the fact that she'd never had a friend who challenged her like that. Perhaps she wouldn't have felt so alone at times during her first six years at Hogwarts if she'd found an Antonin to her Thomas.

"See that's the funny thing about time turners, Thomas. They actually work. Kingsley _will_ steal the time turner in the future. He just doesn't know it yet."

Thomas took a deep breath as he turned over her words in his mind. She could see him fighting a battle within. There was always a possibility that her friend wouldn't believe anything she told him. He might assume that she'd been struck with some sort of curse that caused her to lose her mind. Well, she probably had, but this was a completely different situation. What would she do if he didn't believe her? He might never look at her the same way again. Their friendship would definitely suffer if he thought she was insane.

"All right. I promised you that I would believe you no matter what you said, Hermione, and I am standing by that promise. Why did Kingsie steal the time turner? Do you know?"

"He stole it because… he stole it because he wanted to send me back to the past."

She'd hardly been able to speak the last few words over a whisper. Hermione was rapidly losing her nerve. Perhaps it had been too many years since she'd been forced to tap into that endless supply of Gryffindoric nerve. There was a time when she didn't even have to think about it, but her life had been severely changed since the second war ended and she was back to live through the first.

"You are from the future?"

Hermione nodded, unsure what to say else in that moment. Thomas stared at her with that same perplexed, bewildered expression he'd used when she told him that Kingsley had given her the time turner. She knew that she would just have to stop dancing around the facts and come right out and explain.

"I was born Hermione Jean Granger on September 19th, 1979, to a pair of Muggle dentists in London. No one in my family had been magical as far as I knew. Surely somewhere in my family tree there was a wizard or two, but none of us even knew magic existed. Not until the day that Professor McGonagall showed up at my front door with my Hogwarts letter."

Thomas sat on the marble bench patiently listening to the story of her life come tumbling out of her mouth. He didn't interrupt her as she spoke of being trapped in a bathroom with a mountain troll or when she explained that the Chamber of Secrets was apparently more than just a legend. With each word that she spoke, she felt more and more relief. It felt good to get it all out. She'd been walking around for years holding on to secrets. It was exhausting.

By the time she made it to the description of how scary the world became in her fifth year, Thomas couldn't stand it any longer. While he had been patient as she gave him the shortened versions of what she'd experienced in her life before being thrust into the past, she could see that his patience was wearing thin. She could only imagine what was running through his mind at that point. Part of her wished she had the ability to read minds.

"I know it's been rather tense and a bit stressful around here lately with some isolated attacks and disappearances," he began. "But are you telling me that there will be an actual _war_ in the future? With casualties and violence?"

She wished she could keep him ignorant of what was going to happen in the future. It was all going to be so much worse than she was sure he could imagine. Hermione began to feel a tiny hint of guilt that perhaps she shouldn't have dumped all of this on an unsuspecting friend. It wasn't as if either one of them would be able to change anything that happened in the future.

"Yes, Thomas. I'm afraid that it's going to get very bad. Even… well, honestly, even now. The next few years are going to get worse. But it will seem to stop at some point and then there will be a peace between the two wars. Most people will try to convince themselves that it's all over, that they have nothing to fear, but there will be many waiting to see what happens. That's why so many people were reluctant to believe my best friend when he announced that You-Know-Who was back. They _wanted_ to live in ignorance. Didn't want to believe that their world would be dangerous again."

"And you're telling me that you were fifteen when you actually met my brother? And he was already forty years old at that point?"

"Yes, I don't know all of the details. Most of it is just speculation. I'd love to be able to return to _my_ time and find out what really happened, but that may not be possible. All I know is I met him at the Headquarters of the Order when I was fifteen. Just right before my fifth year. He seemed shocked to see me. When I introduced myself, he ran out of the house and disappeared. Came back hours later completely drunk. He was different from then on. Always friendly. Treated me like I was more than just some obnoxious child underfoot like the other adults."

"Why would a forty-year-old man be attracted to a fifteen-year-old girl?" Thomas took a deep breath once he posed his rhetorical question. Hermione could see a bloom of color on his cheeks. He was trying not to lose his composure. "Well, of course, I'm not naïve. I understand that these things happen, but I didn't expect my brother to be one of those cretins. Did he ever touch you?"

Though she felt touched by his strength of emotion on her behalf, Hermione knew that she would need to convince him to rein in his anger. Absolutely nothing inappropriate had ever happened between Kingsley and her younger self. The most that had happened were two times she could remember him offering her the comfort of his arms when she was upset: once in his home after the harrowing night she'd taken polyjuice to look like Harry and then in the Headmaster's office after she'd heard from Harry what Professor Snape's memories consisted of. Neither of the times had been inappropriate. She was of age in both the Magical and Muggle worlds at that point. Kingsley was an honorable man. She did not want his older brother to think any less of him.

"You have the wrong idea of Kingsley, Thomas. He is a good man. He will always be a good man. The man I know in the future is one of the best I've ever met. He's kind and brave and selfless. He fought hard to protect our world. He fought hard to protect _me_. You know how I always tell him that he's going to be the Minister for Magic?"

Thomas' beautiful eyes widened at her words. He seemed shocked for a brief moment before bursting out in loud, disbelieving laughter.

"Kingsie is the Minister for Magic? I might have been able to believe everything else you told me, Hermione, but that's a bit too far. There is simply no way that my little brother could ever… Oh, I can't even say the words. It's absolutely preposterous."

She felt a wave of almost irrational anger wash over her at his statement. How dare he not have enough confidence in his brother to believe that he was going to be so successful? Hermione could forgive him for thinking she was some kind of addled lunatic telling him a sensational story with no basis in reality. What she could _not_ abide was his lack of faith in Kingsley. It was no wonder she had been witness to times when she could see Kingsley's self-esteem slip. If his own family didn't believe he was capable of being what he desired, how could he expect himself to believe it too? Hermione clenched her fists together and took several deep, calming breaths before she resorted to hitting the wizard right in his pretty, well-defined jaw.

"You stop right there, Thomas Shacklebolt. I _never_ want to hear you say something that disparaging about your brother again." Hermione didn't even notice her wand in her hand pointed directly at the suddenly nervous wizard. "He deserves more than that from you. Kingsley more than deserves to be Minister. You don't even understand half of what he did during the war. When he was announced as the new Minister, I had never felt more confident and certain that the Ministry had _finally_ made the right decision. I hope I can return to the future some day because I want to see all of the good that he is going to accomplish."

Whether it was a result of her shaming words or the manner in which she held her wand threateningly underneath his chin, Thomas sighed and apologized. She hoped that he would take her words to heart in the future. Hexing Thomas because he didn't believe in his brother's capabilities would only be satisfying for a moment or two. But she was willing to resort to such measures if she ever heard him say those words again.

"All right. I'm sorry for interrupting. Please continue."

She picked up her explanation of what happened in her world during fifth year, conveniently leaving out the part where Antonin cursed her in the Department of Mysteries. Honestly, she wasn't entirely sure she'd ever be able to tell him the full truth about his best mate's future. It was bleak and depressing. Antonin needed the support and love from his best friend. Hermione didn't think she could be cruel enough to take it away from him.

Thomas was patient again as she described the events of her sixth year. When she had to describe the unexpected death of her Uncle Albus, she began to falter a bit. She wasn't sure she had made the right decision to tell him everything. Try as hard as she could, she had no idea what would happen to Thomas in the future. His name rang no bells of recognition. In the countless private conversations she'd had with Kingsley over tea, he had not once mentioned that he had an elder brother. Hermione always assumed he was an only child. She was clinging to the hope that perhaps Thomas was just not around during the war. He talked a lot about travelling. Maybe he lived abroad. The alternatives of discovering that he was either dead or as good as dead as a member of Voldemort's army were too much.

He didn't interrupt her again. Not even as she described how the war raged around them as she and her two best friends searched for the answer to defeating Voldemort. Even with a wizard's oath, she wasn't about to tell Thomas the secret of the horcruxes. It was for his own safety. If the Dark Lord was ever to even _suspect_ that Thomas knew how to kill him, he would be dead and probably painfully so. No, it was bad enough that Hermione knew what she did. Every single day she was in extreme danger, especially now that Voldemort seemed so determined to discover what she was hiding from him.

She was surprised that she managed to hold herself together as she described the final battle. So many people she loved died that day that it was always difficult to even _think_ about that day, let alone describe it in detail. Hermione didn't tell Thomas many names. How was she to know if he would come into contact with some of them in the future? It was best to remain as vague as possible. Though she was sorely tempted to start naming off all of the people she knew would become Death Eaters, she didn't. Several of them were his friends. It would be suspicious if he suddenly wanted nothing to do with an entire group of people.

Thomas didn't have any questions at first. When she got to the part where she was living on the castle grounds to help with the reconstruction process, he seemed overwhelmed. Hermione couldn't blame him. She understood. It was a lot of information to possess. Several minutes of silence passed between them while he appeared to be coming to terms with what she told him. Finally, he spoke to her relief.

"Do you… do you know what happens to me in the future?"

She shook her head. Before she was sent to the past, she assumed that Kingsley was an intensely private man. The longer she thought about it, the more she realized that he was likely just keeping things from her that he didn't feel like she needed to know at the time. Though it created a lot of confusion and a bit of anxiety, she was glad that she couldn't tell Thomas of his fate. What if it was truly awful? She didn't think she could bear telling him when he was going to die. Or, even worse possibly, if he was going to turn his back on the ideals and principles of his family and fight for a madman.

"I guess that's all right then," he replied. "Best to not know too much about the future if you can help it."

Realizing that he wasn't dismissing her story as being complete rubbish, Hermione felt even more relief than she already had. It felt wonderful to not be holding everything in. She couldn't be as open with Aberforth as she would have liked to be. Not only did he ask her not to tell him, she didn't want to burden him with what she was sure would be difficult information about his elder brother. Her dad already struggled with his anger towards Albus. There seemed little sense in giving him additional reasons to hate him. As much as she trusted Igor and had been able to share secrets with him in the past, this was too much. Assuming he believed her, she couldn't tell him that she was from the future. What if Voldemort discovered that while doing one of his routine Legilimency checks of his followers?

No, Thomas was really the only option. And if her divulging her secrets kept him away from joining the Death Eaters like she was certain Antonin was encouraging him to do, well, that was just an added benefit. He had to understand how dangerous even _considering_ following Lord Voldemort would be.

"One thing I don't really understand is, why did Kingsie send you back? If you already knew him in the future, why would he find that necessary?"

"Well, technically, it was my dad who sent me back."

She explained in detail the night that she disappeared from the nineties. Yet again, he sat there patiently listening to her explain what happened. When she got to the point where she woke up in her bedroom and discovered it was 1971, she stopped. Thomas sighed again.

"This is difficult to understand. You're telling me that Kingsley and Aberforth worked together to send you back in time because you'd _already_ been here? I don't… this doesn't… wow."

"I know. It's difficult to understand. When I was a third year, I studied all that I could about time travel. It made sense considering I was wearing a time turner around my neck."

"Still can't believe the Ministry and your uncle would approve that, but please, go on."

"There's a theory called 'Causal Loop' that seems to make the most sense. Of course, it's all very confusing and I don't even understand it fully myself. Basically, it means that I was sent back in time because I had already been sent back in time before. I can't change anything in the past that I know happened in the future because to the rest of the world, it's already happened. So what is my future right now is actually the past. It's… oh, Merlin, Thomas, it's too difficult to explain. Just know that your older brother and my dad wanted me to come back to the seventies. They had to keep the timeline the same. I don't know what would've happened if I'd somehow prevented them from sending me back. Maybe nothing. Maybe everything."

Hermione had spent years trying to figure out how time travel worked for her to come to the same frustrating conclusion. It didn't matter how she was there. All that mattered was that she _was_ and she did not have the ability to change anything. Nothing else really mattered. She could spend a lifetime studying and researching and hypothesizing. What a waste of time.

"Okay. I think that I am going to need some time to think about everything you've told me today. It's all a bit overwhelming."

"I understand completely."

"May I ask you another question, Hermione?"

"Of course you may."

She hated that she felt her stomach twist in knots when he posed the simple request. Whatever he was about to ask felt like something she might not be able to answer. Or at least that was her fear. She was still expecting him to ask what happened to Antonin. That was a subject she never wanted to bring up.

"If You-Know-Who is truly as bad as you say he is, why were you walking through the village with him the other night and acting so friendly with him? He had his hands on you and… and well, it was clear just looking at you that more than just walking had happened."

It was an honest question. One that he had every right to know the answer to. Hermione just simply wasn't sure how she was going to answer it. As she tried to think up a good explanation, her emotions got the better of her. She had been able to keep herself together through the entire discussion about time travel and the future, but this was too much. In a similar manner to Thomas, she covered her face with her hands and braced her elbows on her thighs.

Since the night of the dinner party she hadn't allowed herself to really fall apart. Many times she'd wanted to and certainly she'd shed a tear or two out of fear. Coming to terms with the fact that she'd been violated numerous times by the Dark Lord and his fucking spell, she was afraid to even imagine what she was going to have to do to break the spell. Every minute that passed made it seem more and more likely that she was going to have to do the unthinkable.

Thomas' arms pulling her into his chest was what finally unleashed the torrent of tears. He didn't rush her through her pain. Just held her until she was able to breathe again. He ran his hand up and down her back. She loved that he knew just what she needed. It made falling apart so much easier.

When she felt like she could not physically spill another tear, she carefully pushed herself out of Thomas' embrace. Worry was etched across his face. She smiled slightly at the unkind thought that if he continued to worry like that, he might actually develop wrinkles that would make him more like the other lesser mortals. Hermione wiped at her face with the handkerchief she now never went anywhere without.

"I'm in trouble, Thomas."

There was no gentle way to announce that terrifying fact. Dancing around it was simply a waste of time. The wizard did not seem surprised by her admission. Either that, or he was still in shock from the overload of information he'd received since sitting down on the bench in the cemetery. It would likely go down as one of the weirdest days of his entire life.

"What kind of trouble? And how can I help?"

"You're very sweet to offer, but…"

"No, you're not going to brush me off, Hermione. I'm in trouble and you're helping me. It's the absolute least I can do."

Having another friend in on her secret would be helpful, she had to concede. Thomas would likely have a different perspective on the danger she found herself in. Yet again that day, she blurted out the truth before she could talk herself out of it. She told him about what happened the night of the dinner party. _Everything_. It had been difficult to look him in the eye again when she was done.

"That's one of the most disgusting spells I've ever heard of," he declared.

"I agree."

"And you're positive that those are the only two options to break the spell?"

She just nodded. Saying the words out loud again were too much. She was quickly losing hope that anything could be done.

"What about your uncle? Can he help?"

"I don't think Regnault would be interested in keeping me _away_ from the very wizard he's been encouraging me to get closer to."

"No, I'm not talking about him. What about your other uncle?"

Thinking about approaching Albus Dumbledore for help had not once crossed her mind since her troubles began. All for a very good reason. Hermione did not trust the man who fate and Kingsley Shacklebolt made her uncle. There was a time in her past when she would've rushed to the wizard at the first hint of any problem to seek out his advice, but those days were long gone. As soon as she knew that Dumbledore allowed her best friend to grow up in an abusive, neglectful home with people who hated him all so he could cling to the first father figure who crossed his path, she knew she would never forgive him. Harry was raised as a lamb for slaughter all for Dumbledore's Greater Good.

Fuck the Greater Good! If she ever heard anyone else use that phrase within her hearing, she wasn't sure what she would do to them. Likely something that wasn't pretty or legal. Maybe it was selfish of her to know that she would rather ten thousand strangers die than one of her loved ones, but she didn't care. She'd already seen enough people in her short life be cut down too early for some noble purpose. Too much. Entirely too much. She wouldn't allow it again as long as she had control.

"That's not an option. Albus Dumbledore is _never_ an option. Truthfully, if I could get through the rest of my life without having to speak to that man again, I would be ecstatic."

Thomas acted as if he understood her vehemence, but she knew he didn't. Even knowing that Dumbledore had in his possession what was supposed to be an "unbeatable" wand made no difference to Hermione. Magic wasn't the cure to everything. Even the Elder Wand had its limits.

"Okay, so if we can't brew the potion required to break the spell," Thomas began with a sudden burst of confidence. He was a man who enjoyed a puzzle to solve. "And you don't believe that You-Know-Who will remove the spell before he's… well…"

"Before we've fucked, Thomas. It's all right. I'm well aware of how absolutely horrendous my situation is right now. Don't tiptoe around it please."

"All right. As you wish. So, your only option is to give in and have sex with the wizard."

That was the conclusion Hermione had already come to. Somehow hearing someone else say it in such stark terms made it all that much worse. If Harry or Ron ever found out, they would never forgive her. And if Kingsley… she didn't even want to imagine what he would do if he found out. This was a man who faced down Voldemort at the final battle without any visible fear. His hatred for the wizard was intense. Hermione feared that he would hate her too.

"And you can't let him tear down your Occlumency shields because then he will know you're from the future and you know how to defeat him."

She could practically see Thomas' mind twirling over the facts. It was almost fascinating to watch. Knowing that he was a man with a mission, Hermione did not interrupt his process. Just sat there and watched him attempt to work it out. Several minutes passed. The air around them was growing cooler. They'd already been sitting outside for hours. Darkness would fall soon.

"The only option I can think of, Hermione, is you have to _let_ him see into your mind. You have to let him think that he was able to bring down your shields. If you just go up to him and see 'here you go, read my mind', he's not going to trust anything he sees."

"But Thomas, if I let him bring them down, he's going to know that I know how to defeat him."

"You-Know-Who is an intelligent man, but he's not going to assume that some witch that came out of nowhere a few years ago, has the secret to his immortality. Not going to happen. You said he's arrogant and believes that he's smarter than everyone else around him. No way he's even _considering_ that possibility. Likely he thinks that you are trying to keep some dark family secret out of his hands. Maybe something about the Headmaster. I bet he'd like to know something truly awful about him."

He had a point. Voldemort was the most arrogant man she'd ever encountered. He believed he was untouchable.

"Are you familiar with pensieves?" asked Thomas.

"Yes."

"I'm sorry. Of course you would be. You are aware that when one removes a memory from within their mind, it leaves just an echo of the original memory. Perhaps, if we can remove the most damning of the memories you possess, he would only focus on the ones that are clearer."

It was an interesting idea. She hated that she hadn't even considered removing memories from her mind, but there also seemed to be some flaws to the plan. Voldemort was _expecting_ to find damning memories inside her brain. If he didn't, he wouldn't rest until he searched out every single hint of a memory within her brain. Thomas was right that a Legilimens would likely ignore the weaker memories for the ones that were clearer. Before she could express her concerns, Thomas was already thinking of what to do next.

"We can modify some memories for you, Hermione. Take a few that are real and just tweak them slightly to fit into some big, bad family secret that he's no doubt looking for. I have an idea that's kind of radical, but I think it might work."

He stood up from the bench and grasped her hand. Within moments, they were outside the gates of the cemetery. Still holding on to her tightly, Thomas spun in place. When they popped back into existence in the back garden of his parents' London home, she wanted to slap him. Side-Along apparition was hard enough when one was expecting it.

"Come inside."

Thomas didn't seem bothered by the annoyed expression on her face. He was a man with a mission who could not be deterred by the likes of emotion. Sometimes he was frighteningly Ravenclaw. Both of his parents were inside the house when he pushed the door open. He stopped only long enough for them to greet their guest before he dragged her down into the basement.

The Shacklebolt family's brewing room was rather impressive. Hermione knew that Katie kept the family stocked in their potions, but she had no idea the scale of the space she worked in. Thomas had top scores in Potions. Not even Antonin was able to best him. He led her to a stool near one of the work benches. She hadn't even climbed up on it before he was already pulling ingredients out of cupboards and lighting a flame under a cauldron.

"There's a hallucinogenic potion that I read about once," he explained during his rummaging. "Antonin and I _borrowed_ all of the ingredients from Slughorn. Not that he ever figured it out, of course. That would've required him actually keeping an accurate count of his stores. We brewed it in secret in our dorm room."

"None of your roommates ever thought that was suspicious?"

"In a Ravenclaw dorm?" He snorted. "Absolutely not. They all had their own illicit research and projects going on too. As long as we didn't ask what they were doing, they didn't ask what we were doing."

Hermione smiled. She'd only spent a year with the Ravenclaws, but she knew exactly what he was talking about. There was some idea that the people in her second House were nothing but bookworms who made top marks and followed the rules. It was quite simply untrue. They all had inquisitive minds. _Sometimes_ that translated to their course studies. More often than not, their focus was on their outside research.

"Xeno kept a box under his bed with holes in it. Three solid years of this box. Sometimes it would rattle and make these horrendous squawks in the middle of the night. He would just pretend he hadn't heard anything. So, we followed his lead."

The shrug of his shoulders made her laugh.

"But anyway, the potion turned out to be much more effective than either of us had anticipated. Are you familiar with lucid dreaming?"

She nodded. It took concentration and the ability to actually relax to make it successful. As much as she wished she could, Hermione had never been able to master lucid dreaming. It seemed out of her reach. Another Divination failure.

"Well, this potion actually allows you to control your hallucinations. Or… it's _supposed_ to. Did I mention we brewed this in our third year? Didn't come out as we planned. Horrible night. But it did encourage us to try it again. Took us a few tries, but by sixth years we'd perfected it."

"How do you think that will help?"

"I brew it. You drink it. You create some new memories. While we wait for it to finish brewing, we can remove the memories you don't want You-Know-Who to see and we think about some sort of scandal within the Dumbledore clan that would satisfy his curiosity."

Hermione wanted to believe that his plan would work. It _had_ to work. She was already preparing herself for the inevitable intimacy with the Dark Lord. Many women would be envious to be in her position. Bellatrix would commit murder to be invited into his bed. He was an attractive man. Devastatingly even. Clearly the snake-like appearance she was familiar with was only a side effect of the loss of his body the night at the Potters. Somehow the thought of an evil man being so handsome was even more sinister than a monster actually looking like a monster. If Hermione could go into any encounter with him feeling confident that he would not be able to uncover her deepest secrets, she might even be able to not hate every moment.

"I have an idea," announced Thomas while they waited for the potion to reach the proper temperature. "You might hate it. If you do, we can think of something else."

"So far your ideas have been better than anything I've been able to come up with and I've been trying for over a week."

"The subterfuge will be much more successful if we can somehow integrate your _real_ memories with some of the fake ones. What if we take some of the memories you have of your Muggle parents growing up and make it seem as if you were living in England the entire time?"

It was an interesting idea. Certainly, if she and her 'mother' Roesia Lestrange never actually left the country after she ran away, it would be a massive scandal within the Lestrange family. She didn't think that Regnault would ever forgive his deceased sister for staying away when they were so close. If she could make it look like her mother married an actual Muggle, that would absolutely be enough reason for Hermione to not wish Regnault to know. Perhaps if Voldemort learned that her big secret was something she didn't want her uncle to discover, he might finally be satisfied.

"Do you think that could actually work?"

She was terrified to hope.

"I think it's our best chance."

"Best chance for what?"

The abrupt arrival of Kingsley to the basement potions room startled both of the occupants. Hermione worried about what he might have heard before he made his presence known. She wasn't sure she could explain away what they were doing in a convincing manner if he'd heard too much.

"You could have knocked," spat Thomas.

Kingsley rolled his eyes. He was still wearing his auror robes. Clearly he had just gotten off of a long shift. He looked exhausted. Not even bothered by his brother's less than friendly remark, the wizard sat down on a stool next to Hermione. She hadn't been in the same room with him since the night they kissed. It was uncomfortable to say the least.

"What are you two doing down here?" he asked.

"Thomas was just teaching me to brew a potion. Nothing interesting."

He didn't seem satisfied by her answer, but it might have also been because she was so short with him. Hermione wasn't sure why she was being rude. Maybe it was hurt feelings. He couldn't have waited _one_ single day for her? She thought at first that she was okay with him getting back together with his ex-girlfriend. Actually being in the same room with him again brought out another emotion.

"I just thought I would say 'hello'."

She hated that he was hurt. Kingsley wasn't a man who could hide his emotions. At least not yet in his life. That was likely a lesson he learned as he grew older and the world grew a bit harsher. He stood up from the stool and made his exit. Hermione kept her eyes fixed on the floor, completely ignoring the fact that Thomas was staring.

"If you said the word, he'd leave her in a second."

"Can we not talk about him? At least not right now?"

* * *

November 9, 1974

 **6:55 pm**

It had taken two very uncomfortable weeks before Hermione was prepared to be in the same room with the Dark Lord again. Making her excuses to Caradoc had been easy. Though he didn't know all of the details, he knew enough to know that she needed to stay home as much as possible. Aberforth seemed bothered by the amount of time she spent in either her bedroom or with Thomas, but he didn't say anything. He had long been of the opinion that she was an adult capable of making her own decisions.

Convincing Regnault to host another dinner party had also been simple. He was a man who loved to entertain. Once she made it clear to him over one of their lunches that she regretted not being able to enjoy his last dinner party fully due to the strange sickness that came over her, he was quick to suggest that he have another one very soon. At least she knew that there was no way her uncle would throw a party without inviting Lord Voldemort. It was something of a status symbol within their social circle for the dark wizard to accept an invitation.

Hermione was more nervous to approach the Lestrange Manor than she had ever been before. She had a part to play. If she did not execute it flawlessly, Voldemort would be even more suspicious of her than he was before. She didn't need him digging around in her skull any more than was absolutely necessary. With her memories about the monster Voldemort would become and his horcruxes safely tucked away in various vials in her bedroom, she ran through the false memories Thomas helped her create with the aid of the dreadful potion that she never wanted to think about again.

So much could go wrong that night. She knew she was in danger. Dwelling too much on the possibilities of how the night would end were too overwhelming. Hermione stood at the front door of the manor and took several deep breaths to calm her rapidly beating heart. She reached up to knock soundly on the massive front door. Only moments passed before it swung open.

"My Lord, we've been…"

Bellatrix Lestrange's face soured the moment her eyes landed on Hermione's unwelcome form. It amused Hermione slightly to know that the witch had been waiting impatiently in the entrance hall for the arrival of her master. The woman was insane and it made her husband's cousin pleased to know that her feelings were unrequited. She had a miserable existence to look forward to in the future.

"Good evening, Bellatrix. I hope you're not disappointed that it's just me," Hermione teased.

"Come inside," ordered the Lady of the House. "You're letting all of the warm air outside."

One of the house-elves was present to accept Hermione's cloak. She was just about to head towards the sound of voices at the end of the corridor near Regnault's study when there was another knock at the door. In the corner of her eye, she witnessed Bellatrix adjust her robes and inhale sharply before answering. The smile that she wore transformed her countenance. It was easy sometimes for Hermione to forget how beautiful the witch was before she was thrown into Azkaban.

"My Lord, we've been anxiously expecting your arrival."

"Good evening, Bellatrix."

Lord Voldemort entered the manor with a flurry of his cloak. His eyes instantly fell on Hermione standing only feet away staring. A smirk that both terrified and excited Hermione appeared. Not bothering to wait for a house-elf, Voldemort pushed his cloak into Bellatrix's arms. His dark eyes never left the younger of the two witches. This did not go unnoticed by an angry Bellatrix.

"Miss Dumbledore, what a delightful surprise. I had no idea you would be here tonight."

* * *

August 10, 1998

 **8:34 am**

Somehow meeting two former Death Eaters in the Azkaban fortress was a less harrowing prospect than sitting down with the Chosen One and his best friend. Kingsley hadn't slept the night before. Every moment of his day replayed over in his mind as he tried. He also couldn't get the images from Rodolphus' memories out either. Knowing that he would be meeting with Harry and Ron, it seemed that time sped by so quickly that sleep never actually happened.

He paced the inside of the empty classroom he met his father and grandmother in weeks earlier. Minerva invited him to join her for breakfast in the Great Hall with the rest of the workers still living on the grounds, but he politely refused. His stomach was churning enough with nerves. He didn't need any of the Hogwarts elves' rich cooking making it worse.

The door opened a few minutes after half past eight. Both Harry and Ron entered with bewildered expressions on their faces. Kingsley's owls to them both had been terse and with little extraneous explanation.

"Good morning," he greeted.

They both shook his hand and responded with their own greetings. When that was complete, he motioned over to a couple of empty desks. He thought about remaining at the front of the classroom, but decided at the last moment to take another desk next to theirs. Maybe it would be easier if the setting felt more intimate.

"What is this all about, Kingsley?" Harry asked. "Your note sounded serious."

"Is this about Hermione? Have you found anything out?"

Kingsley had to take a deep breath to calm himself when Ron asked after Hermione. He hated that he was twenty-six years older than the Weasley, but he still felt some jealousy whenever he brought up the witch that was still technically _his_ girlfriend. Seeing the two of them together before Hermione was sent back to the past had been difficult. It brought back bad memories of the times he used to have to stand back and watch her be with either of the Russian Death Eaters she seemed so fond of.

"Yes, we have some news about her."

"Do you still think she was kidnapped by Dolohov?" demanded the Chosen One.

"I'm afraid it's all a bit more complicated than that, Harry."

He was surprised to find that neither of the horrified wizards interrupted him as he told them the story about Hermione arriving in the past. Kingsley told them as basic of details as possible. It didn't matter that she was almost his fiancée. He never even mentioned the fact that they had been together when she disappeared. Just gave the basic facts of when she arrived and when she disappeared.

When he finished with his theory that Dolohov was the one who stole a time turner from the Department of Mysteries to send her back in time, both wizards seemed unsure what to say in response. Harry opened and shut his mouth several times but no sound ever came out. Ron's mouth hung open.

"This is an interesting story, Kingsley, but it doesn't make any sense," Harry finally said. " _Why_ would Dolohov want to send her back in time?"

"Because he's been in love with her for almost thirty years."

Kingsley expected outrage. He expected them to shout and scream and demand that all Ministry resources be put into use to find the bastard who kidnapped their best friend. He did _not_ , however, expect the sudden outburst of laughter from both of them at what he assumed would be horrifying news.


	55. Chapter 55

Chapter Fifty-Five

November 9, 1974

 **7:05 pm**

Hermione did not even flinch when the fearsome wizard kissed her cheek in greeting. In fact, she was surprised to learn, she rather enjoyed the alarming shade of puce Bellatrix's face turned at the unusual display of affection from her master. The envy that radiated off of the furious witch was palpable. If Hermione had to choose which of the two she hated the most, her choice would always be Bellatrix. Between the night she tortured her and the sheer misery she was responsible for in Rodolphus' life and future, she would always be the bigger villain in her personal narrative.

"I have been waiting for your owl," Voldemort purred. "It's been over two weeks since we last saw each other. Hasn't it been positively maddening?"

A disgusted sniff from Bellatrix only made the Dark Lord smile wider. Hermione wondered if he was choosing his words carefully to further infuriate the witch. When he touched her chin with the tips of his fingers, she was positive he was. What his game was with Bellatrix was beyond her understanding. She didn't want to know.

"I will admit, my Lord, that the time apart has proven to be distracting..."

His soft chuckle echoed throughout the entrance hall. Hermione hazarded a glance in the direction of a fuming Bellatrix. She snapped her fingers to summon an elf. Once Voldemort's cloak was thrust into the arms of the creature, Bellatrix stalked forward to the only others in the grand hall.

"My Lord, if you will allow me to show you the way to the study..."

"There's no need, Bellatrix. Run along ahead. Miss Dumbledore and I have a few personal matters to discuss in private."

His eyes never left Hermione's even as he dismissed his most besotted follower. Bellatrix made her displeasure known as she stomped out of the hall and into the corridor. Hermione had to bite her bottom lip to keep from smiling at her dramatic antics. When the sounds of her footsteps faded away, the Dark Lord reached for Hermione's elbow to pull her body closer to his.

"You almost made me seek you out," he announced. "I don't like being left waiting."

Hermione tried to calm her rapid heartbeat and slow her breathing. Hyperventilating in front of the wizard would be humiliating and possibly deadly. His curiosity would only increase if he knew how much she feared him.

"I am very sorry, my Lord, but I can assure you that the time apart wasn't any less uncomfortable for me."

"You know how to remedy that. Are you ready to stop being so obstinate?"

His free hand gripped her curls. It wasn't hard enough to hurt, but it did speak of a promise that she would get much worse if she didn't comply. He ghosted his lips over hers, only a hint of what he'd done when he had her pushed up against the trunk of the tree.

"Tonight. After dinner. I will have you."

Voldemort released her hair after his promise. He gripped his wand and removed it from his pocket. Fearing his next action, Hermione held her breath. Only when a hex left the end of his wand and an undignified squeak of surprise came out of Bellatrix's mouth where she was hiding made her relax again.

"Now now, Bellatrix. Have you never learned that eavesdropping is poor manners?"

It took all of Hermione's self-control to not laugh at the horrified expression on the other witch's face. Even though she knew that Bellatrix was a dangerous woman capable of holding a grudge for a lifetime, she wasn't worried. She knew enough about her to understand that she was always going to be a target for Mrs. Lestrange's wrath. From the moment they met in 1971 it was clear that they were merely going to tolerate each other. Some days that was harder than others.

"My Lord, I was just…" It was obvious she was faltering to figure out an acceptable excuse to explain why she was hiding behind a statue in the corridor.

"Hermione and I will join you in a moment, Bellatrix. Please inform your father-in-law that we have arrived."

She knew better than to disregard a second direct order from her master. Before she skulked down the corridor with her tail between her legs, Bellatrix couldn't resist glaring one final time at the woman she deemed to be her competition. If only she understood that Hermione wanted _nothing_ to do with the Dark Lord. It was only unhappy circumstances that brought her close enough to touch the evil wizard. Once he was satisfied that the spy was no longer within ear's reach, Voldemort grabbed both of Hermione's hips.

"Do you enjoy torturing her?" Hermione asked, surprising both of them with her boldness.

Voldemort's sudden laughter proved he still found her amusing. She could relax slightly knowing that he didn't seem to be interested in disposing of her just yet. There was still plenty of time later for that. Aberforth let it slip in the first few hours that she was in the past that she would disappear sometime around Christmas 1980. She knew the assumption was that she was able to get her time turner working. Or at least that was the foolish hope. It was always a possibility that she was yet another one of the poor souls destined to disappear without a trace thanks to the Death Eaters.

"Bellatrix has her uses. It would be best if she remembered her place, however. I've made my feelings on the matter perfectly clear on multiple occasions. She is quite simply not a rational person."

"Why do you keep her around you then? Irrational people are dangerous."

"The lovely Mrs. Lestrange would die before she allowed anyone to hurt me. I have no fear of her."

Not wishing to continue the discussion about the woman, the Dark Lord chose that moment to remind Hermione of the power that he still wielded over her. Just like the night in Hogsmeade, she wasn't expecting the sudden fierce kiss that threatened to take her breath away. She might have been preparing herself for weeks for the inevitable possibility that she would have to be intimate with the evil wizard, but it wasn't something that she wanted. She just hadn't figured out a way to avoid it. Voldemort would have what he wanted. His curse saw to that.

Hermione was startled enough by the harsh press of his mouth against hers that she gasped. He took that as permission to further his exploration with his tongue. Her gasp quickly turned to a sigh. Before the night in the library, she never once allowed herself to imagine that Lord Voldemort was a sexual being. She wasn't entirely certain that he wasn't just using sex as a way to control her and ultimately get what he wanted. The time would come in the future when he resorted to fear and pain to entice his new recruits. Perhaps this was simply an experiment in using pleasure as a bargaining chip.

She didn't want to be intimate with him by any stretch of the imagination. It just simply seemed like a waste of time and energy to fight it. To relieve herself of the curse that had severely limited her life as of late and to finally convince the Dark Lord that there was nothing special hidden behind her Occlumency shields, she would lie back and think of England if no other option presented itself first. She could continue to fight his intentions, but she was exhausted of fighting. Already she'd spent half her life fighting. When would she get a break? No, it wasn't the best case scenario and she knew she would regret it, but desperation often makes a person's mind up for them. It wasn't the first time a woman was forced to use her body in a less than savory manner in order to remain protected. It certainly wouldn't be the last.

He seemed to enjoy riling her up. There was no other explanation for why he would choose to leave all of the others guests waiting to kiss her like two teenagers sneaking off to the back of the Shrieking Shack on a Hogsmeade visit. It had to be another psychological maneuver. Just one more way to fuck with her brain. Certainly, it didn't help that every sensation he was eliciting from her body felt amazing. Was it all related to the spell? She couldn't be certain. It didn't really matter. Knowing that his touch caused her pleasure was enough for Hermione to hate herself for yet another reason.

The sound of heavy footsteps entering the hall from the direction of the corridor made Voldemort break the embrace with clear reluctance. He sighed softly, his displeasure at the interruption clear. Obviously expecting the intruder to be Bellatrix again, he glanced up over Hermione's shoulder with an annoyed glare on his face. All at once, his expression changed to one of amused delight. Confused by who would be responsible for such a quick turnaround in his mood, Hermione glanced behind her.

"I apologize for delaying dinner, Regnault," Lord Voldemort stated though there was no remorse in his tone. "We were… distracted."

Hermione knew her uncle well enough at that point to recognize when he was struggling to keep an impassive expression on his face. His eyes always gave him away to those who knew him best. Regnault was more than just a _little_ pleased to find his niece alone with the Dark Lord. One would have thought they just announced their intent to marry. Hermione could almost hear him cheering inside his head.

"There is no reason for you to apologize, my Lord. Warming charms were invented for a reason."

"We will join you in just a few minutes."

Regnault nodded his head once before spinning on his heels. His loud footsteps down the corridor seemed to echo the beat of his niece's heart. When they could no longer hear them, Voldemort smirked at Hermione.

"It seems that your uncle is pleased with what he walked in on."

"I imagine he is already picking out our china pattern and deciding whether or not the ceremony should be held in the gardens or in the ballroom."

For the first time, his laughter did not make her skin crawl or make her wish to run away. In fact, to Hermione's immense surprise, she felt a smile quirk up in the corners of her mouth. What was she doing?

"Pity for your uncle then that neither of us are interested in marriage."

Voldemort extended his arm with clear, unspoken instructions for her to grasp it. A short walk later, they were outside the formal dining room. Before he escorted her inside, Voldemort pulled her back.

"Your uncle has saved the seats we sat in last time. As much as I _enjoyed_ our meal a few weeks ago, I think I'd rather you sit elsewhere this evening."

Hermione felt her mouth dry up with what could only be described as panic. He always had a motive for his choices. She could only imagine what reasons he had for changing up the seating arrangements.

"Look where Bellatrix is seated. I think I'd prefer if you sat there where she is and she can have your seat."

Bellatrix sat directly across the table from Antonin. On either side of her sat Igor and Walden Macnair. She wished that her uncle hadn't taken her false regrets about not enjoying his dinner party quite so literally. Why was it necessary to invite the exact same guests? Of course, she could only assume that Voldemort was responsible for, at minimum, Antonin's presence. Regnault did not care for the wizard in the slightest. Likely it was yet another manipulation.

"Sitting with those three young wizards should prove to be a diverting meal indeed, don't you think?"

"Are you planning on bestowing the same level of attention on Bellatrix that you did on me last time?"

"Jealous?"

"Hardly."

He stared at her for a tense few moments with an amused look. If possible, the sadistic bastard was even more handsome when he was pleased.

"No, I have no designs or plans on Bellatrix. I find her easier to control if I don't give her what she wants."

Hermione couldn't argue with his logic on the Bellatrix matter. She knew all too well what a person was willing to do with just the _hope_ that something more might develop. Bellatrix would prove her loyalty, if not her sanity, repeated times in the future. Voldemort was a master at manipulation.

"I don't care for this dress, Hermione," he continued. "It's entirely too matronly for a vibrant young witch."

She'd chosen her attire for that specific reason. Most of her more elaborate robes from Twilfitt and Tattings were indeed a bit more risqué than she was comfortable wearing. Seraphina insisted that her necklines in all of her formal robes be very low and reveal more than she wished. Hermione wanted to get through the dinner party with as little attention paid to her as possible. Being forced to endure more of Voldemort's visions during dinner because her décolletage was uncovered sounded like a disaster waiting to happen.

"I think I few simple alterations are necessary."

He didn't waste any time slashing away at the fabric with his wand. Only a few charms were required to remove the material covering both of her shoulders. A deep, plunging neckline put Igor's locket on display where it hung between her breasts. Hermione fought the urge to strangle the evil wizard with her bare hands. Sensing her discomfort, the Dark Lord winked. He leaned down to whisper in her ear.

"I want you dripping by the time dinner is over."

She almost lost her nerve. Inside her mind, she was screaming to move her legs and run away. It was only the terrifying realization that she needed him to break the spell that kept her rooted in the same spot.

"Let's go inside."

Every single person seated at the table rose to their feet the instant he crossed the threshold. Hermione hated feeling so on display. Curse or not, life was simpler when everyone looked past her. He led her over to the chair she sat in at the last dinner, but at the last moment, loudly declared that he'd rather she traded places with Bellatrix. Her cousin's wife looked as if he'd just declared his undying love for her. She didn't hesitate to move away from her chair and stand behind the one next to Voldemort. Hermione tried not to roll her eyes as she crossed the large room to the spot at the table now deemed hers. Once Voldemort sat down in his chair, the others followed suit. Dinner had begun.

It would be a mark of bad manners if she didn't acknowledge those poor souls seated nearby. Igor leaned over to kiss Hermione's cheek to Antonin's clear fury. He didn't open his mouth when she addressed him. Just clenched his jaw and nodded. When Hermione turned her attention to Macnair and saw him staring directly down the front of her gown, she braced herself for the vision that she knew was coming.

They may have grown in intensity the longer that she was under the influence of the spell, but she had also learned how to cope with them. Once the hallucination of her leaned back on the table with her breasts exposed while Voldemort lapped between her thighs passed, she was certain that very few people at the table were aware that anything strange had happened. She even granted Macnair an awkward half-smile. At least she was surprised to learn he was a wizard who enjoyed putting the needs of witches ahead of his own. Somehow she assumed that the cruel man was more of a taker than a giver. Apparently she had a lot to learn about those she was dining with.

"Everything all right?" whispered Igor.

"Just fine," she replied. There wasn't anything that he could do to stop the visions if he wanted to. No use letting him know the details.

"It's still not broken?"

"Not yet."

The arrival of the first course interrupted their discussion before it really got started. It was for the best. Hermione couldn't be certain how Voldemort would take the news that she'd confided in Igor about the details of his spell. He was too difficult to read. Either he would be pleased with the tale of his disturbing spell being shared or he would be furious enough to make Igor's life difficult.

She tried to keep as much to herself as it was possible to do. At least away from her uncle she wasn't expected to join in the discussion. Regnault's gaze rarely left his guest of honor. Hermione kept her eyes on her plate, nibbling at each of the decadent dishes that were presented.

In another repeat of the first dinner party, she made sure that no wine glass left her place setting without emptying it first. Every minute that passed brought her closer to the moment she knew she would have to finally give in to the Dark Lord. He was resolute. It was _going_ to happen. She had to remain as calm as possible to make certain that the elaborate plan she figured out with Thomas would work. If she allowed herself to panic, she might ruin everything.

If she never swallowed another potion of dubious origins, she would be pleased. Thomas had not fully prepared her for the effects that the lucid hallucinations potion. It had been _uncomfortable_. When she was satisfied that she had enough memories to tie into the theory that Roesia Lestrange remained in Britain to marry a Muggle to be convincing, she begged Thomas for an antidote. Unfortunately, like so many of his fellow Ravenclaws, he had been so enthralled in the process that he hadn't even considered brewing a second potion to end the effects. Hermione would be leery of ever accepting any kind of liquid libation from her friend.

Ignoring Antonin had been her initial plan of attack for surviving the awkward gathering. They hadn't spoken in months. Not even a terse word of greeting at the last horrible gathering. What was there to say? She glanced up once during the meal to catch his eye. Immediately, the dark brown eyes she was so familiar with lowered to rest on the silver locket prominently on display thanks to his master's alterations. Hermione wasn't even surprised when she fantasized Voldemort ripping the locket from her throat and throwing her down on the table to take her roughly from behind. Antonin had always had a fondness for bending her over pieces of furniture. It was also hard to ignore the fact that the fantasy included an audience consisting only of an angry Igor.

She wasn't going to engage Antonin in any kind of argument. It would be too simple. Out of respect for her uncle, she would keep her temper under control. Stirring up Antonin's rage wouldn't aid matters anyway. He tended to be more virile when provoked. Hermione did not need to endure even more inappropriate visions seated at the dining table. She was grateful that Igor had been able to control his more lascivious thoughts. Later, when the curse was broken, she would be certain to thank him for his thoughtfulness. It couldn't have been easy.

Ordinarily, she would have been pleased when pudding was finally served. Not only was Rosie a master at creating the most delectably rich concoctions, Hermione was usually ready for the meal to be over. As much as the Lestrange men had each wormed their way into her heart, she did not always enjoy the cold, formal feasts. Understanding that she was running out of time, she couldn't touch the chocolate on her plate. Two gulps were all she needed to empty the final pairing of wine. Her stomach churned. If she managed to make it through the horrors to come that night without throwing up, she would be surprised.

Regnault's swift rise from his chair at the head of the table signaled the end of the meal. As everyone else followed his lead to stand, Hermione's legs felt heavy. She was rethinking her confidence from earlier. How had she been foolish enough to believe that everything would work out all right in the end?

"Please join me in the gardens."

Though he might have appeared to ask his guests nicely, Regnault expected to be obeyed. Not caring that he was being watched by Hermione's other ex, Igor offered his hand to help the witch to her feet. When she made it to her unsteady feet, he kissed her cheek and whispered encouragement that no one else could hear. Igor seemed to understand the significance of that night too.

It was no surprise that she was stopped at the door to the dining room by the touch of Voldemort's hand. He'd made it very clear what he expected once the meal was over. Regnault was not foolish enough to insist that his guest of honor accompany him out to the gardens with everyone else. Hermione almost wished he was. Anything to delay the culmination of the evening's events.

"Take me to your room," he ordered with no preface or warning.

"My room _here_ , my Lord?"

"Unless you want to take me to The Hog's Head. Maybe your father and I can share a glass or two of fire whiskey before I defile his daughter in the back room."

She detested his sarcasm. Especially when he grinned at her like she was a helpless bunny caught in a hunter's trap.

"I would assume that at least here, we are less likely to create a scene. And you and I are both aware that your uncle could not be more delighted that I'm showing an interest in you."

Yet again that evening she could not argue with his logic. The Lestrange Manor was a great deal larger than her home. With everyone outside for the customary after-dinner hike through the gardens, if they were quick about it, they might even be done before the other guests returned to the manor. Hermione sighed and headed towards the massive main staircase. She didn't have to look behind her to know he was following. His was a presence that was impossible to ignore.

They met no one on the stairs or in the family corridor. Hermione wasn't sure what she would say if they had. Too many awkward questions she wouldn't be able to answer. Though she rarely spent the night at the Manor, Rosie and her team of house-elves made certain that her room was ready at a moment's notice. When she pushed open the door to the gold and rose colored room, she was surprised to see a fire had already been lit in the fireplace. Perhaps Rosie noticed the amount of wine she was drinking and assumed she would be staying the night.

Voldemort closed the door behind him with a deafening click. He didn't even bother to hide the fact that he was examining every inch of the spacious room. It was all a bit ostentatious for Hermione's taste. She never felt terribly comfortable at the manor. Her small room in the back of the pub with its warm, old quilt was more inviting. Just like every other room in the massive manor, her bedroom felt cold.

"And you choose to live in a rundown public house when you could spend every night here? I'm not sure I understand that choice."

"If I lived here, I would not have my freedom. My Uncle Regnault would be my Head of House in more than just a ceremonial capacity. I much prefer being free to come and go as I please."

"You are an uncommon witch."

Before she could respond to his odd remark, Hermione was startled again by the Dark Lord closing the space between them. Being alone in a bedroom with the wizard made it all suddenly seem real. It was all just theoretical before he renewed his heated kisses from downstairs so close to her bed. She was beginning to fear that all of her plans were going to come crashing down around her. Perhaps they had been too ambitious.

"You had a lot to drink," he reprimanded gently. "Were you afraid?"

"What do I have to fear from you, my Lord? Are you planning to hurt me?"

"Yes. Yes, I am. In delightfully pleasurable ways."

His teeth nipped at her bare shoulders. Any harder and he would have broken the skin. Hermione worried that his statement about hurting her was serious. Though she was no stranger to a little bit of pain enhancing the pleasures in a bedroom, somehow imagining the most frightening dark wizard that their world had yet to know being the one eliciting the pleasure, made her a bit wary. This was a man who found it amusing to curse her when he didn't get what he wanted.

"Your shields are slipping. I think you are rather enjoying this attention."

Hermione didn't trust herself to answer that loaded question. Maybe because she didn't want to think too hard on the truth. If she actually managed to _enjoy_ what was happening, she wouldn't be able to forgive herself. It felt like a betrayal. Harry would never forgive her.

"Harry, Harry, Harry. That name keeps popping up in your mind, Hermione. You didn't answer me last time. Who is he?"

She snapped her eyes open completely at his question. Was she failing? Thomas wouldn't allow her to remove all memories of her best friend. He said it wouldn't make sense for her to have no friends from her life before she arrived in the past. It also would be suspicious since he was able to see him in one of the memories that slipped through her shields the night in the Hogsmeade woods.

"Just an old friend," she answered, loathing herself even further for the throaty moan that came out of her own mouth when he nipped again at the sensitive skin of her neck.

"And do you _always_ think about this 'old friend' when a wizard kisses you?"

"Not usually."

He placed his fingers underneath her chin to force her eyes to meet his. She didn't have time to block him fully before flashes of memories of Harry come to the front of her mind. Nothing that would give away who he actually was and the importance he would play in the downfall of the wizard looking though. Thomas had been thorough. Only memories of them sitting alone together at the edge of the lake or walking together laughing remained. None of them were interesting enough to keep the Dark Lord's attention for very long. To him, Harry must have looked like an old boyfriend from when she was younger. He was after more damning memories.

Voldemort stepped backwards. He removed his wand from his pocket. Yet again Hermione feared what he was going to do with it. Very little good came out of the end. She gasped when a single flick of the wand removed every single stitch of clothing she was wearing. The dress and her various undergarments folded themselves as they flew across the room to land on a chair in a neat pile.

"Look at me," he ordered.

She was too frightened to ignore the command. The wizard stalked around her in a circle, admiring every inch on display. Once he was satisfied with what he was seeing, Voldemort stood in front of her again. A warm impression similar to what she experienced when he squeezed her thigh under the table started once again in Hermione's feet. The smirk on his lips was all the proof that she needed to know he was responsible.

As the feelings intensified and moved up her body, she was tempted to close her eyes. Each time she tried, Voldemort forced her to open them again. He wasn't holding anything back with his spell. It was more powerful than the one at the dining table. Just as she feared she was about to explode with the sensations, he gripped her chin.

There was no way to keep her Occlumency shields in place while she was in the middle of the most intense orgasm she had ever had in her entire life. The concentration that was required quite simply wasn't possible as her body quaked and trembled with indescribable pleasure. He scanned through her memories in record speed. She tried her hardest during it all to push forth the altered memories. It was difficult, but he latched on to them.

She felt violated in more ways than one when the pleasure spell he cast on her faded and his mind slipped out of hers. Lord Voldemort did not care. The pleased smile on his face proved that he'd finally found exactly what he was looking for. Hermione could only hope that he fell for the false memories. If he didn't, it was too late. There was nothing else that could be done.

"You have been lying to your uncle. Naughty witch."

Hermione dropped her eyes to the floor in a gesture of shame. His quiet chuckles proved that she was still entertaining him.

"I imagine that Regnault would be less than pleased to learn that his baby sister didn't actually run away from the country like he suspected. And… was that a _Muggle_ I saw her married to?"

The tears that sprung to her eyes didn't even have to be forced by that point. She was relieved that he was taking the bait.

"Please don't tell him, my Lord," she begged. "He would never forgive my mother and I think that he… if he knew that… if he knew I spent so much time around Muggles…"

"Yes, it would be quite the scandal if he found out. It certainly would cheapen the name of Lestrange in certain circles. After all, what kind of Pureblood would willingly turn their backs on their family to wallow in the mud with filthy Muggles? Regnault would be humiliated."

To further the idea that she was horrified by what he witnessed, Hermione reached out to grab the lapels of his robes.

"Please, my Lord. I'm begging you. Please don't tell him. I don't want anyone to know."

"I never make promises, Hermione. I have no intentions to reveal what I've learned at present. But… that may change in the future."

It was enough. The relieved sag of her shoulders wasn't feigned. His curiosity was satisfied for the presence. Maybe she wasn't interesting enough to keep his attention. At least she could hope so.

"We're still not finished."

He kissed her again to distract her thoughts. In all of the excitement of him reading her mind, she'd forgotten that they had not actually completed the requirements of breaking the spell. Her ordeal wasn't over yet. Voldemort led her backwards towards the massive bed that dominated most of the wall. He only removed his lips from hers when he gently pushed her backwards to land on the soft comforter. Despite him being a monster, Hermione stared at his form as he quickly undressed. She thought it unfair that evil was that handsome.

Voldemort laid his naked body on top of hers. She could barely breathe. His hands reached underneath her thighs to pry them apart. Hermione couldn't watch. It would make it too real. Everything happened so quickly. Only seconds passed from him standing at the foot of the bed to the moment he pressed inside her body. Neither of them had the opportunity to even sigh at the initial intrusion before the alarms protecting the virtue of the unmarried Lestrange female sounded.

"What is that?" he demanded.

"Anti-shagging charms. To keep me out of the clutches of evil wizards with immoral designs on my body."

He found her explanation humorous. Without care for the deafening alarms going off around them, he snapped his hips forward, making her groan. Every thrust brought relief from the horrible curse. Hermione could feel it melting away as each second passed. A side-effect of the curse meant that when the conditions were finally met, the intensity of the act was incomparable. Lying back and just waiting for it to be over was impossible.

The door to her bedroom flew open right as she let out an almost inhuman scream. Hermione was only just able to make out the heartbroken and furious form of Bellatrix standing in the doorway with her wand outstretched before a shout from the Dark Lord sent her scurrying away. Later, when her mind wasn't fuzzy, she would take a moment to be worried that she'd made an even bigger enemy of Bellatrix. She would never forgive Hermione.

"Do you wish you hadn't waited so long for that?" he asked, rolling off when he was done to lay on the bed next to her. "You put yourself through so much misery when it wasn't necessary."

At some point, the alarms were shut off. The alarms that could only be shut off by a male of the Lestrange bloodline. Either Regnault or Rodolphus, likely both, were aware of what just transpired in her bedroom. How would she be able to look at either one of them again? Regnault would be overjoyed. Rodolphus would be confused and worried. And the guests! They would all know too. Every second that passed, the fog and haze of the bewitchment she was under began to clear.

He watched her jump off of the bed, but did not move to stop her. Hermione could feel his eyes on her as she hastily dressed. When she threw open the door to the corridor, he chuckled. She could still hear his mirth when she ran down the corridor to the main stairs.

Hermione could hear movement in the entrance hall. Several of the guests were waiting for their cloaks and preparing themselves to leave. She couldn't look a single one of them in the eye. Ignoring even her uncle's calls to stop running, she rushed out into the cold November night without her cloak. There wasn't enough time to wait for it.

There was only one person she wanted to see. One person who could understand what she just endured. Just outside the gates, Hermione spun in place with the destination of London in mind. Her feet touched down in the secluded front garden of the Shacklebolts' home. Dean and Katie spent most weekends in Hogsmeade. She didn't expect either one of them to be there to ask what was wrong.

"Hermione? What are you doing here?" Kingsley was worried when he saw her eyes full of tears.

"Is Thomas here? I need to see Thomas."

"No, he's not here. He hasn't come home yet."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bother you."

She turned away, but his hand stopped her. He didn't ask for permission. Just pulled Hermione's freezing, shaking form into the protection of his arms as she cried.

* * *

August 10, 1998

 **9:30 pm**

Kingsley had never been more grateful to make it home. It had been a horrible day from start to finish. He was exhausted. The lack of sleep from the night before caught up with him long before the day was over. He was certain that the moment his head touched his pillow, he would be out.

The reveal of what happened to Hermione to her best friends did not go as planned. Neither of the boys believed him at first. They accused him of working too hard. Harry even had the audacity to ask if he'd been drinking! How dare the little snot ask _him_ , the Minister for _fucking_ Magic what he did in his spare time? If he wasn't considered a damn national treasure, the Chosen One might have found himself at the wrong end of a nasty hex.

And Weasley… Weasley was worse. When he was finally able to convince the little shits that he was telling the truth about Hermione being a time traveler by pulling out an old photograph of her from his pocket, the child demanded to know what Dolohov could possibly be thinking holding on to the hope of a love for that long.

"What's so special about their 'love' that he would do something foolish like steal a time turner and send her back in the past without her consent?"

With the exception of the wizard in danger of having a heart attack thanks to the rage he was experiencing, Hermione had always had bloody horrible taste in men. What could she possibly have seen in Weasley? Just thinking about that meeting made Kingsley clench and unclench his fists.

His day hadn't gotten any better once he finally was able to convince Harry and Ron that Dolohov sent Hermione back in time. He had to announce to the wizarding world what happened. A simple press conference erupted into chaos only moments after the damned Skeeter woman began asking impertinent questions about Hermione's true relationship with the feared Death Eater. Was she secretly working with the Death Eaters during the war? Could she be trusted? Was the Minister certain that she wasn't colluding with Dolohov?

Just thinking about the day made his blood pressure rise. Knowing he wouldn't be able to sleep until he calmed down, Kingsley took a bottle of fire whiskey down from the kitchen cupboard. It took two glasses before he felt serene enough to sift through his post. A large envelope filled with a rather thick folder caught his attention. He pulled out the contents. A single piece of paper fluttered out. Before it floated to the ground, he caught it.

 _I didn't send you this, Kings. Did some digging in the archives this morning after we talked. If I get caught smuggling classified documents out of the Ministry, can I rely on my decade-long friendship with the Minister to get me out of trouble? -Iain_


	56. Chapter 56

_Author's Note: Many of you may have noticed or seen an announcement I made about my sole focus currently being this story. My goal is to have this finished before February 21_ _st_ _. It will be difficult, but I think it's possible. All of my other WIPs are on hiatus until either I finish this or I get such bad writer's block that I need to work on something else._

* * *

Chapter Fifty-Six

November 9, 1974

 **11:40 pm**

Receiving the offered comfort of Kingsley's strong arms on the front steps of his parents' house felt all wrong. Hermione felt like she wasn't worthy of the warmth that always seemed to radiate out of his skin.

She remembered the night she was polyjuiced to look like Harry. As she struggled to find some modicum of comfort on the back of the thestral, she was startled by the feel of Kingsley jumping up behind her. Even in a body belonging to someone else, the pressure of his thighs lightly brushing her borrowed legs made Hermione blush and squirm. Her embarrassing crush on him from before fifth year had never completely gone away.

"Are you all right, Little Witch?" he'd asked once he noticed her discomfort.

"Not really. This is bizarre and I don't even know how you're supposed to sit comfortably with one of these things."

She'd meant the thestral, but his sudden laughter made her think she should've chosen her words more carefully.

"You get used to it," he replied, wiping the amused tears from his eyes. Apparently, it was always an appropriate time for a penis joke. "But hopefully, we will get through this long before you do."

"I actually meant the thestral, you incorrigible pervert. I'm afraid I'm going to fall off."

His laughter still rang in her ears as he scooted his body up closer to hers. She could feel how warm he was and fought the urge to lean back into his chest.

"Little Witch, I'd die a hundred times before I allowed any harm to come to you. I won't let you fall off."

Even with the curses flying past her head during the battle, she never once worried again that she would fall. Kingsley was a man of his word. If he promised, he would deliver. She would never forget landing in the darkness of his cozy, little house when it was all over. He enveloped her in his arms as they both clung to each other for what little comfort they could offer.

"Where's your cloak, Hermione? Your skin is like ice."

She didn't want him to let her go, but she also didn't feel like she deserved his comfort. If he knew what she'd just done, where she'd just been, he would never be able to look at her the same way again. Of all the people she knew, past and future, she never wanted Kingsley Shacklebolt to hate her.

"Come inside, Hermione. You'll freeze out here."

Kingsley would not accept 'no' for an answer even if Hermione was in a position to run off. He was right. She was freezing. Running out of the manor without her cloak had been dramatic, but certainly not the best decision to make. She hadn't considered how cold the night would be. All she wanted was to get as far away from the curious looks from the other guests who all knew what she'd been doing upstairs in her bedroom with the Dark Lord. The smirks she witnessed on Abraxas Malfoy's and Walden Macnair's faces had been enough. She didn't want to even _think_ about what she would have seen if she looked at Antonin's or Rodolphus'. Too humiliating.

She allowed the concerned wizard to lead her inside the warmth of the house by the hand. Though he spoke to her the entire walk to the kitchen, Hermione wasn't sure what he'd said. Her mind was still stuck on what had happened earlier in the evening. She wished that Thomas was there. He would've understood exactly why she was upset without being forced to ask a bunch of questions she didn't want to answer. Kingsley was sweet in his own annoying concerned way.

"Let me make you some tea," he offered.

Hermione sat down at the kitchen table to watch him brew the tea. Neither of them spoke. She wrapped her arms around her midsection and tried not to shiver too much. The inside of the house was comfortably warm. It would still take some time to get rid of the chill. When Kingsley placed a steaming cup of tea in front of her, his hand brushed her bare shoulder. The simple touch made her jump slightly.

"Gods, Hermione!"

He summoned a cloak from the front hall. It flew through the air to his outstretched hand. Not wasting another moment, Kingsley placed the cloak on her bare shoulders. She could smell the light cinnamon scent that always seemed to cling to the wizard in the fabric. With one hand holding the teacup, Hermione used the other to pull the cloak tighter. Slowly, she began to feel warm again.

"Are you in trouble?"

She half-expected him to use the officious Auror tone that he used when he was on the job. Certainly it was an odd situation and she wouldn't blame him. How often did a distraught woman in an evening gown with no protection from the early November elements just appear on a wizard's doorstep with no warning? Hermione knew that she owed him at least _some_ kind of explanation.

"No," she replied between sips. "I just… I had an _awful_ dinner at my uncle's. I'm sorry I just showed up without warning. I didn't want to go home yet. Dad would want to know why I'm upset. I just thought Thomas…"

She could tell Kingsley was desperate for answers, but too polite to ask. Hermione was grateful for the comfort of his silent presence. She didn't want to talk.

"You can stay here tonight, if you want," he offered. "Tommy should be home later."

"Thank you. That's kind of you."

Truthfully, she didn't want to go anywhere. Aberforth always knew her moods. He'd probably assume that something truly horrible happened at the manor, which it did, and finally lose his patience with Regnault. She worried that it was only a matter of time before her adopted father had a serious issue with something her fake uncle said or did to her. The consequences of that could be awful. If Aberforth rushed off to confront Regnault, he might get more information than she wanted him to know. No doubt her uncle was excited about the fact that she was alone with the Dark Lord in her bedroom. She didn't look forward to their next lunch appointment. He would ask many impertinent questions.

Even with the hot tea filling her belly and her body covered with Kingsley's cloak, Hermione still wasn't warm. She tried to keep her shivering hidden, but he was a perceptive man. He had always paid extra close attention to her when they were in the same room. After he filled her another cup, he begged her to stay where she was at. When he disappeared from the room, Hermione's curiosity got the better of her. She set the empty cup down, pulled the cloak tighter, and rose from the chair.

The Shacklebolt home was one of her favorite houses. It wasn't overly large. In fact, the pub was much bigger if one counted the four guest rooms, the private back area, and the main room. She loved every moment she spent with the members of that family. Once outside of the kitchen, Hermione followed the sound of running water. Dean and Katie's bedroom was the only bedroom on the ground floor. The boys, or rather the young _men_ , both slept on the first floor. She could hear him moving around in the large bathroom connected to his parents' bedroom.

He was running a bath. Nervous about approaching the door, Hermione was encouraged slightly when she saw the door wasn't shut. She carefully pushed it open to witness Kingsley measuring out dried herbs from a glass jar. Sweet-smelling steam swirled through the room. Hermione closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Instantly, she felt calmer.

"What is that?"

Kingsley almost dropped the jar into the deep tub at the sound of her voice.

"I'm sorry. I thought aurors were supposed to always be aware of their surroundings," she teased, pleased that a little bit of the heavy feeling that settled on her earlier in the evening was finally beginning to lighten. His sheepish grin made her smile back. "What if I'd been some big, bad, dark witch intent on cursing you in the back?"

"Lucky for me, you aren't. I was focused on what I was doing. Moody would hit me in the back of the head and scream 'Constant Vigilance' at me. Please don't tell him?"

She giggled softly and nodded.

"Not sure what all Mum puts in this, but it's relaxing. I know there's lavender and chamomile in it for certain, but she's always experimenting with different mixtures. I thought a bath would warm you up and these could help you calm down a little."

She wanted to cry with gratitude. A long, hot bath sounded heavenly. Knowing that he was putting her needs first and actually thinking about what she needed made Hermione's heart swell. Her Kingsley had always been thoughtful in the future. Always brewing her the perfect cup of tea before she even had to ask. There with a supportive hand on her shoulder when times were stressful. To personally witness his transformation from the obnoxious child he'd been when she first met him in the past to the man he would be when he was older, was endearing him to her even more. When did her feelings for him sneak up on her?

"Thank you, Kingsley. This is very kind of you."

"I'll find you some clothes you can sleep in. I'll set them outside the door. You can have some more tea when you're done. Or maybe, something a little stronger."

Kingsley left her alone moments later. When the click of the door shutting behind him filled the silence of the bathroom, Hermione removed his cloak from her shoulders. Unable to stop herself, she held the heavy fabric up to her nose to take a deep sniff. She thought it strange how powerful scent really was. How many memories it brought up. His cloak smelled just how she remembered it smelling twenty years in the future. Hermione neatly folded the garment and laid it on the counter.

She would never wear the dress she had on again. Even if she reversed all of the charms that Voldemort cast on it to make it less 'matronly', she knew she couldn't bear to see it again. She ripped it from her body, not even worrying when she heard the disconcerting tear of the hated fabric. An incendio spell removed all evidence that it existed. Seraphina would be horrified to see how she treated her creation. Hermione allowed herself a small smile at the thought of her shocked face. Though she was a Lestrange, Madam Tatting still hadn't quite warmed up to Hermione personally. If she hadn't had the disposal of her uncle's charge account in the shop, she wasn't sure the witch would even acknowledge her existence. The witch was always of the opinion that she was wrong when it came to the choices she made personally in regards to fashion. Truthfully, Hermione didn't care. She allowed the witch to dress her up like a proper Pureblood princess because she knew it would be easier to live with Regnault's approval than without.

A loud groan escaped her mouth when she slipped underneath the steaming water. It was a bit hotter than she normally cared for, but she allowed the heat to burn away at the shame that still clung to her frame. There likely wasn't enough hot water in the world to purge herself completely of the reminders of the Dark Lord's bare flesh against hers. Perhaps in time the memories would fade. Only an hour or two after the act, however, Hermione worried that she would never be able to feel anything else.

Kingsley's suggestion that she soak in the bathtub was perfect. Even if he didn't know that she desired to wash every inch of her skin of the horrific night she'd just had, the herbs and oils swirling around in the water calmed her nerves immediately. Hermione took several deep breaths, inhaling the thick perfume wafting up from the water. Once she scrubbed every bit of her she could reach with soap, she laid her head on the back of the tub. She loved a deep tub and had not had the pleasure of luxuriating in one that deep since she was still in a relationship with Igor. Not only was his shower extravagant and too large to justify the use by just one person, but his bathtub could bathe several comfortably. They'd put it to the test more times than she could remember.

She must have dozed off when she relaxed. The water had grown cold very quickly. One look at her fingers showed the wrinkled evidence that she'd lingered a bit too long in the tub. Hermione rose to her feet, careful not to slosh the water over the sides. A fluffy towel had been placed on the counter. She wrapped her exhausted body in it and moved to the door. Just as Kingsley promised, there was a small stack of clothes waiting for her on the floor. Clearly belonging to the wizard, she laughed to herself as she pulled them on. He was much bigger than her especially after all of the physical training he'd undergone as an auror. The pajama pants hung loosely on her even after she tightened the drawstring as much as possible. She laughed at how tiny she looked in one of his old Quidditch jerseys. But they were warm and still had a hint of the wizard's comforting scent still clinging to the fibers.

He wasn't difficult to find once she was dressed. Kingsley sat at the kitchen table reading a copy of the Daily Prophet. It was obvious that he was waiting for her. When she slipped back into the chair she'd vacated earlier, he looked up from his reading to smile. Without waiting to ask if she wanted any, he started brewing more tea.

"Thank you, Kingsley. The bath was exactly what I needed."

"Are you warm now?"

"Yes, I am."

She took the offered teacup with a grateful smile. Though she didn't sip it, the warmth in her hands felt comforting. Afraid that he was about to start asking her more questions about why she showed up at his house late at night without her cloak on and why she cried in his arms, Hermione cut him off before he could.

"How are things with you and Roxanne?"

Kingsley sighed. It didn't take a genius to understand his girlfriend was the last person he wanted to talk about at that moment. A little bubble of hope began to form in Hermione's gut. Maybe they weren't as close as Thomas implied they were. She tried to feel guilty that she hoped their relationship was rocky again, but somehow she couldn't muster any up.

"They are all right," he answered after an awkward pause. "We don't see much of each other these days. She's been travelling with the team. Busy time of year. She's trying out for the English team next month. If she makes it, she will be gone for three months."

"That's a long time not to see each other."

"Yes, but that's part of playing professional Quidditch."

His statement was almost a warning to not push the subject any further. Hermione understood his tones. She wanted to ask him a dozen more questions, but knew he wouldn't appreciate her being even more of a nuisance.

"If I'd known that you and Dolohov wouldn't get back together…" he started. He sighed again before continuing. "I didn't know that you two broke up again the next day. If I'd known, I wouldn't have gone to see Roxanne."

"No, Kingsley, there's nothing to feel bad about. I _told_ you not to wait for me. It wasn't fair to ask you to put your life on hold just because Antonin and I can't seem to figure our feelings out."

" _One_ day, Hermione. Do you know how angry I was when I came home and Tommy told me you'd been looking for me?"

"Perhaps we should change the subject. There's no use going over what we can't change from the past."

Hermione sipped at the tea, relishing in the warmth as it slid its way down into her belly. Just as she had with the bath, she began to feel even more relaxed with each mouthful of tea she swallowed. It was only when her eyes grew too heavy to keep open that she thought she should have paid closer attention to what she was drinking. The last thing she could remember before the empty darkness was the feel of two strong arms lifting her up as if she weighed nothing more than a few pounds and the whispered words of the concerned wizard.

"Sorry to trick you, Little Witch, but you look like you need a long, uninterrupted night's sleep."

She would be angry with him in the morning. Until then, she allowed the sound of the beating of his heart against her ear to lull her into unconsciousness.

* * *

November 10, 1974

 **9:05 am**

"Kingsie, I know you don't have a _lot_ of experience with the witches, but you can't just slip a potion into their drink. That's a violation of trust."

"You didn't see her, Tommy. She looked so frightened and exhausted. She wouldn't have taken it otherwise."

"Still, that's not your call to make. When she wakes up, _you_ will take full responsibility. If she's angry enough to hex you, don't say I didn't tell you so."

The muffled voices slowly grew clear the longer Hermione listened. She didn't move to open her eyes. Truthfully, she wasn't even sure she was capable of opening them just yet. Both of the Shacklebolt boys stood only feet away based on the volume of their voices. Not ready to face the day and the reminders of the night, she snuggled deeper into the warm blankets. She could tell just by the smell of the sheets that she spent the night in Kingsley's bed. The chilly spot next to her proved that those hours were spent entirely alone. Even if she was upset with Kingsley for tricking her into drinking a Dreamless Sleep potion, she wasn't quite ready to confront him about it yet. There would be plenty of time when she wasn't so relaxed and comfortable.

"She was looking for you," Kingsley continued. "Just showed up with no cloak on, shivering in some ridiculous dress, and crying. Why did she want you, Tommy?"

"That's not really any of your business, is it?"

"You two have been spending a lot of time together lately. Are you two… I mean, are you both…"

"Stop right there, little brother. I know how you feel about her. Even if I wanted to, I wouldn't go after her. I might be the Shacklebolt she claimed she was looking for, but you're the Shacklebolt she wants."

Kingsley's snort of derision made Hermione want to slap him. Did he truly not understand that Thomas wasn't wrong? Yes, she did show up wanting comfort from Thomas because he knew what she'd faced that evening, but in the end, she was grateful for the time she spent with Kingsley. He calmed her down more effectively than she thought even Thomas was capable of.

"Deny it all you want," Thomas declared. "But it's the truth. End things with Roxanne and then see what happens."

"She kissed me."

"Last night?"

It was obvious by Thomas' tone that he was shocked by the knowledge. Hermione resisted the urge to snicker. If they knew she was awake and listening, she wouldn't get to hear anything else. Suddenly it felt very important that she hear everything Kingsley had to say.

"No, back in July. She'd had a fight with Dolohov and didn't know what was going to happen with them. It was a slow night at the pub. Ab left us alone with a bottle of fire whiskey for a couple of hours. She just hopped down off the stool and kissed me. I offered to wait for her, but she told me not to."

"And then what happened?"

"I was an idiot."

Thomas' sharp bark of laughter made not smiling even harder for Hermione.

"Of course you were. Why doesn't that surprise me? What happened next?"

"I left. Went back to Granny's and the next morning when I came home, Roxanne sent me an owl. Didn't think when I accepted her invitation to come watch her play that Hermione and Dolohov would break up that day. And when you told me that she'd come looking for me at Granny's…"

"You have shit timing."

"Tell me about it."

Neither of them spoke for a few moments. Hermione tried to still her breathing enough to make it seem like she was still under the influence of the potion. Yes, eavesdropping was wrong, but she didn't care. So was slipping a potion into an unsuspecting and trusting witch's drink. They both had reasons to feel guilty.

"I didn't see her until that day you two were brewing in the basement. She was so cold to me that I'm sure she's not interested."

"I think you're wrong, but you won't know if you don't ask."

An inconvenient sneeze from the witch supposed to be asleep on the bed interrupted the private conversation between the brothers. Hermione was furious with herself. They were both staring at her when she opened her eyes. Thomas greeted her with a bright smile. Kingsley looked as if he was ready to run away. She bit back a grin. If he ever thought about potioning her again without her knowledge, she would cause him pain, but she wasn't ready to argue. Especially not when she understood he was only doing what he thought was in her best interest. And to be perfectly honest, it _was_ what she needed.

"Good morning, Hermione," Thomas said. "Did you sleep well?"

Kingsley elbowed his brother roughly in the side to Hermione's amusement. She wanted to laugh. Instead, she pulled the blankets up closer to her chin and nodded. Thomas sat on the edge of the bed. He reached over to gently brush her hair out of her face.

"Are you all right, love?"

He didn't need to use any additional words to get his true meaning across. Simply based on what she heard the wizards discussing while it was assumed she was asleep, Hermione knew that he was fully aware of what happened at her uncle's. They had been preparing for it for weeks. She wanted to tell him that he was a genius and everything went perfectly, but Kingsley did _not_ need to know the truth. Maybe one day she would be able to admit that she was essentially forced to be intimate with Lord Voldemort. Hopefully, that day would be years away if it ever came.

"Yes, Thomas. Thank you. I had a difficult night, but I don't think I'll have any more problems. They seem to have been resolved."

"Excellent."

She cut her eyes over to where Kingsley was watching. Just as she expected, he seemed to be both confused and intrigued with the deliberate words they were speaking. Recognizing that his younger brother was at risk of demanding answers they weren't going to give him, Thomas stood back up from the bed.

"Kingsie and I were about to go over to Granny's for brunch. You're welcome to join us if you want. I'm sure the adults will all be pleased to hear you spent the night here in Kingsie's bed."

"I slept downstairs on the sofa!" exclaimed Kingsley.

"Yes, yes, you were the proper gentleman. You know Granny's going to call you an idiot again, right?"

Hermione's limbs felt heavy with the after-effects of the potion. It took her much longer to climb out of bed than it normally would. She was ready to go home to her own bed. Aberforth would be worried about her coming in and immediately going to her room, but he wouldn't ask questions. He was definitely of the opinion that he didn't want to know the details of what happened when she was outside the pub. As long as she came home safely, he didn't want to know how she spent the hours away.

"Thank you, but I should get home. I didn't mean to spend the night last night, but someone drugged my tea."

She smirked at the look of horror on Kingsley's face. No doubt he assumed that she was about to let him know how displeased she was with his actions. If anyone else tried to do the same, she likely would be. Kingsley was different. He would never set out to deliberately hurt her.

"Hermione, I…"

"Kingsley, it's all right. I appreciate your concern, but if you ever try that again, I won't be nearly as understanding."

* * *

December 25, 1974

 **10:30 am**

The last several days of the year arrived quickly. It felt like to Hermione that hardly any time had passed since she ran out of the manor. A disconcerting peace seemed to fall over her life. As soon as the horrid spell was broken by Voldemort, she hadn't been subjected to his unwanted presence once. Naively she hoped that he was done with her now that he knew what was supposed to be her dark secret. In the back of her mind, however, she knew better.

Rodolphus never brought up that night. Hermione knew that between the alarms going off in front of everyone and the fact that his unhinged and very vocal wife was an eyewitness to the act of intimacy, there was simply no way he didn't know what happened in the privacy of her bedroom. She remembered the morning she found him outside of the pub after she'd snuck off to London with Igor. He would happily live in ignorance of her amorous affairs. Though at that point, Hermione thought she would have much rather had sex with the entire National Quidditch team than spend another moment alone with the Dark Lord. They continued to work in the shop together acting as if nothing unusual had ever happened.

Regnault was a completely different story. Though Hermione hadn't been subjected to another lunch with an unexpected third party, her uncle seemed intent to bring up her supposed relationship with Lord Voldemort at every opportunity. He asked many impertinent questions about whether or not they were still seeing each other. Should he anticipate there being a wedding before Rabastan's? It didn't matter how reticent she was or how obviously reluctant she was to answer his questions, Regnault persisted. One thing was certain in the entire mess. No wizard she ever brought to meet the family would ever be good enough in Regnault's eyes. Until she was the Dark Lord's Lady, he would be unsatisfied.

Once she left the Shacklebolts' London house the morning after, Hermione hadn't seen Kingsley. He'd hardly spoken to her after she warned him to never slip her a potion again. She'd continued to see Thomas several times, but Kingsley was absent in those visits. She tried not to take it personally.

There was one day that she knew he wouldn't be able to avoid her. Christmas Brunch at Margie's was a Dumbledore family tradition that Hermione was determined she would continue as long as she was able. It was always so nice to see Aberforth relax around people he cared about. Margie and her late husband had been as close to best friends as he had ever had. His admiration and respect for his fellow Gryffindor were evident.

Dean answered the front door with a wide smile and loud laugh. After he removed their cloaks and pushed the traditional mixture of champagne and orange juice in their hands, the head of the Shacklebolt family led the father and daughter into the dining room. They were always the last to arrive to Hermione's annoyance. Two seats at the end of the table were open. Aberforth slipped into the chair Dean led him to at the foot the table. Hermione eyed the chair she was expected to sit in with a mixture of confusion and worry. The Dumbledores weren't the only ones who were unofficial members of the family.

Antonin refused to meet her gaze. No one spoke around the table as it became obvious very quickly that neither of the exes really wanted to sit next to each other. Before she could make the decision to just sit down and ignore him, Kingsley rose from his own seat on the opposite side of the table. He wished Hermione a Happy Christmas and sat next to his biggest rival. She had to resist the urge to kiss him right then and there in front of his entire family.

The meal was a pleasant affair once the initial awkwardness passed. Very few meals with that beloved family weren't memorable occasions. She enjoyed the lively discussions. Dean could always keep her on her toes with his rebuttals. Every year she walked away from the table with even fonder memories than she had from the year before. It was easy to see how she fell in love with Kingsley when she thought about it. His family was perfect. Anyone would be fortunate to be a member of it. Though she knew that there was plenty about him on his own to love, his family was an excellent place to start.

"Are you going to your uncle's tonight for dinner?" Thomas asked when the meal was over and the younger guests started to move to the living room.

"Not this year. The Blacks invited the Lestranges to their home this year. Bellatrix and Cygnus would rather Avada me than sit at the same table. Doesn't bother me at all. I feel the same about them."

"Excellent. Sounds like you're free tonight. Want to recreate the first Christmas we knew you and break into the Shrieking Shack again?"

Hermione looked up just in time to see Antonin's wide eyes. She could tell that Thomas hadn't brought up the idea with his best mate before that moment. Over brunch she'd learned that his parents had gone to Russia for the holidays. Though he was no longer working for Gringotts, he was reluctant to speak too much about his new position. Only explained to a curious Aberforth's inquiry why he was there that he wasn't able to secure the time off from work to join them.

"I don't know, Thomas. I was planning on helping Dad in the pub tonight. One of his busiest days all year."

"No, it's been too long since we've all spent an evening together."

"Thomas…"

"Nope." He refused to hear any of her protests. "We used to be friends before you two had to ruin it all by dating. Not my fault. I'll bring the whiskey."

Thomas turned around at the sound of his mother's voice to help her in the dining room. Realizing she was alone in the living room with her ex-boyfriend and Kingsley, Hermione headed straight for the bar. A pitcher of orange juice sat on the counter just waiting for champagne. She poured herself a glass of juice to give her hands something to do.

"Would anyone else care for a glass?" she offered.

Only Kingsley requested one. She filled a small tumbler of juice and crossed the room to where he was standing near the doorway to the corridor that led to the bedrooms. He took it from her hand. Hermione laughed to herself. The only possible way it could be more awkward was if Voldemort was there with them. Knowing that she was making Kingsley uncomfortable with her presence so close to him, she turned to walk towards the empty sofa.

Except her feet wouldn't move. Furious at first thinking that Antonin cast the jinx on her that he used to use to make it unable for her to run off, she spun around to glare in his direction. His cheeks were bright red with undisguised fury when he pointed above her head. She and Kingsley were underneath enchanted mistletoe.

"Granny thinks it's funny," Kingsley said in a soft whisper when he realized they were both stuck. "Mum told her to take it down, but she won't. I should've been paying closer attention."

An impish grin crossed Hermione's mouth before she could stop it. She wasn't sure what came over her. It certainly wasn't the most mature decision she'd ever made. With full knowledge that every movement she made was being witnessed by Antonin, she threw her arms around Kingsley's neck. Her lips were pressed against his only moments later. Dazed by the aggressive kiss at first, it didn't take Kingsley long before he was enthusiastically kissing her back. A simple peck would've broken the enchantment, but Hermione didn't care. She ran her tongue along his bottom lip. Once his mouth was open enough to allow her to deepen the kiss, Hermione didn't care there was an audience of one.

The loud crash of the front door slamming shut ended the kiss. She almost laughed until she looked up to see the rest of the family plus her dad standing in the living room staring at them with various expressions ranging between amusement to horror. Hermione removed her hands from his neck and dropped back down off of her tiptoes. She could feel her cheeks start to burn with embarrassment.

"There's no reason to stop on our account," Margie laughed.

"Mother!"

"And you said the mistletoe was a terrible idea, Katie."

Thomas walked over to the ashamed couple clearly trying to hide his own smirk.

"Was that Tony slamming the door?"

When Hermione nodded, he took off after his best friend. She could tell he wanted to linger to find out what was going to happen next, but his priority had to be Antonin.

"Kingsley, this is very inappropriate," admonished his mother. "Are you not still dating Roxanne?"

All of the joy that Hermione had been feeling since she snogged Kingsley began to dissipate. She'd forgotten about his girlfriend. Though she was gone on an international tour for the next three months as a reserve member of the National Quidditch team, they were still very much together. He'd even been making plans to visit her abroad on one of her stops.

"Oh, Katie. Leave the boy alone. They had to kiss to break the enchantment."

"A kiss on the cheek would have sufficed, Mother."

"Not nearly as much fun though, is it?"

Hermione wanted to get out of there. She thanked her hostess for a lovely meal and grabbed her cloak. Aberforth followed her lead. They were halfway to the pub before he spoke.

"Wish I could've seen the Dolohov boy's face. Must have made quite the impression on him to get him to storm out like that."

His laughter threatened to make Hermione laugh too. She playfully swatted at the wizard's arm and begged him to stop.

"Glad to see you with a wizard who might actually be good enough for you. I was beginning to fear you'd never find one I liked."

* * *

 **9:45 pm**

Customers seemed to come from all over the wizarding world that night to the pub. Hermione couldn't understand why they were so busy. She knew that Aberforth always made comments about how that night was the busiest night all year, but somehow, she misjudged what that actually meant. He was grateful for the extra help. They struggled to keep the dozens of customers needing a respite from their family drama supplied.

Thomas stopped by the pub in the midst of the crush to beg her to meet them at the Shrieking Shack that night after nine. She had been hesitant. After his histrionic exit from Margie's house, she didn't think that spending any amount of time with Antonin would be a good idea. Thomas promised her that after they'd had a long talk that he was all right with her being there. Only after hearing that did she agree. It was time they put their pasts behind them. If they were going to have the same friend, they needed to learn how to be around each other.

She hated walking through the woods by herself. Thoughts of Greyback cornering her and then reminders of Voldemort attacking her mouth made her reluctant to make the journey. Several deep breaths and reminders that she was a capable and strong Gryffindor were required before she would exit the village on her own. She was supposed to meet them there at nine, but she'd lost track of the time. Every sound in the woods seemed amplified. Hermione walked with her wand clasped tightly in her hand. She was alert and scanning the area as she moved.

It was a relief when the ramshackle hut came into view. The board on the cellar that was used as the entrance had already been ripped off. Realizing they were all waiting for her inside, she hopped over the fence. She tried to ignore the thoughts of the last time she'd been in the Shrieking Shack. That night was better left forgotten. Too bad Antonin refused to when they were together. She knew that he despite promises to the contrary, he would never forgive her for the night in seventh year when she snuck out of the castle grounds to see Igor. Even though she knew she held most of the blame for that night, she wished it could just be forgotten.

The three men were already seated on the floor passing around the bottle of fire whiskey when she entered. It was difficult to ignore the tension in the air. Thomas was certainly attempting to. He greeted her with a kiss to the cheek and pushed the bottle into her hand. She took a big, fortifying gulp of the liquor to calm her nerves. Recognizing that perhaps she had been drinking a little too much in recent months, she'd been trying to cut back. This night, however, was not a night that could be dealt with completely sober. She could only imagine what was going to happen before she slipped into her bed.

"We were beginning to think you were standing us up," teased Thomas.

"Sorry. We were really busy. It was hard to get away. Did I miss anything?"

She looked over to where Kingsley and Antonin were resolutely keeping their mouths shut. Thomas' sigh gave her all that she needed to know. Tension was still high and it was obvious she had been the topic of discussion. She cleared her throat and took another swig from the bottle. If she was going to manage to have any fun at all that night, it certainly wasn't going to be sober. She'd worry about her amount of drinking when the holidays were over.

"So what's the plan? Are we just going to sit around and awkwardly stare at each other?" she asked. "Because I'd rather not."

Kingsley's suggestion that they play the same game they had when they met years earlier was quickly shut down. To Hermione's surprise, it was Antonin who didn't want to play. She assumed that he would not want to reveal any secrets about his secret life as a Death Eater. Voldemort made it clear that he was doing what he could to convince Thomas to join him, but she knew that their friend wasn't interested. It was likely a sore subject after all that Thomas learned about Voldemort in the future.

It was quickly becoming one of the more uncomfortable nights she'd had in a long time. No one could think up a satisfactory game to play. When Kingsley said something, Antonin had a snarky reply. When Antonin said something, Kingsley had a snarky reply. When Hermione spoke, Antonin also had a snarky reply. Only Thomas seemed to have no one angry with him. All in all, it was a _miserable_ way to spend Christmas night.

"Why are you slumming with us tonight?" Antonin inquired her between swigs from the bottle. "I assumed you would be off celebrating in style with all of the other Pureblood princesses."

"First of all, Antonin, I'm _not_ a Pureblood princess. Second of all, I don't like going to those parties and ceremonies. I only go when my uncle insists I go."

"Oh, well, I just assumed that you had more _important_ people to spend a cold winter's night with than the three of us."

She knew him well enough to know what he was saying when he wasn't actually saying it. He wanted to know why she was bothering to spend time with them when it was common knowledge with some sets that she had intimate knowledge of their Dark Lord. It seemed that the more he drank, the more belligerent and obnoxious he became. She didn't want him to just blurt out in front of Kingsley that she'd fucked the evil wizard. Besides not wishing to have a reminder of that night, she didn't want him to know. Even Thomas was growing frustrated with his best friend.

"There are some things, Antonin, that are quite simply, none of your business. That's one of them."

Most of the fire whiskey was gone. She could feel it settling in her belly. A pleasant warmth ran through her limbs. With a little bit of clumsiness, Hermione stood to her feet. She was going to call it a night. There were drunks she'd rather vomit on her at the pub than sit through more accusations and thinly veiled remarks from her bitter ex-boyfriend. The Shacklebolts both begged her to stay, but she didn't listen.

Sheer determination to get out of the uncomfortable situation was what it took to climb out of the cellar window. She didn't know if any of the wizards were following her as she crawled over the fence marking the boundary. It didn't matter if they were. Home was her destination.

Alcohol impaired her judgment. It lowered her inhibitions and weakened her reflexes. She'd known by watching her cousin Rodolphus struggle with alcohol that she wasn't immune to her own problems. All too often it was easy to just knock the edge off with a glass or several of whiskey. It hadn't taken her long to get over her initial reluctance to drink. As she walked back through the woods stewing in her fury in the manner in which Antonin spoke to her, she wasn't as vigilant as she should have been.

It really shouldn't have been a surprise when the werewolf who haunted her nightmares, but had been strangely absent in recent months stepped out from behind a tree to block her path. Annoyed and angry that she hadn't been more careful, Hermione sighed and reached for her wand. Greyback only smiled his disconcerting feral smile. He wasn't afraid of anything she could do to him.

"One would think that you'd have learned that these woods are very dangerous by now," he teased.

"Step aside, Greyback. I am _not_ in the mood."

"I don't even get a 'Happy Christmas'? That's very rude."

"Fuck. Off."

His laughter caused her skin to break out in goosebumps. She hated the way he made her feel. Why could he not just give up?

"I just wanted to let you know that I think I've finally figured out how to get that locket off of your pretty, little neck. I'm anxious to test out my theory."

* * *

August 10, 1998

 **9:45 pm**

Iain Proudfoot was one of the best aurors Kingsley had ever had the privilege of working with. For ten years they'd worked together. He was without a doubt one of the two aurors Kingsley was most proud of having had a chance to mentor. Tonks had been the other. Close in age and vastly different in temperament, his trainee aurors often butted heads, but at the end of the day, they were all good friends. Tonks' death had struck Iain particularly hard. Unfortunately, the Minister knew all too well the pain that came with not only unrequited love, but the loss of the one person he loved the most in the world. The coming years weren't going to be easy for the heartsick auror.

After his meeting with Hermione's best friends and before the horrible press conference, he'd taken a walk to the Auror office to have a chat with his friend and former colleague. Once he thanked Iain again for taking care of his nephew Dean when he was arrested for using magic in front of Muggles, Kingsley took a seat at his desk to tell him in confidence what he learned from Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange the day before.

He needed advice. Needed to know if it was a complete waste of time to open an investigation into what happened seventeen years earlier. Iain sat there patiently listening to every word he spoke without interruption. By the time he described in detail the memories he'd extracted from Rodolphus' head, Iain whistled an exhale. Proudfoot was an honorable man. He'd struggled during the year the Ministry was run by Death Eaters and an Imperiused Minister, but he'd survived. More than once during that year and after, he confessed to Kingsley that he thought he could do more good remaining inside the walls of the Ministry to keep those he cared about working in the building safe. Kingsley couldn't fault the man for that.

"And Dorie's mum is going to try to get him released?"

"She wants me to open an investigation, but I think it will come down to me having to grant the man a pardon."

"That won't be a popular decision, Kings."

"Not for some, no. And especially not so soon after Voldemort's defeat. Anyone even associated with him is a sore subject. It might be easier if we waited a little while until emotions died down, but…"

He couldn't complete his thought. It wasn't necessary. Iain nodded his head in agreement.

"But Dorie's mum is as tenacious as she was. Mrs. Tonks won't be satisfied with waiting."

"No, she won't."

Kingsley had to leave his office soon after that before they really were able to finish their conversation to his satisfaction. He had to make his priority Hermione's disappearance and apparent kidnapping. The fate of an innocent man would have to wait until later when he had more time.

The folder Iain somehow managed to smuggle out of the Ministry archives could have cost them both their jobs if it was discovered. Criminal records were never supposed to leave the premises. Knowing that they were warded to prevent theft or being mislaid, Kingsley was very curious to know how his friend managed to sneak it out without the alarms going off. It also made him wonder how many times Iain had down something similar in the past.

Rodolphus' record was one of the least interesting files Kingsley had ever had to read. He expected there to be report after report, statement after statement declaring that he was a dangerous wizard who had no business being out in the public. Where there should have been a long list of crimes, there were only two listed.

 _Known associate of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named_

 _Torture and Incapacitation of Frank and Alice Longbottom (?)_

The three question marks at the end of the second crime was a surprise. Had there been some question even years earlier that he wasn't guilty? He flipped through more pages. A record signed by one Dolores Jane Umbridge declaring that she'd tested him for the appearance of the effects of the Imperius Curse made Kingsley's anger resurface. He almost crumpled the piece of parchment into a ball. When he checked the next page, he was surprised to find an addendum to the previous document. Someone protested the information provided by the horrid woman.

" _I have known Rodolphus Lestrange since we were eleven years old. His behavior following his capture was completely out of character. Though Miss Umbridge stated that he was not under the influence of any compulsion spells, including the Imperius Curse, I beg to differ…"_

Kingsley read the statement of Mafalda Hopkirk multiple times. It was well-written, detailed, and if it had crossed his desk, he would have absolutely followed up with the witch's claims that the accused was not examined properly before his trial. Why then was there no evidence of any kind of follow-up? He flipped through the rest of the file to see if anyone had bothered to check the veracity of her statement. Either it had been lost to time or it simply did not exist.

Whatever the case, he knew he had somewhere to start. He had a witch in the Improper Use of Magic office to visit.


	57. Chapter 57

Chapter Fifty-Seven

December 25, 1974

 **11:40 pm**

Fenrir Greyback was never going to leave her alone. She had known that from the first moment he approached her while she was feeding the goats. Even if she hadn't consciously been aware of how deep and dangerous his obsession was going to become, Hermione had the feeling within her very bones that he wouldn't just disappear quietly from her life. No, one or both of them would have to die before she never had to worry about him popping up to block her path when she least expected it.

She wasn't in the mood for a confrontation. Could this not have waited until a later day? For some perfectly pleasant evening when she hadn't already had to deal with a furious and frustrating wizard? It seemed that no one in her life possessed great timing.

The werewolf eyed her with the same intense gaze he always employed. Ordinarily, it would make her shiver with fear and long to run away. In that moment, however, Hermione wasn't nearly as impressed with his attempt to frighten her as she usually was. Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe it was the fact that her anger with Antonin was taking center stage leaving her mind very little opportunity to dwell on anything else. Or maybe it was the fact that she had just recently stood up against the fucking wizard who labeled himself as Lord Voldemort and come away relatively unscathed.

"If you think you've figured out a solution, by all means. Try it."

Greyback only laughed at her challenge. He wasn't intimidated by her in the slightest. Hermione was done with the night. She wanted to go home, go to bed, and forget her life for a few blessed hours. Annoyed with the monster blocking her path, Hermione pushed past him. Or at least she tried. She placed both of her gloved hands on his muscular torso and pushed with all of her strength. He didn't budge.

"You're going to have to try a lot harder than that, little girl."

His laughter made her anger rise in exponential leaps. How dare he terrorize her over and over again! Either he needed to kill her or leave her alone. The taunting and the watching from the shadows was tiresome. When his bulking frame refused to get out of her path, she pushed again. This time, however, he grabbed her arms with his dragonhide gloved hands and roughly pulled her body against his chest. She could feel his hot breath on her face and it made her stomach churn.

"My plan isn't ready yet," he explained. "Give me more time and I'll have that locket off of you."

"Yes, well, if you aren't planning on doing it right this moment, let me go. I've had quite enough of this Christmas. I'd like to go to bed."

"You don't smell afraid tonight."

She could hear the disappointment in his voice. Hermione rolled her eyes. Why yes, a petulant werewolf was _exactly_ how she wanted to end her evening. A glance up into the creature's face proved that he was even sticking his bottom lip out in a prominent pout.

"I'm _not_ afraid of you, Greyback, but I am getting bloody sick of you bothering me."

"Does that mean you are looking forward to me being back inside of you?"

The snap a of twig in the direction of the Shrieking Shack made them both spin around abruptly. Antonin was alone. He must have run after her when she stormed out of the shack. His wand arm was outstretched and if his red cheeks were any indication, he was enraged.

"Are you fucking serious, Hermione? You actually _fucked_ a werewolf?"

Leave it to her ex-boyfriend to take their conversation completely out of context. Is that what he really thought of her? That she was such a disgusting slag that she would be willing to have sex with anyone and anything? There were times she was around Antonin that she couldn't believe she'd ever loved him. He was not the quiet, shy boy she remembered from Hogwarts. His behavior was already changing in their seventh year. She should have known it wouldn't take very long before he became a cold man she didn't recognize. One did not become a cold-blooded murderer with rage issues overnight. It was a process.

Hermione wrenched her arms out of Greyback's grasp. The werewolf was startled enough by the unexpected presence of the wizard that he didn't even put up a fight. She thought it strange that he hadn't been aware of Antonin before he stepped on the twig. Werewolves were supposed to have heightened senses. Did she really have that much power over Greyback that he didn't even pay close attention to his surroundings when he was bothering her?

She wasn't going to stand there in the middle of the snowy woods to argue with Antonin. Greyback seemed all too eager to witness yet another of their spats. His signature feral grin creeped up on his features. He was prepared to enjoy the show. Hermione turned away from both of them to direct her steps toward Hogsmeade.

"Do you ever do anything _other_ than run away from me?" Antonin demanded.

They'd had this exact argument more than once in their time together as a couple. He was always quick to accuse her of running away when she needed to get away from him to cool down. What good would it do either of them for her to stand around and continue to be yelled at? All it did was anger her or upset her even more. They weren't going to be able to speak rationally and calmly when either of them were in that state. She would leave him, not because she didn't feel like he had any right to share his opinion or state his side of the story, but because she knew that there was no point in arguing with a man who couldn't see reason. When they both had the opportunity to calm down they were able to speak rationally.

"I'm not having this argument with you right now, Antonin. I probably won't _ever_ have this argument with you."

She wasn't even able to make it a few steps before she felt a large hand grab her upper arm. The tight, crushing squeeze left no doubt that it was her ex who'd reached for her. Greyback usually had a firm hold, but never that punishing.

"Let me go, Antonin," she demanded when she turned her head to meet his angry eyes.

"I'm just trying to understand you, Hermione. You tell me to stay away from the Dark Lord because he's dangerous and not the kind of man I needed to be around, but then you make a fool out of yourself by fucking him…"

Greyback's boisterous laughter made Hermione cringe. She tightened her grip on her wand, thinking seriously about the best curse to use to seriously maim the horrible man. As if it wasn't bad enough that everyone who was present for the dinner party at her uncle's house knew about her liaison with Voldemort, she didn't want the werewolf obsessed with her to know too. He simply stood back watching the spectacle of their argument wearing a pleased smile.

"And then that same day you tell me that this arsehole is a dangerous werewolf that I should stay away from. But clearly you also fucked _him_. Do you make it a habit to whore yourself out to dangerous men?"

He was actively trying to hurt her. Antonin had always had a way with words. For a man that didn't use many, when he did, they were always calculated to make the most impact. He was also a man who lashed out when upset. It was one of his least attractive qualities. Disgusted and more furious than she could remember being in a very long time, Hermione pointed her wand in the most sensitive area of his body. A nonverbal stinging hex straight to his bollocks made the man scream out and drop his hold on her.

The laughter from the werewolf only increased with the cries and curses from the pained wizard. Antonin fell to the ground hissing in pain. Hermione fought the urge to kick him in the face. How dare he? How fucking dare he accuse her of being a whore obsessed with dangerous men? She wasn't sure she would ever be able to forgive that outburst.

"I didn't expect this much excitement when I followed you tonight," chortled Greyback.

"Fuck you! Just leave, Greyback. Get out of here. Leave me alone until you have more than just empty threats to taunt me with."

"I don't make _empty_ threats, little girl. We will finish what we started. Maybe I'll even get another chance to stun this idiot in the back again."

With a wink that made Hermione's skin crawl, the werewolf Disapparated from the area. She really just wanted to rush off towards the village and leave the wizard in the snow. Only her conscience kept her rooted to the spot. Taking pity, she cast the counter-curse. Slowly, Antonin began to recover. Hermione was annoyed. Wizards really could be weak if the wrong part of their body was harmed.

"What did he mean?"

Antonin's voice was soft and she almost missed hearing it over the sounds of the forest. Whether the tone was because he was still in pain or for another reason entirely, Hermione wasn't sure. She stepped closer to Antonin to offer him a hand up. He stared at it for several seconds before finally taking it. As she watched him brush the snow off of his clothes, Hermione debated whether or not she should allow this conversation to continue.

"What did he mean, Hermione?" repeated Antonin with a little more insistence. "That's _twice_ now he's made a comment about stunning me in the back."

She sighed. He wasn't going to allow the matter to drop. Maybe it was time to admit what happened. There was a possibility that she would feel better. There was also another chance that the revelation would make everything so much worse than it already was. Hermione wasn't certain she wanted to risk it.

"Do you remember the New Year's when you were stunned in the back?"

"Of course I remember that. It's hard to forget."

"It wasn't Kingsley."

Antonin furrowed his brow as the words began to take root. No one had been able to convince him that Kingsley wasn't the one responsible for him landing face first in the snow. It wouldn't have been the first time the younger Shacklebolt cursed him when he wasn't looking. He didn't care how many times he denied that he was the perpetrator, Antonin was certain that he was. Who else could it have been? He stared at Hermione until she was past uncomfortable with the intensity of his gaze. Finally, he scoffed.

"So the werewolf stunned me in the back so he could meet you instead? Had your little affair been going on a while before that night?"

She had to fight the urge to hex him again.

"No, Greyback and I never had an affair."

Hermione took a deep breath and made a decision she was certain she would come to regret at some point. Later, when that night was over, she could stop to weigh the consequences.

"Greyback waited for you to start walking to the pub before he stunned you in the back. He needed you out of the way and unable to interrupt his plans."

"What plans?"

"To corner me in the pub when I was alone and attack me."

Antonin didn't speak. His ex-girlfriend knew him well enough to understand that he was trying to process all of the information she'd just given him. He was trying to piece it together. The abrupt change in the expression on his facial features made it clear that he was finally understanding the gravity of the entire situation.

"The werewolf was the man you told me about. The one who attacked you on New Year's."

She nodded, unable to trust herself to speak. Confessing and sharing this large and dark of a secret was more difficult than she imagined. Antonin stepped forward to close most of the distance between them. He seemed torn on whether or not he wanted to reach out and touch her. There was a definite softening in his demeanor and his tone.

"What did he do to you, daragaya?"

"Not as much as he wanted to, but still enough."

He closed his eyes at her confession and his shoulders sagged. All hint of anger disappeared. When he opened his dark brown eyes again, Hermione was surprised to see them full of unshed tears. Antonin didn't wait to see if it was all right. He didn't ask for permission before wrapping his arms around her back and pulling her into his chest. Hermione considered pushing the embrace away for a brief moment, but ultimately decided against it. She knew that there were times that Antonin needed physical touch to reassure himself that those he cared about were safe. And besides that, there was a familiarity in the feel of her cheek against his chest and his hands on the small of her back that just felt _good_.

"No wonder you didn't want to go home with me that night. I thought you were mad at me."

"I never wanted you to know."

"Why?"

His question was asked directly into her hair. He'd pulled her closer to him and laid his cheek on the top of her head. Hermione sighed into the affectionate embrace. It was a bad idea to get too close to him, certainly, but she didn't care in that moment.

"For many reasons. I didn't want you to go after him. He's so dangerous, Antonin. He wouldn't hesitate to hurt you or kill you. I couldn't bear that. Couldn't bear for anyone to get hurt on my account."

"I want to kill him. Want to make it so he can't ever touch you again."

Hermione pushed back from his chest far enough that she could look him in the face with worried, pleading eyes. Their relationship might not work. They might create a toxic, unhealthy dynamic when they were together, but she still cared deeply for him. She likely always would. Emotions didn't always make perfect, logical sense.

"You must _promise_ me, Antonin, that you won't go after him. He wants you to. That's why he's taunted you now twice. If you went after him, he would kill you or at the very least injure you very badly. Don't give him what he wants. _Please_. Please don't go after him."

She could almost hear the internal battle waging inside of his conflicted mind. He was not a man who would give up easily. If pressed, he wouldn't stop until either Greyback was dead or he was. Concerned about what might happen if he tried, Hermione knew that both of the men would still be alive to fight in the Second Wizarding War. She knew she wasn't capable of altering the events. It was important that Antonin leave the werewolf alone.

"All right," he conceded. "I won't go after him."

"Make a vow."

Her demand surprised them both. She wasn't usually in the habit of forcing people she knew to make magic-inducing vows unless the situation was especially dire. Antonin almost denied her request. But once he was aware that she would dig in her heels and get her way in the end regardless, he complied. Only once the magic strands of their vow intertwined and faded away did they both relax again.

"That night you were gone for a long time with Ted. Did he…"

"Ted walked in while Greyback was…" She couldn't bear to say the actual words. It didn't seem necessary based on the sudden reddening of Antonin's cheeks and tension in his shoulders. He was angrier than she had seen him in a long time. "Ted stopped him. They dueled and I was able to get away to find my wand. Once we both were fighting him, Greyback ran off."

"I've asked Ted about that night, but he never would tell me why you were both gone so long."

"And I don't think he ever will. I begged him not to tell anyone what he saw. He wanted to. Wanted to get me help, but I begged him, made him promise not to tell anyone. Not even Andy knows."

Antonin tightened his hold on her to bring her back to his chest. He laid his cheek on the top of her head and sighed. She didn't continue in her explanation of what happened that night. There was no need. He had more than he needed to know. She honestly expected there to never be a time when she told him the truth.

"You said there were many reasons why you never told me what happened. What were some of the others?"

Hermione wasn't going to answer that question wrapped in the warmth of his arms. It felt inappropriate. She didn't want to give him the wrong idea. No matter what happened after this conversation ended, they weren't getting back together. Their time had come and gone. She couldn't bear another go around. Carefully, she removed her body from his touch. When they were standing apart, she answered him.

"I never wanted you to look at me like _that_."

"Like how?"

"Like I'm broken."

She didn't want to look in his eyes anymore. Her worst fear when it came to revealing what happened to her that night came true. Antonin wasn't looking at her the same way he always did. The anger he had was gone only to be replaced what she recognized as pity. He felt sorry for her. She was just a broken doll to him and she couldn't bear it. There was nothing wrong with her! She was not going to allow a single moment in time to define the rest of her life. She wasn't a 'victim'. She was a woman who had a horrible thing happen to her that only served to make her stronger.

Igor spent months proving to her and reminding her that she was not broken. She was not weak. Greyback's assault only had to define who she was as a person if she allowed it. Hermione lost count the number of times Igor reminded her that the person she was was the sum of her experiences in life, not a single night. Because he was a man who seemed to understand that, she had been able to share with him over time the details of that New Year's. She got the feeling that Antonin would never be that understanding. Maybe it was to Igor's benefit that he was several years older with more life experience. Maybe it was simply who he was as a person. Having five older sisters gave him a different insight into certain aspects of life than other wizards.

Seeing the pity in Antonin's eyes broke Hermione's heart anew. It made her almost question whether everything Igor assured her was even true. Part of her worried that he had only been telling her what she longed to hear and not the truth.

"I'm sorry I jumped to the wrong conclusion earlier," he declared in a quiet, almost shamed voice.

"I accept your apology."

She wasn't about to tell him that it was 'all right' because it wasn't. Accepting an apology was one thing. Absolving him of all guilt was something quite different. He needed to understand that he couldn't just say horrible things to her and make terrible assumptions about her character and everything be forgiven.

"Your necklace…"

Antonin started to say something, but stopped. She could only imagine what he was trying to articulate.

"Karkaroff gave that to you to keep the werewolf from hurting you again."

"Yes."

"I wish you told me what happened. I hate that you felt like you couldn't trust me."

Hermione sighed. One of their old arguments threatened to blow up. His insecurity was exhausting at times. She was tired of fighting. There was a reason why they'd tried and failed multiple times to have a relationship. Though there was love between them, they just didn't work.

Anything she might have said in response was interrupted by the arrival of the Shacklebolt brothers. They'd been far enough behind that neither of them witnessed any of their discussion before or after Greyback's exit. Hermione wasn't rushing to inform them of what they missed and neither was Antonin. The four of them walked back to the village together in almost complete silence.

* * *

December 31, 1974

 **8:30 pm**

Every year Hermione looked forward to Margie's Hogmanay party. It was easy to forget the significance of the date when she was surrounded by many of the people she loved most in the world. She also didn't allow herself to dwell on the past. Part of her no doubt, life-long healing would be learning how to enjoy the holiday again. The year before had been a lovely distraction with Igor never leaving her side once he passed the initial inspection by the women of the Shafiq family in the kitchen. They'd had the pub entirely to themselves that night and used their solitude to their advantage.

He'd owled her the morning of the last day of the year to make sure that she was all right. His family was still gathered in Russia for the holidays, but he promised her that with one word, he'd get the first international portkey he could find. Even offered to make an illegal portkey if that was his only option. Hermione had been grateful even as she assured him that she would be all right. Once the incident with Voldemort's spell happened, they'd renewed their friendship. Even though it didn't feel the same as it did before they were together in a more committed fashion, she still cherished the time they spent together.

Aberforth was glad to escort her to the party when he was ready to leave the pub. She knew that many of the guests already arrived, but she didn't want to go alone. After her confrontation with Greyback in the woods, she wasn't about to be caught unaware and alone again. She might have told him she wasn't afraid of him in that moment because she really hadn't been, but as she sobered up and time passed, her feelings changed. He was a dangerous enemy to have. She would need to be more careful. If it was possible, he was going to find a way to remove the locket so he could finish the act of marking her as his mate. The thought of that made her shudder.

"Are you all right, lass?"

Her dad didn't ask many questions, but she knew that he cared for her very deeply. It hadn't taken long before they both began to forget that their relationship wasn't one of blood. Everything felt so easy with Aberforth. Well, unless she was attempting to give him advice on how to improve the cleanliness or efficiency of his livelihood. Those were topics they did not always see eye to eye on.

"Yes, I'm all right," she replied even though there was no confidence behind her words.

"I'm not completely unobservant you know. I've noticed the last several months haven't been easy for you. You're missing someone. Is it the Russian or the other Russian?"

"Neither of them."

"Someone from your past? You don't speak much about that part of your life."

There was a reason she didn't speak about her past. Aberforth had asked her not to. It seemed safer that he not know too much. The bits and pieces she'd told him were all right, but any more and he might be in danger.

"No, no one from my past either."

Aberforth slowed his steps. He didn't stop completely, only gave them an opportunity to speak a little bit longer before they reached the brightly lit Shafiq home. Hermione met his pace.

"I've lived a long time, Hermione. In that time, I've learned a lot about people."

His use of her first name took her aback. Rarely did he address her directly by her name. It was always 'lass' or 'my girl' or even 'Cupcake' when he thought she was being particularly devious or rebellious. She knew that addressing her by name was significant. Aberforth wanted her to pay close attention to his words.

"When we fall in love, we have one of three experiences. One, we feel like we have to change ourselves, change who we are to make the relationship work. Sometimes it seems like this one is the best because we're supposed to grow, aren't we? Maybe they're helping us become a better person. But sometimes we lose who we are to make the other person happy."

She didn't know where he was going with his statement, but she wasn't going to interrupt to ask questions. Many times in her life in the past she'd been surprised and comforted by the sage words from her adoptive father. He was a wise man. Why so many people discounted him as some kind of unknowledgeable eccentric was beyond her. Just as Marjorie said many times, he might not have been as showy and flashy as his elder brother, but he was every bit as powerful.

"And then the second one is when we think the _other_ person has to change to be successful. This one is dangerous, but it's also one of the most powerful. We love them, but they can always be something _more_ or something _less_. The success of the relationship is hinged on whether or not they can become a better person. Too often we think that we'd be happy if only this one thing was different or if they would just do this instead of that. It's not fair to place our happiness on someone's ability to change."

Aberforth sighed.

"Roesia and I were this one. There was a great deal of love there. I will _always_ love her. I always thought that we would be happier if she stood up to her father more. She always thought we would be happier if I had more ambition than to just stay in Hogsmeade running a pub. She wanted us to leave the country and travel. I disappointed her on a regular basis and she disappointed me."

Hermione could see her relationship with Antonin definitely being the second. Neither one of them was satisfied with the person the other one was. Though they cared deeply for each other, they were never enough. She could also see her relationship with Ron and even to a certain extent, Igor, being the first type. Ron could honestly have been either one and perhaps they went back and forth, but ultimately, she felt like she was always trying to change to make _him_ happy. With Igor, she never felt like she could completely relax as herself. There were too many secrets.

"What's the third?"

"The best kind," he answered with a smile. "The kind where you are happy being yourself and you are happy with them being themselves. Neither one of you wants to change the other and you are both content enough to just be yourself. I think this one is the rarest, and it's the one you should grab hold of with both hands when you find it."

"Have you ever found this love?"

A sad smile crossed his face. He looked down at her before answering.

"Once."

Hermione didn't ask any more questions. Just as he was respectful of her private life, she wasn't going to pry into his. It made her sad that he didn't seem to have anyone in his life. She worried that he was lonely. What would happen when she disappeared in a few years? The thought of him existing alone in the increasingly filthy pub made her heart hurt. She wanted someone who loved him taking care of him. Or at the very least, making sure he was taking care of himself. They reached the front door of Margie's house before she could ask him anything else. He'd already given her a lot to think about.

There was little time to dwell too much on what they'd talked about once the front door opened. The father and daughter greeted their host and then almost immediately went their separate ways. Hermione politely declined the offer of a glass of fire whiskey from Dean. She wanted to keep her mind as clear as possible, especially after being confronted by Greyback in the woods when she was intoxicated a week earlier.

Everyone wanted to spend at least a few minutes with her talking and catching up. Some of the guests she only saw once a year at that very party. She mingled through the crowd, stopping every few feet to talk to someone else. Without the usual fortification from the fire whiskey, Hermione discovered that many of the guests were quite dull. Strange how they all seemed much more fascinating when she was drunk.

Thomas forced her into a rather awkward discussion with Antonin. Even the welcome presence of Andromeda and Ted didn't help matters. She hadn't spoken with her ex since they returned to the village Christmas night. Hermione wasn't naïve enough to believe they were through with talking about Greyback. The first moment she could slip away without seeming too rude, she did.

She remembered the year before when she waited out in the back garden for Igor. It had been pleasant and quiet. Few guests braved the outdoors even knowing that Dean coated the area with warming spells. After a couple of hours passed, Hermione needed some fresh air. The house was stifling.

Someone was already sitting on the swing in the back garden to her disappointment. No one else was out there because the night was colder than usual. Even with warming charms there was a chill in the air. Hermione recognized Kingsley's back. It was much broader than it had been even the year before. She wondered when he would stop growing. He was at his full height, but all of the physical training he did as an auror continued to develop his muscles.

Kingsley looked over his shoulder when she approached. Remembering the night that he'd almost dropped the jar of herbs into the bathtub because she snuck up on him, Hermione smiled.

"I'm glad you heard me this time," she teased. "Moody would be proud to know that you are improving."

He grinned and she walked even closer. There wasn't anywhere to sit with him already occupying the swing hanging from the tree, but it was all right. Hermione stood next to him to look up in the sky where his gaze had been focused moments earlier. The clouds were thick with promises of another few inches of snow that night. It was beautiful. For several minutes the only sound that either of them made was a soft tinkle of the ice cubes in Kingsley's glass hitting the sides as he brought it up to his mouth.

"Have there always been that many guests inside?" asked Hermione when she no longer wanted to be silent.

"I think so. Why do you think I'm outside? I was getting too hot in there."

"I was too. Hard to breathe in there. Thought I'd come out here and enjoy the swing, but it looks like I was too late."

Kingsley rose from the swing and motioned for her to sit down instead. She didn't hesitate. He didn't move away from it as she expected him to. As soon as she was seated comfortably, he pulled the rope back far enough to get the swing moving. Hermione wasn't expecting him to suddenly start pushing her. His touch on her back was gentle each time she came swinging back towards him, but it was still startling. Several passes were needed before she was comfortable enough to swing her legs and laugh. His deep chuckle made her stomach flutter. Even through the thick material of her dress, his touch on her back left goosebumps in its wake.

"Okay, stop, Kingsley! Stop!" she begged through laughter when he'd pushed her too high and she was getting nervous. "Make this stop! Please!"

His strong hands grabbed the ropes as the swing went backwards. He was able to make it stop swinging without jarring her too much. To keep her from falling off of the swing while he was pulling it to a stop, Kingsley wrapped one of his large arms around her just under her collarbone. The sudden stoppage of the movement made her back slam into his chest. It didn't hurt, but they both were acutely aware of how it felt for him to hold her against him. Hermione could feel her cheeks begin to flush slightly and a nervous giggle form in her throat.

"I don't care for heights," she declared.

"You say that like I don't know that already." Kingsley laughed. He removed his arm from around her body to Hermione's disappointment. "You've made your feelings clear about broomsticks."

Hermione stood up from the swing to followed him over to a nearby bench. She didn't even bother to check with him that it was okay if she sat down next to him.

"Broomsticks don't like me either."

"It's because you have to show them you aren't afraid, Little Witch."

"And are they sentient beings?"

She snorted at the very idea.

"Sometimes I think they are. They know when you don't have enough confidence to maneuver on them."

"Well, I'm sorry. I'm definitely not a fan of broomsticks. I'll leave them to the Quidditch players, thank you."

Sitting with Kingsley alone in the back garden felt so peaceful. Hermione knew that she was likely being rude to Marjorie for not being inside mingling with the other guests, but she didn't care. If Kingsley wasn't worried about upsetting his grandmother and his mother, she wouldn't either. He was much more pleasant company than the proprietor of Dogweed and Deathcap or the witch who ran Ceridwen's Cauldrons. Margie invited _everyone_ in the village even if no one else could stand them.

She lost track of time seated out on the bench with the wizard. He was in no hurry to rush back inside either. They talked about a number of subjects or they just simply sat there in a comfortable companionable silence staring up at the sky. Kingsley helped keep her mind off the unpleasant memories that had been plaguing her all day as she prepared to attend the annual party. Before she was even aware how long they'd been out there, Dean stood at the back door to shout at them to come to the front garden for the countdown to midnight.

They were the last ones to arrive with only seconds to spare. 1975 was greeted with an excited shout and bang from a massive display of fireworks one of the neighbors set off. There was a definite spirit of excitement in the air as the revelers celebrated the beginning of a new year. As couples scattered all over the front garden moved to kiss each other to start the year off right, Hermione felt uncomfortable. Every year since she arrived in the past she'd had a kiss at midnight or soon after. It felt awkward standing around watching everyone else.

Kingsley's lips brushed against her cheek. She hadn't been expecting the gesture and almost jumped. He chuckled.

"Happy New Year, Hermione."

"Happy New Year, Kingsley."

She looked up just in time to see Antonin walk towards them. Beyond a few short words to each other mostly spoken out of politeness, they'd hadn't spoken all evening. Hermione prepared herself for an awkward moment. When Antonin requested a private word with Kingsley instead, she was shocked. The two wizards walked a short distance away where she couldn't hear them. Kingsley nodded in agreement to whatever was being discussed. She wished she had sharp enough hearing to eavesdrop. There had been few times she'd seen the two of them behave so civilly.

"Let me walk you home."

The five words out of Kingsley's mouth when he returned shouldn't have surprised Hermione, but they did. She remembered Igor forcing a promise out of Antonin the summer before that he would never allow her to be alone on New Year's. Clearly her ex was keeping up his end of the bargain even without escorting her himself. She granted Antonin a small smile when they walked by. He nodded once and turned away.

Something was different between Hermione and Kingsley as they headed towards the empty pub for the traditional First Footer. The other women in the village rushed past them laughing. Even though they'd just spent a large portion of the evening talking to each other with little difficulty, they didn't say anything on the walk home. Hermione kept her hand in her pocket, clutching her wand in a tight grip. Greyback wasn't going to surprise her again.

At The Hog's Head, Hermione removed the extensive wards Aberforth placed on it before they left to keep out any unwanted intruders. She appreciated his concern. Once the building was unwarded, she crossed the threshold and invited Kingsley in. He had the traditional gifts of coal, salt, bread, and a silver sickle tucked away in his pocket. Hermione accepted the gifts and poured him a glass of fire whiskey without taking one for herself. Kingsley knocked it back in one swallow.

When she reached for his empty glass, their fingertips brushed against each other's. Reminders of the last time they were alone in the same room rushed through both of their heads. Hermione rose to her tiptoes and kissed Kingsley directly on the mouth. He needed no further encouragement. Their kiss grew heated and more passionate than even the one they shared under the mistletoe.

Before she could talk herself out of the rash move, Hermione took the wizard's hand to lead him to the back of the pub.

* * *

August 11, 1998

 **1:15 pm**

Even a simple Tuesday was a busy day for the Minister for Magic. Kingsley tried as hard as he could to carve out some time in his day to visit Mafalda Hopkirk in the Improper Use of Magic office, but he'd been unsuccessful. Reporters were everywhere demanding to know even more answers about Hermione's kidnapping than he was prepared to give. The Wizengamot was preparing to start up its next session before the summer was out. There were stacks and stacks of paperwork littering his desk.

It was only after most of the Ministry had been to and come back from lunch that he was able to sneak out of his own office. Not for the first time he wished his witch had explained to him the frustrating amount of paperwork required in his position. He might not have been so quick to aspire to it if he'd known. It was ridiculous that he had to wait for his personal assistant to rush off to the loo before he could escape.

Sneaking onto Level Two was much easier when he used the stairs instead of the numerous lifts. There were far too many chances to be distracted by yet another official needing something from him. He felt only mildly guilty about his behavior. A potentially innocent man's life was at stake. It would have been wrong for him to not try so hard.

Mafalda Hopkirk was alone in her office when he entered without warning. They had known each other for many years on a professional basis. She was a quiet witch who usually kept to herself. Several years older than Kingsley, they hadn't even been at Hogwarts at the same time. He _thought_ she had been a Hufflepuff, but he wasn't positive.

"Minister Shacklebolt, is there something I can help you with?" she asked, clearly surprised by his presence.

"I wonder if I could ask you a few questions, Ms. Hopkirk. Uhh, _off the record_."

She was intrigued by the request. A flick of her wand closed the door to the office. Kingsley made himself comfortable in the chair in front of her desk.

"All right." Her hesitance and nerves were still very much on display. "I suppose that's all right."

"Great. I have been reviewing some old files in my position as Minister and I came across an interesting report with your name on it."

"I imagine there are a lot of old files with my name on it."

"Yes, but this one is a bit special. Do you mind telling me your connection to Rodolphus Lestrange?"

Her hazel eyes widened in shock at the question. Clearly, she wasn't expecting it. A few awkward beats passed until she cleared her throat and spoke again.

"We were at Hogwarts at the same time. Different Houses. He was a Slytherin and I was a Hufflepuff, but he was always very friendly to me."

"And after you left Hogwarts?"

"I'm sorry, Minister, but I'm not sure what you are getting at. What does any of this matter?"

He found it interesting that she was beginning to get defensive. Lots of people knew the Lestranges long before they committed the terrible crime they were thrown into Azkaban for. There was no shame in knowing them. His instincts honed as an auror told him there was more to this story than she was letting on. What was she hiding? Though he knew he had to be careful with what he revealed, Kingsley could sense that she could be trusted.

"I'm thinking about reopening the investigation into his alleged crimes. There are some concerns that he may be innocent of what he was charged with."

Mafalda's shoulders sagged and she covered her face with her hands. Even though she didn't make much noise, he could tell that she was crying. He didn't push her. Just allowed her to take her time in composing herself. She wiped at her face with a handkerchief.

"I've believed that for seventeen years, but no one would ever listen to me. I tried what I could, but it didn't help. Reported that Dolores Umbridge hadn't done what she was supposed to do. Anyone who knew him at all could tell that he wasn't himself and I knew him very well."

"What exactly was your relationship with him?"

Her cheeks flushed bright red at what Kingsley thought was a simple, innocuous question. He was pretty certain he had her answer figured out long before she admitted it in a quiet whisper.

"We used to sneak off to his family's hunting lodge when his wife wasn't around."


	58. Chapter 58

_Author's Note: A very dear friend of mine is experiencing an issue right now with ungrateful and hateful readers. It makes me very sad for the fandom. Please remember that every story you read (for free and under no obligation!) is the product of an actual human being with real feelings and emotions. I'm nowhere near as popular as this lovely beauty is, but I've had my own moments where I wanted to delete everything I've ever written and just disappear because of some hateful (almost always anonymous) reviews insulting my story or me personally. She gets it on a level I can't even imagine._

 _Please remember to be kind to fanfiction writers. None of us get paid for this. We are sharing a gift to the fandom. When a reader starts to demand and insult the writer because we aren't fulfilling some sort of imaginary deadline they've created for us, it makes us want to stop writing. A brief review thanking the writer for an update is always encouraged, but at the very least, don't leave hateful reviews to make them feel like garbage._

 _ **TL;DR: Don't be a dick.**_

* * *

Chapter Fifty-Eight

January 1, 1975

 **12:18 am**

Hermione was running entirely on instinct. She knew that if she stopped to think too much about her actions, she would run out of nerve. All her life she'd been guilty of thinking too much if she allowed herself. Most of the major scrapes she'd gotten in with Harry and Ron had very little planning and thought before they rushed into it. Of course, some of those she'd almost not gotten out of, but that was beside the point.

They were completely alone in the pub. Aberforth rarely returned home until well after midnight. Usually it was closer to two or three in the morning before he made it back to his own bed. At least for a little while, they had no fear of interruption.

Kingsley allowed her to lead him through the main room of the pub. When they stepped into the private area, he didn't hesitate to follow. It was only when they reached the door leading to her bedroom that his steps faltered. Hermione could tell that he was nervous and she couldn't blame him. She wasn't inviting him into her bedroom to drink hot cocoa. She knew what she was doing.

"Are you sure about this, Hermione?"

"I wouldn't have dragged you here if I wasn't."

She stood on her tiptoes to kiss him again. Kingsley groaned when she deepened the act by slipping her tongue between his lips. Encouraged by the sounds he was unwittingly making, Hermione nipped at his bottom lip. The wizard growled at her and pushed her back up against the doorframe. His hands gripped her arse firmly. Further emboldened by the feel of his large hands on her body, she wrapped both of her legs around his waist, locking him between them.

He wasn't expecting the sudden shift of her core brushing against the bulge in his trousers. Startled, he broke the kiss. His forehead rested against hers and his dark brown eyes stared into hers.

"Before you invite me into your bedroom, Little Witch, I want you to know something very serious. Once I step inside, I'm not leaving again until the only name you can remember how to scream is mine."

A rush of heat settled into Hermione's belly at his commanding words. She appreciated his boldness. If it was possible, he was even more attractive when he used that tone with her. Of course, she also wondered briefly if there was some handbook for amorous young wizards that encouraged them to use that line on willing witches. It seemed like this wasn't the first time she'd heard it before. She wanted to test the mettle of his words. Wanted to make certain he wasn't all just talk. The fire in his almost black eyes promised he was a man who intended to follow through on his promises.

"Then I guess I will be sure to coat the room in silencing spells as soon as we get in there."

It was the absolute right statement to make. With another almost feral growl, Kingsley carried her across the threshold of the bedroom, still wrapped around his hips. His kiss held all of the bruising promises of what was to come. He kicked at the door, slamming it shut with his foot. As she was still held in his arms, Hermione pulled her head back to utter every single silencing charm she could think of. The last thing she needed was for Aberforth to come home just in time to hear her scream in the throes of passion. It would be too humiliating.

Once she felt secure in her silencing charms and added a couple to her abdomen that made the iris of Kingsley's eyes almost completely disappear, Hermione threw her wand across the room to land next to her bathroom door. She wouldn't be needing it again. Secure in the knowledge that there wouldn't be any auditory witnesses to their alone time and no future little Baby Shacklebolts running around any time soon, Hermione kissed the wizard again.

He carried her over to the bed. She expected him to peel her off of his body and drop her to the mattress, but to her surprise, he sat down on the edge, swung his legs up, and pulled her to the bed without ever releasing his hold on her. In his attempt to pull her on top of his body, Kingsley misjudged the distance and smacked Hermione's head against the headboard. A loud _thunk_ and a pained gasp from the witch temporarily halted their activities.

"Fuck, Hermione! Are you all right?"

Kingsley laid her down on the mattress. She tried to ignore the pain that was concentrated on the top of her head. Her eyes filled with tears. Though she felt dizzy, she tried not to dwell on the feeling. The concerned wizard searched her head for any visible injury. When his fingers touched the knot that was forming, she hissed.

"Oh, shit!"

He hopped off the bed and rushed to her bathroom. She could hear him opening cupboards and turning on the tap. So far, her rash decision to invite him inside her bedroom didn't seem like the best choice. When Kingsley returned to the room with an adorably frantic expression on his handsome face, Hermione smiled. It was difficult to be upset with him when he was so worried. He wouldn't hurt her on purpose.

"I've hit my head a few times in training and in Quidditch," he stated as he placed a cool, wet rag on the tender spot on her head and began whispering charms. "Lots of experience with bumps on the head."

"Ever had one in bed before?"

Kingsley sighed, embarrassed. Hermione had to laugh. He was mortified. Once the pain began to disappear with his charms, she found the situation all the more amusing. At least they would be certain to have a memorable first intimate encounter. Her continued laughter eventually made the tiniest hint of a smirk appear on the wizard's mouth. It took some time to coax out a laugh, but just as the last remaining bit of pain dissipated, they were both laying on top of the bed clutching their stomachs and laughing almost hysterically.

"No, I can honestly say that I've never made a witch hit her head on the headboard before," he declared. After a moment to reconsider, he spoke again. "At least not _before_ we really got started."

Hermione didn't want to discuss other witches while she had the man in her bed. It made her mind wander to other times in her life when she was with others. Her bed was hardly large enough for two. There wasn't space for all of their exes to join them too, even if it was just in spirit.

Kingsley wasn't expecting her to suddenly sit up and straddle his hips as he laid on his back. His laughter stopped almost immediately when she settled her thighs on either side of him. She didn't want to think too much. There had been too much of that lately. All she wanted was to _feel_. She wanted to turn her mind off and just give in to her most basic instincts.

Encouraged by her hands running up and down his chest, Kingsley sat up to cover her mouth with his. It seemed that every other time that they'd kissed, she'd been the one in charge. She could hardly breathe at how the simple change in _him_ being the one to set the pace and decide the motions made such a noticeable difference. Somewhere he'd learned how to make a witch weak in the knees with just his lips. It was certainly an admirable skill.

He wasn't as subtle or smooth with the fiddling of her zipper on the back of the dress. Hermione fought the urge to laugh at him. His large hands weren't used to pulling as delicate zipper as was in the deep red garment. He struggled to pull it down, but it kept getting stuck before it made it down more than an inch. Kingsley would zip it back up and try it again. Each time it would snag on the fabric to his increasing frustration. He removed his mouth from Hermione's to ask a question.

"How attached are you to this dress?"

"Very. It's my favorite."

"So just ripping it apart isn't an option?"

"Not a very good one."

Kingsley sighed and returned his attention to the recalcitrant zipper. Instead of occupying his mouth with kissing the witch while he tried, he focused solely on removing the offending garment. Hermione tried not to, but after a minute of his muttered curses and inability to pull the zipper down, she leaned forward to whisper in his ear.

"Are you a wizard, or aren't you?"

It took him a moment to realize she was teasing him. A wide grin appeared on his face. Kingsley fumbled around in his pockets searching for his wand. Only a simple utterance of a charm was required for the zipper to zip down on its own. The sudden feel of cool air on Hermione's back made her shiver. Or possibly, it was the expectation of what was about to happen next eliciting such a strong reaction.

"I like you in red," Kingsley declared between feverish kisses.

"Of course you do. You're an unrepentant Gryffindor."

"Just proud of my House."

Hermione removed her mouth from his to nip and suck at his neck. The pleased groans from the wizard proved that she knew exactly what she was doing. When her lips brushed against his pulse point in his neck, Kingsley almost came undone. She giggled to herself. It was definitely a little piece of knowledge she would need to file away for future reference. She adored the deep groan and wanted to hear it again over and over again.

"I hoped you would like the dress," she stated as she continued running the tip of her tongue up and down his neck, relishing in the delighted moans she was receiving. "I was thinking of you when I put it on."

"Were you really?"

"Of course I was. I knew I would see you tonight and I wanted to impress you."

Kingsley groaned again when her mouth attached to his sensitive neck. He slid his hands up her thighs, pushing the dress up inch by inch as he did so. Every inch of skin that he touched broke out in goosebumps. Hermione could hardly think with his warm hands on her body. She stopped lavishing his neck and jawline with attention long enough to hold her hands up above her head. He carefully tugged the dress off of her body, sighing in surprise when he realized she had nothing but knickers on underneath.

The red dress was tossed carelessly to the floor. Hermione was usually uncomfortable by such an intense gaze on her bare skin for the first time, but simply by looking into Kingsley's darkened eyes, she could sense his appreciation for her flesh. Not content to just stare, the wizard ran his scorching hands up the soft skin of her back. He kissed her breath away as he acquainted his hands with her body.

"Well, so far, Little Witch, you have impressed me _very_ much tonight."

Hermione playfully swatted at his chest with a big smile on her face.

"You're incorrigible," she proclaimed.

"You love it."

"Everyone told me that eventually your annoying habits and obnoxious ways would break me down. That you'd eventually grow on me. Guess they were right."

"I can be very persuasive when I set my mind to it."

She giggled and ripped at the buttons on the front of his shirt. Her hands were trembling enough that their roles from earlier were reversed. Kingsley finally took pity on her to remove the piece of clothing himself. The feel of his broad bare chest against hers was indescribable. Hermione couldn't believe this moment was actually going to happen. Though she'd known for years that there would be a time in her future when she fell in love with the cocky, young wizard in her bed, she didn't know that it would happen so quickly. It seemed like only a few months ago when she couldn't stand him. Too immature and arrogant for her taste. Too obnoxious and overeager to make her even consider.

It was easy to feel the effect she was having on his body from where she sat straddled. Even though she was adoring the feel of his mouth on her shoulders and neck, Hermione wanted to make certain that this was a night that he would never forget. She wanted him to have plenty of moments to recall as he went throughout his day to make him blush.

Without explaining why, she placed both of her hands on his firm chest to push him back down on the mattress. Kingsley wasn't about to argue. He was every bit as curious to see what was going to happen next as she was. When his head hit her pillow, Hermione crawled down his legs. He tried to reach for her, tried to bring her back to where she had been straddling him, but she pushed away his hand. _She_ was in charge. She would make the decision what happened next.

Kingsley gripped the quilt they were laying on with both hands when she slid her own tiny hands up the fabric of his trousers to where the material was strained the most. She wasn't even shy about touching him as she deftly unbuttoned the trousers and pulled the zipper down. It wasn't until she tugged the last bit of clothing he had on off his ankles that she realized Kingsley was holding his breath.

Hermione didn't stop to admire the impressive example of male flesh on display. There would be plenty of time to do that later. She had nowhere she had to be for days. Making certain to rub her exposed breasts on his skin as she slid up his body, she didn't stop moving until her mouth was up against his ear.

"If you don't start breathing, you're going to pass out. And then what could we do?"

Clearly not even aware he was doing so, the wizard exhaled. Hermione smiled. He started to grab her to pull her back to his mouth, but she stopped him. A single push of her hand on his chest encouraged him to lay back. She almost had to remind him again to not hold his breath when she trailed her tongue down his chest. All of the physical training required to be an auror had not only increased the size of his muscles but had also made the ones he was hiding behind his clothes more defined. Now that she knew what he looked like uncovered, she thought it unfair that the man had to eventually get redressed. It seemed wrong. Each time he reached for her, she batted his hands away.

"No. Keep your hands to yourself."

She smirked at his prominent pout. Knowing better than to argue with a woman when he was in such a delicate position, he didn't.

"I can't believe I'm here right now," Kingsley announced. His hands still clutched the quilt. She could tell he was fighting the urge to touch her. His eyes were closed. "This all feels like a dream."

"And we haven't even gotten started really."

Anything that he might have said in response to her statement was lost in the deep, guttural moan he made the instant Hermione wrapped her lips around his favorite appendage and pulled it into the warmest part of her mouth. She smirked with pride at the effect she had on the young wizard. Choreographing her lips and tongue in an intricate dance, she fed off of the resonances he created. So often she had been around him when he was in complete control. It felt remarkable to watch the man come undone at her own hands.

When Hermione realized that every muscle in his body was tense, she looked up at his face concerned that he was no longer enjoying what she was doing. Kingsley had his eyes closed tightly and he was whispering to himself. It took her a few moments to understand some of the words.

"Sopophorous beans. Shrivelfig. Porcupine quills."

Her curiosity getting the better of her, Hermione sat up on her elbows to get a closer look at the man. He continued to whisper random potions ingredients for at least five seconds after she removed her mouth from his body. Only once he realized she'd stopped did he open his eyes.

"What are you doing, Kingsley?" she asked, helpless to hold in an amused snicker.

"Reciting the known ingredients in an elixir to induce Euphoria."

If the lights had been up in the darkened room for her to see and his complexion much lighter, she knew that his face would be the brightest of crimson. As it was, his mortification was clear enough without the tell-tale sign of a flushed countenance. Kingsley sighed.

"You can't imagine how amazing that feels, Little Witch. I didn't want to… _embarrass_ myself."

She would've laughed if she hadn't known what a sensitive issue that was to breach. There wasn't a man alive or dead who would appreciate laughter in bed at that moment.

"We have all night."

Her promise was made just as she lowered her mouth on him again. Only moments passed before he tensed up again and tried to pull her head up. She wouldn't let him. Simply increased the motions with her tongue until she felt him spend himself in the back of her throat. While certainly not the most pleasant of experiences usually, Hermione loved the power she could wield with only her mouth.

"Fuck, Hermione. That was… _Fuck_."

Kingsley couldn't breathe properly or form coherent words. She appreciated the effect she had on him. While he lay back on pillow attempting to calm his breathing, she stood up from the bed with a satisfied grin. She searched for her discarded wand. With a finger to her lips to beg him to be silent, Hermione opened the door to the bedroom a crack, effectively cancelling out most of the silencing spells.

It didn't sound like Aberforth was home yet. If he wasn't, her next move would go completely unnoticed. A simple summoning spell brought a half-empty bottle of fire whiskey flying through the air from the bar. Once it was safely in her hand, Hermione closed the door and reapplied the charms.

The wizard sat up when she returned to the bed. She didn't miss how his eyes sought out to devour every square inch of her bare skin. It made her shiver in delight and anticipation. Though she'd been careful with her alcohol consumption since the night of Christmas, she needed some fortification. A deep gulp straight from the bottle filled her entire body with a pleasing warmth. Kingsley removed it from her hand when she crawled onto the quilt next to him. He followed her example and drank deeply.

"You are amazing."

He followed up his hundredth compliment of the night so far with another kiss Hermione felt all the way to her toes. Her earlier words about having all night seemed to have a profound effect on him if the languid kisses he began to bestow on her were any indication. He took his time kissing her mouth and every centimeter of her neck and shoulders. Everywhere his hands went his tongue followed soon after. It seemed to the delighted witch laying back on her bed that the wizard was intending on memorizing every part of her body that he could. Nothing was left ignored.

"How attached are you to these?"

Kingsley slid his fingertip under the elastic band of her knickers. Hermione giggled and told him 'not at all'. With a devilish smirk on his gorgeous face, he tugged them off in one quick motion. Why wizards were so fascinated and turned on by the act of literally ripping knickers off of their witches, she'd never know. Once she was completely naked and her physical body no longer held any secrets to him, he closed his eyes and exhaled deeply again. He seemed to be attempting to center himself before they went any further. She knew he wasn't pleased by his performance thus far and also knew he was determined to make up for it.

He did not need long before she screamed his name the first time. Heartened and bolstered by her shaking thighs, Kingsley didn't stop until she begged him. It was her turn to close her eyes and try to calm her breathing. The air in the room felt stifling. She wanted to open a window, but didn't dare. Not only was she afraid that her father might hear sounds better left unheard coming out of an open window, she didn't want the entire village to know what was happening either.

Entirely too proud of himself, Kingsley kissed his way back up her body until his hips lined up perfectly with hers. Several more lingering kisses were required before he carefully used his knee to open her legs. Hermione could barely breathe with the expectation of the next few moments. Kingsley distracted her overactive mind with another passionate kiss before sinking inside. They both gasped against the other's lips at the sensation.

She knew she would never forget the first time they were intimate. Every touch, every kiss, every grab felt heightened in some way. For once, she couldn't even blame mass amounts of alcohol for the pleasure that quaked through her body. So very unlike the last time she'd been with a man, Hermione couldn't help but compare how he felt with how she felt with the Dark Lord. Nothing about Kingsley frightened or worried her. She felt completely safe within his arms. Not wishing to allow her mind to wander to thinking about how he was different and similar to other men she'd allowed in her bed, Hermione lost herself in the sensations. As her hands explored the man's body and he frequently turned her and flipped her into various positions to find what felt the best, she relaxed and just _felt_.

Neither of them wished to find out the time when their bodies were finally too exhausted to continue. Kingsley laid on his back, pulling Hermione to his bare chest with his arm around her. They didn't speak as they calmed and relaxed from their exertions. It was certainly not a perfect first time, but it was memorable and sweet. She looked forward to seeing what it would be like when they were no longer so nervous. The chemistry was definitely there. They just had to practice more.

"I'm the biggest piece of shite that ever lived."

Kingsley's confession startled Hermione enough that she leaned up on her elbow to stare into his face. He had his eyes closed and his free hand covered them. She couldn't understand why he was saying such an awful thing about himself.

"I still have a girlfriend."

 _Roxanne_. It had been so convenient to forget the existence of the professional Quidditch player off on an international tour abroad. Hermione never even once thought about the woman. If Kingsley was a piece of shite for forgetting about her, so was Hermione. She thought about being a witness to his mother reprimanding him only a week prior for kissing a woman who wasn't his girlfriend. She sighed, angry with herself that she allowed her feelings for the wizard to override her judgment.

"I had plans to break it off with her next month when I saw her in Spain," he continued. "But this… this shouldn't have happened while I still have a girlfriend."

"No, I don't think it should have."

"Fuck! I'm sorry I ruined this. I wouldn't blame you if you threw me outside naked in the snow right now."

She couldn't resist a snort at the mental image that popped up in her mind. That would cause a scandal throughout the village indeed. It might almost be worth it just to see the heads of some of the nosiest old biddies in Hogsmeade explode with excitement. Kingsley fought a smile and lost.

"I feel horribly guilty."

"Of course you do. You're a big, strong Hufflepuff," she teased. "You're _my_ big, strong Hufflepuff. I can wait for you to end things with Roxanne."

"I could send her a letter in the…"

"Absolutely not! This is not something she should get in a _letter_ , Kingsley. You owe it to her to meet her in person and speak to her face to face. A letter is too impersonal. If you cared for her at all at any point in your relationship, she deserves more than that."

He sighed, clearly annoyed with not being able to break it off the easy way. Truthfully, Hermione was tempted to change her mind and give him the parchment and quill herself. But no, that wouldn't be right. Roxanne was a sweet girl. Hermione was almost one hundred percent positive that she was the aunt of Angelina Johnson. She came from an excellent family. If Kingsley was going to break her heart, he wasn't going to let an owl do it for him.

"I wish I'd never gone to Tutshill."

"I wish you hadn't either."

She kissed him lightly on the chest.

"What do we do now?" he asked.

Hermione had to stop and consider her answer for a short time before she gave it.

"We go to sleep. In the morning, or rather, in a few hours, we say goodbye until we can be together for real."

"I won't be able to keep my hands off of you, Little Witch, now that I know what it feels like."

"Then perhaps it's best that we don't see each other, even innocently, until after you've broken up with Roxanne. This can't happen again."

The sudden feel of his lips on her neck made Hermione sigh.

"Let's wait until the sun comes up before we make that rule a reality."

She couldn't argue with that suggestion.

* * *

 **11:45 am**

They slept much later than she intended. Sounds could be heard from the small kitchen and the savory smell of eggs and bacon reminded Hermione that it had been a long time since she last ate. Knowing that it would be much more difficult to sneak Kingsley out of the pub when Aberforth was awake, she didn't waste another moment carefully waking up the wizard.

"Kingsley, get dressed. I have to figure out how to get you out of here. Dad won't appreciate knowing I have you in here."

"He's a perceptive man, Hermione. I'm _certain_ he already knows."

"No, he doesn't. I was very careful last night with the silencing spells."

She could tell that he was fighting internally whether or not he wanted to continue to argue. A sigh and a flutter of the bedcovers as he climbed out of bed proved that he knew better. They both dressed quickly. Hermione was grateful that they decided on a shared shower right before they _finally_ called it a night. It was one less issue to worry about.

When the plan was made and both were ready to face the world, Hermione removed the spells and slipped out of the bedroom first. She rushed across the private lounge to the tiny kitchen where she shared meals with her father. Aberforth stood over the cooker watching the last of the eggs finish.

"Let me take over for you, Dad," she suggested as she kissed him on the cheek.

Aberforth narrowed his eyes at the uncharacteristic exuberance of the witch. She wasn't one who cared much for mornings or for cooking. Hermione coaxed him into the chair with the back facing the rest of the pub. When she was satisfied that he wasn't going to see her bedroom door open again, cleared her throat loudly and cut her eyes to where she knew Kingsley was waiting.

"You were awfully quiet last night, lass. I didn't hear a sound out of your room last night."

"I was very tired. Went to bed early. Kingsley walked me here. We exchanged the traditional gifts and then he went home and I went to bed."

"Uh huh."

She didn't relax until she watched Kingsley tiptoe out of the bedroom with silencing spells cast on his shoes. Only when she heard the muffled sound of the front door opening and closing did she breathe normally again. Aberforth's brow was still furrowed as she tipped steaming eggs onto his plate.

* * *

August 11, 1998

 **11:25 am**

One of Hermione's frequent laments was that her favorite cousin Rodolphus was so unhappy in his marriage. She loved him fiercely and wanted nothing but happiness for him. It was common knowledge that he'd lost his chance to marry Andromeda Tonks. Or rather, Hermione always accused him, he'd _thrown_ away his chance. They'd both been in love with each other for years. As much as she adored Ted, Hermione didn't make it a secret to Kingsley that she would've much preferred Andromeda to marry Rodolphus.

She used to come back from spending time with her cousin with such sadness in her eyes. Kingsley never understood how she could be so certain that he would experience nothing but misery in his future. He thought that even the coldest marriages had _some_ level of happiness. Once the unhappily married Lestranges were remanded to Azkaban to spend the rest of their lives, he wondered how his little witch knew that would happen. She had an uncanny ability to predict events with such certainty that she could not be persuaded otherwise. He never understood why until the day after he met her fifteen-year-old self in London.

Perhaps Rodolphus had been able to find _some_ happiness without anyone else knowing.

"Oh, I see," Kingsley replied after Mafalda's surprising confession. He was at a loss of what to say next. What he assumed would be a simple interview was becoming more complicated than he was prepared for. "I, uhh… I was unaware."

"Most people were. Rod and I were very careful."

Every question he had to ask seemed strangely inappropriate. He'd only wanted to discuss the addendum made to Rodolphus' criminal file, not uncover a hidden extramarital affair. Kingsley cleared his throat.

"I know it was wrong," she continued. "He was a married man. It shouldn't have happened, but it did. I remember your connection to his family. Surely you knew how miserable he was with that woman."

"When did that start?" His query wasn't important to his investigation. He was just curious.

"Hogwarts."

That was a definite surprise. Rodolphus had been having a clandestine affair since he was in school and no one had figured it out? They must have been very careful indeed.

"On and off, of course," Mafalda explained. "We loved each other, but we were never _in love_ with each other. Once he got married, our meetings became more frequent. He's a wonderful man. I will help you in any way that you need me to clear his name."

"Thank you, Mafalda. I appreciate that more than you know."

"I know I shouldn't since you're the Minister, but do you mind?"

She gestured behind her desk to a small table with a couple of crystal cut glasses and a bottle of fire whiskey. Alcohol consumption at the Ministry was common. As long as the officials and the workers completed their duties in an efficient, effective manner, no one cared if they imbibed a glass or two. Kingsley smiled and nodded.

Mafalda stood up quickly from her desk. Clearly the content of their meeting was rattling her nerves. She was usually a woman who remained calm. Her hip caught the edge of her desk, rattling the top. A single picture frame facing away from Kingsley fell over. The witch didn't even notice. He picked it up to set it right in the same place.

Kingsley glanced at the photograph briefly. Something struck him about it and he took a closer look. It was obviously a recent picture based on how Mafalda was wearing her hair. She stood with a teenaged boy on Platform 9 ¾. With her arm around the smiling Hufflepuff who couldn't have been more than seventeen, the witch was clearly proud. He had forgotten she was a mother. It had been quite the scandal years earlier when the secret of her unplanned pregnancy got out, but with the rebuilding from the war, most moved on quickly.

The boy had dark brown wavy hair and light green eyes. Kingsley might not have noticed the resemblance if he'd been unaware of the history, but now he couldn't deny what he was seeing. With the framed picture still in his hand, the Minister looked up to meet Mafalda's wide, worried eyes. Apparently, their affair wasn't the only secret she'd been keeping.

"His name is Jack," Mafalda stated before swallowing the entire glass in one gulp. "After my father. He's going to start his sixth year next month. Can't believe he's so grown."

"And his father?"

"Doesn't know about him. I thought it was safer that way. When he was put in Azkaban, there was no way for me to tell him. I only found out I was pregnant a few days after his ridiculous trial. Once it was clear that no one was going to listen to me about his innocence, I just stayed silent about Jack's father. It didn't seem fair to my unborn son that he would enter the world with a black mark on him because the Ministry failed to do a proper investigation."

Mafalda poured herself a second glass. Kingsley made no move to stop her. This was clearly a conversation she had not expected to have when she woke up that morning. He wouldn't begrudge her any liquid courage she needed to get through it.

"When Rod was broken out of prison the first time, I was afraid that Jack would be in danger if he found out about him. Not that Roddy would _ever_ hurt his son. I wouldn't believe that in a million years. My fear was because of the horrible woman he was married to. If she knew about Jack, she would probably kill him."

She took a deep drink from her glass.

"I saw Rod once in the last year of the war. After the Ministry was taken over but before it got too bad. He just dropped into my office one day without warning. Wanted to check on me and make sure I was all right."

Her cheeks flushed a bright red even as an embarrassed smile crossed her face. The Minister had a very good idea of just how _pleasant_ his impromptu visit had been. In the corner of his eye he could see a comfortable couch in the corner of the office that could easily…

Kingsley shook his head to try to dislodge very inappropriate thoughts. Those were _definitely_ none of his business.

"I'm certain Rodolphus would want to know about the existence of a son whether or not we are able to get him out of prison. If for no other reason than he would want to make sure Jack was provided for."

"We are all right, Minister Shacklebolt. Rod's father knew about Jack. He will never want for anything as long as he is alive."

He wasn't going to argue with the witch. It was completely her decision whether she told Rodolphus about his son. Kingsley couldn't imagine _not_ telling him, but it really wasn't his call. Though he'd gotten much more information from his unscheduled meeting than he anticipated, they had yet to even speak much about why he was actually there. He removed the folder holding Rodolphus' criminal record out of his pocket to lay it across the desk.

"May I ask you to clarify a few points from your statement, Ms. Hopkirk?"


	59. Chapter 59

_Author's Note: Thank you all so much for the encouragement and love so many of you gave in the last chapter. It means a great deal to me. This is a very difficult time of year for me and the past few months have been especially hard. Knowing that so many of you are enjoying this story is amazing. You have no idea how much it helps encourage me when I'd rather just hide away from the rest of the world. Thank you again!_

 _ **There is another additional scene available now. Told from Mafalda's POV, it expands a bit on what was discussed in the last chapter. Check it out! Available on my profile in the TMS: Additional Scenes story.**_

* * *

Chapter Fifty-Nine

February 13, 1975

 **11:55 am**

Hermione approached the restaurant she met her uncle faithfully every Thursday for lunch with a crumpled up piece of parchment still held in her hand. She'd been on her way out the door of the pub when an owl swooped inside long enough to drop the missive on her feet. Afraid that she would be late if she stopped to read the contents first, she picked it up and headed to London.

Part of her wished she'd just stuck it in her pocket and forgotten about it until the meal was over. Lunch with Regnault was always an experience. Some days they were perfectly lovely with interesting conversation and perfectly cooked salmon. Other days it was a tedious chore fraught with arguments and dried chicken that caught in her throat. It was always best to enter the restaurant in a pleasant mood. Her letter made that impossible.

 _Little Witch,_

 _Bad news, I'm afraid. Moody's not letting me leave for Spain. Says there's too much going on with those disappearances in Kent for me to go. Looks like I'll have to wait until mid-March when she gets back to Tutshill. Are you certain I can't just send an owl? No, no, no. I can hear your voice even as I write this calling me an arse and telling me 'no'._

 _These last six weeks have been torture. I miss you. This next month is going to be difficult. Maybe we can… no, no, no. I know. I'm an arse. You have been quite the distraction for me lately, I'll have you know. Keep thinking about New Year's. Been a bit awkward a few times too. Do you know how to make time move by faster?_

 _Kings_

She should've expected their plans to not work out as they hoped. It seemed that rarely events worked out in her favor. Kingsley wasn't the only one who found their mind drifting back to that night. Adorably awkward at times and sweet, Hermione was anxious to improve on that night. A smile crept on her as she dwelled on the happy memories of that night instead of the upsetting note in her hand. By the time she was led to her usual table, she was even able to look at the parchment without scowling.

"Diverting news, Miss Dumbledore?"

Hermione's eyes shot up at the unwelcome sound of the additional voice at her regular table. Yet again she was so consumed with her own thoughts that she didn't even notice a hated guest sitting with her delighted uncle. Lord Voldemort stood up once she approached the table to greet her with a kiss on the cheek. Regnault didn't even hide how pleased he was.

"I've invited myself to dine with you yet again, Miss Dumbledore. I do hope you don't mind."

Of course she minded, but she wasn't foolish enough to say so. Hermione accepted a kiss from Regnault and sat down in her usual chair. She tried to calm herself down enough to keep her shields in place. They had not been in the same room together since she ran out of her manor bedroom leaving him behind naked and amused. Suddenly, Kingsley's continued relationship with another woman wasn't the problem she was most concerned with. Surviving a meal with the Dark Lord became the highest priority.

"Why on Earth would I mind, my Lord?" she responded, quick to put on her most insincere, but highly effective smile.

Voldemort wasn't fooled by her antics. At least her uncle was. Regnault smiled indulgently at his niece. He had not given up hope that there was something between the two of them after the horrifically embarrassing night at the manor. More than once since that night, Hermione expected her uncle to bring up the fact that everyone present that night was aware of how intimate their relationship had grown. So far, his reluctance to speak on the matter had been surprising. Though not a superstitious man, she wondered if he was afraid that mentioning it would somehow jinx whatever false relationship he'd built up in his mind.

"I know you value your time alone with your uncle," Voldemort explained. "I would hate to think that I was pushing in where I wasn't wanted."

"You are always welcome," Regnault insisted.

"Yes, my uncle is absolutely correct. Having a third, especially one we respect so highly, always makes for a much more interesting meal."

A smirk appeared on Tom Riddle's face that made Hermione's entire body long to shudder in disgust. Keeping a handle on her emotions and not allowing him to witness more than she wanted was much harder now that so much had changed between them. She would never be able to look at him again without seeing him lying between her thighs. The tiniest hint of a tickle at her shields proved that the wizard was attempting to read her thoughts. Hermione looked him in the eye and allowed her shields to fall only slightly enough that he could see she was remembering that night. His smirk turned into a full-blown laugh. She kept her eye on him for a moment longer in an almost defiant posture.

They were interrupted by the waiter arriving to take their orders. For the first several minutes of their shared meal, the conversation consisted mostly of the niceties and pleasantries expected at a polite meal. No one said anything the least bit salacious. Hermione sipped at her water for something to keep her mouth occupied and only spoke when she was spoken to.

"Your presence was sorely missed by everyone at the Black Family's Christmas dinner, Hermione," declared Voldemort.

She hadn't been expecting him to say anything remotely close to that. As she was taking a sip of water, she almost choked in her attempt not to laugh. No, there might have a few select guests disappointed that they weren't able to see her that night, but they could be counted on one hand with fingers left to spare. No one with the last name Black or who had ever had the last name Black was in the list.

"Yes, well, I wasn't invited," she replied, completely without shame.

Yet another of his amused smirks appeared on his handsome countenance. Hermione didn't understand why she still appeared to fascinate him. Hadn't she given him what he wanted? He knew what he assumed was her big secret and why she kept such strong Occlumency shields. Her excuse for keeping them even after Voldemort was able to break through them was that she didn't know the extent of Regnault's knowledge of Legilimency. He was a talented and powerful wizard. There was no reason to believe he _wasn't_ capable of reading her mind if he desired. Voldemort seemed satisfied with her explanation that horrible night she tried to push out of her memories.

"I've _encouraged_ the young Mrs. Lestrange to be friendlier to you."

Hermione snorted to her uncle's annoyance. He'd told her repeatedly that a proper lady did not make such sounds reminiscent of farm animals. She didn't care. The thought of Bellatrix ever attempting to be _friendly_ to her was unthinkable. Surely Regnault understood that too.

"I am afraid, my Lord, that you have wasted your breath. There is no love between Bellatrix and me. She loathes me and I can't say I don't feel any differently."

"On her own, of course, she wouldn't be interested, but I'm sure you aware of how _persuasive_ I can be."

"Yes," she declared through clenched teeth, not caring that her uncle was focusing on every word that passed between them. She would worry about what he thought later. "I know exactly what methods you have at your disposal to be _persuasive_."

"Then perhaps, my dear, you shouldn't question me."

There was a definite warning behind his grin. Hermione was intelligent enough to know that he was not a wizard she needed to continue to tussle with. He had an agenda where she was concerned. Though she might never learn exactly what it was or how intensive it might be, only a fool would think that he was done with her.

"Yes, my Lord."

A silence fell over the three dining companions. Hermione didn't mind. If she could get through the meal without speaking again to the Dark Lord, she would not complain. Even if she did usually enjoy the conversations she had with Regnault when they weren't arguing about her romantic prospects and the future of her child-bearing hips, she wouldn't even attempt to engage him while they had an interloper.

Regnault was not subtle in his clear examination of the interactions between the two sitting around the round table. He was fascinated by how they interacted and how they spoke with one another. Knowing that he was one hundred percent positive that their relationship had grown physical on at least one memorable occasion that he was aware of, Hermione was grateful that she didn't possess the ability to read minds. Her uncle was likely mentally arranging the seating at their lavish reception. Hermione sipped at her water again and rolled her eyes.

Voldemort caught the gesture and smiled. Part of her preparation with Thomas to break the spell he cast on her months earlier was to practice Occlumency more thoroughly. Thomas took to Legilimency like a duck to water. Though he would likely never become as competent in the act as the Dark Lord, he knew enough that he was able to assist Hermione in practicing not only thwarting an attack into her mind, but to also learn how to project certain thoughts that she wished for a reader to see. She was nervous to put what she learned into practice with Voldemort.

His piercing and relentless gaze on her made it a necessity. Hermione allowed her shields to slip slightly. It wasn't enough to make it seem like it was a deliberate act. The motion was subtle enough to seem like an accident. She pushed through anxious thoughts about him revealing the truth of what he learned to her uncle. Voldemort scanned her for a few moments, viewing the false memories she'd created with Thomas again, and chuckled. He turned to address her uncle.

"Would it be terribly rude of me, Regnault, to request a few minutes alone with your charming niece?"

Regnault quickly rose to his feet with assurances that they could take as much time as they needed. He crossed the busy restaurant floor to the area of the establishment where the bar was located. Hermione detested that he was so easily influenced. Did he even understand what kind of monster he was supporting? Regnault's left arm might have been without blemish, but he was still a part of the problem. She could only imagine how much money left his personal vault and the Lestrange Family vault to support the Dark Lord's agenda. Once he was out of earshot, Voldemort turned his complete focus back on the witch.

"I have thought of our night together a great deal."

Hermione felt her stomach churn with increased fear. He already got what he wanted from her that night. His desire to see behind her mental shields was not a secret. What else could he possibly want beyond that? She sincerely hoped he wasn't looking forward to a repeat performance of what happened in her room. One time had been one time too many. Going through with the act seemed like the only option she had at the time. She did what she could to not think about it. Didn't everyone have a lover in their past they weren't proud of? Someone they were with only because they'd had too much to drink? If she could think of him as being nothing more than a one-off she regretted, perhaps she would be able to move away from some of the fear he elicited when he was in her presence.

What would Kingsley think when he found out? She knew enough about how the world worked to know that no matter how hard she tried to keep such a large secret from the wizard, he _would_ find out. Secrets had a nasty way of revealing themselves at the worst possible moment. Would he be able to forgive her for allowing the evil wizard to touch her? Thoughts of the night she and Kingsley were finally together flitted through her mind briefly. When she felt a slight nudge at her mind, she panicked. She _never_ wanted Kingsley to show up on Voldemort's radar. A few brief images from New Year's slipped through before she had the strength to shield herself fully again. It was too late. A soft chuckle from the wizard sitting next to her proved that he'd been a witness to one of the more adventurous moments from that night.

"A new wizard in your life, Hermione? How lovely for you both. Oh, you need not worry that I have plans to take you to bed again. At least… not in the near future. I can't make promises and more importantly, I _won't_. The spell I cast on you served its purpose. I have the information I need from you to ensure that you do as I command."

Blackmail. She should've suspected he would do something like that as soon as he learned what he thought was the biggest secret of her life.

"I know you have some reluctance to join me yourself," he continued. "Which I won't deny hurts my feelings."

She wasn't stupid. If he even possessed feelings, she was certain it was impossible to actually hurt them.

"Do you remember when I told you at your cousin's wedding that perhaps I could use you to help me with recruitment instead?"

"My Lord?"

"You've already introduced me to Antonin Dolohov which I am very pleased about. His father is the kind of wizard that will openly support me to my face, but somehow, I get the impression that once my back is turned he's not the same. Vadim and I have known each other longer than you've been alive. I expected more out of him, but no matter. His son is a capable cursebreaker in the employ of one of my most loyal supporters. He has already proven his own loyalty to me."

Hermione felt sick. Part of her wanted to know what exactly Antonin had done to prove that he was loyal, but the rest of her wished to live in ignorance. She still loved him even if he was someone she no longer recognized. A small part of her would likely always love him.

"I have you to thank for our introduction. Now… now, I'm politely requesting your assistance in recruiting even more."

"'Politely requesting'?"

"Would you rather that I _demand_ you find me more?"

She didn't really understand what he was asking of her. Antonin's introduction had been a complete accident. It still bothered her tremendously to know that she was responsible for his path crossing his master's. Was she to blame for him being a Death Eater? Hermione shook her head slightly. No, she wasn't. Antonin was capable of making his own choices.

"Find me someone new."

"My Lord, I'm not sure that I…"

"Find me someone new, or I tell Regnault that you're nothing but the child of a filthy whore to Muggles. It would break his heart and you would surely be disowned."

It wasn't an idle threat. The entire identity she'd created for herself in the past could be undone with just a simple conversation. She didn't like her options. Without the protection of the Lestrange family, she hated to admit that she was extremely vulnerable. Rodolphus would be on her side no matter what. She wished she could say the same about Rabastan, but he was still a bit wary of her at times. Though he might have looked more like the Rosier side of their family, Rabastan was definitely more like his father. And she didn't worry herself trying to imagine what Regnault would do. She knew. He would want nothing to do with her if he knew she'd spent almost her entire life amongst Muggles.

"Surely you know lots of young witches and wizards who would benefit me in some way. Find me one."

Hermione tried to think of a way out of his request. How could she in good conscience lure people she knew to turn their lives over to Voldemort? Of course, just because she _suggested_ someone didn't mean that they ultimately had to make the choice to follow him. He wasn't the kind of leader that wanted followers who didn't want to be there. That's why the suggestion that so many of the Death Eaters were under the Imperius Curse was laughable. Every single person who joined the ranks made their own decision. It was that knowledge that made her sick to her stomach when she considered Rodolphus' future.

She turned her thoughts to the men she knew in the future that would become Death Eaters. Some of them were so surprising once she spent any time with their younger selves. It seemed inconceivable that so many would make such a poor decision. She thought of Augie, sweet, gentle Augie. How did he get mixed up in such a bad set of people? What was the catalyst that changed the wizard's future? Maybe…

No, the sickening realization that manifested itself into a swirling in her guts couldn't be true. But, the more she thought about it, the more it made sense. She couldn't change the past even if she wanted to. It had _already_ happened.

"There's a young Unspeakable in the Ministry who is going to be very successful."

Voldemort's grin widened as the words fell out of Hermione's mouth. She worried that with each syllable she uttered that she would be unable to keep the bile from rising up her throat. What was she doing? She shook her head and took a deep breath. All she was doing was giving him a name. If Augie made the choice, that was all on him.

"Augustus Rookwood. He just got married rather abruptly and I'm not certain that his wages are enough for both of them to live comfortably."

"Then perhaps it is time I met this young wizard. Maybe some _contract_ work could be found for him."

The Dark Lord motioned over to the area near the bar where Regnault was waiting patiently for permission to return. Hermione didn't speak the rest of the meal in anything longer than short syllables. Her lunch tasted like ash. She wasn't sure she would ever forgive herself.

* * *

March 18, 1975

 **5:15 pm**

Tuesdays were never high traffic days in the Hog's Head. Hermione enjoyed the days when she could work behind the bar with Aberforth but still have the opportunity to have a conversation. It seemed that every time she spoke with her father she learned something new. He was a fascinating man. The days had yet to turn warm that time of year making the usually slow day even slower. She had no complaints. According to the books, which she kept faithfully, they were still turning a much larger profit than the same time the year before. Aberforth was always reluctant to admit that she was having a positive effect on his place of business.

"Where's young Shacklebolt?" Aberforth asked as he watched her wipe down the bar. "It's been a while since I've seen him."

Hermione tried her hardest to keep her face as blank as possible. Her relationship, or rather, her _potential_ relationship, with Kingsley was not common knowledge. They had not seen each other in person since the morning he snuck out of the pub. Roxanne's international tour with the National Quidditch team was set to end any day. She waited impatiently for the moment when Kingsley returned to Hogsmeade as a single man. Her daydreams often travelled into what she wanted to do with the wizard once they were free to be together without guilt.

"I'm sure he's been busy with work," she replied. "Thomas says he works long hours at the Ministry. All of these disappearances we keep reading about in the paper have them all working late."

"I was afraid that something happened on New Year's that kept him away."

"No, nothing happened."

"Ahh, all right. I suppose I was mistaken."

He didn't press the issue of Kingsley's strange absence any further. She knew it was unusual. Even before they kissed months earlier in the summer, he used to drop by the pub every week or so for a drink. Kingsley admired Aberforth immensely and always enjoyed the conversations he had with the elder wizard. If Hermione happened to be there, well, that was just an added bonus.

Hermione looked up from the bar to see a figure cross in front of the windows. The sun had already set earlier. Nights were long that time of year in their part of the country. She expected the person to enter the pub. Their location was off the main street of the village. There was no reason for someone to just walk past the pub. She stared at the door and was surprised to see the same figure pass the window again. Someone was pacing out front, clearly reluctant to come inside.

"I think Mundungus is thinking about coming back in," Hermione declared.

Aberforth groaned. He had been serious in his ban of the short, rather pungent wizard despite his repeated attempts to return. Her father never asked _why_ she was so angry with him the night he threw the criminal out the front door. It didn't matter. Fletcher upset his girl and that's all he needed to know.

"He can't be serious."

The proprietor stalked across the pub's main floor to the front door. Just as the shadowy figure crossed the window again, Aberforth threw the front door open. Hermione couldn't see what was happening outside due to the dimness, but she could see the abrupt change to her dad's face. He went from angry and annoyed to concerned in mere seconds.

"Come inside, son," he ordered in a gentle tone usually only reserved for the curly haired witch behind the bar.

Hermione was curious. She stared at the door impatiently waiting for the mysterious pacing figure to come inside. Aberforth stepped back to allow a disheveled and clearly distraught Antonin to enter.

Something was terribly wrong. Hermione dropped the rag she'd been scrubbing the bar with to cross the space to her ex. She didn't have to get very close to him at all to see the tears streaming out of his eyes and rolling down his cheeks. Without need of an explanation, she opened her arms. Antonin rushed into them.

He was shaking, trembling all over his body. His breath came out in shallow bursts. She could tell that he was trying to stop crying, but failing. Hermione held him close to her body, rubbing his back and speaking soft, soothing words. The longer she held him, the calmer he became. When the tremors subsided, Antonin released his hold. He stood up, wiped at his eyes, and cleared his throat.

She feared that he had just had his first experience with what being a Death Eater was really about. Why else would he be shaking so much? Had he just come from a displeased Dark Lord taking his frustrations out on his naïve followers? Hermione had experience with the after-effects of the Cruciatus Curse. She remembered what it was like to have no control over the spasms in her muscles all over her body. Was he seeking her out for some comfort because he was regretting his foolish choice?

"Here, son, drink this down. It'll help."

Aberforth handed Antonin a liberal glass of fire whiskey. The younger wizard drank all of the harsh liquid in a single swallow. Almost immediately he looked uncomfortable and even a bit ashamed.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have come here."

"Antonin…"

Hermione stopped him from running out with a hand on his forearm. The tears that had only just abated renewed themselves and multiplied. Antonin was a proud, stoic man. To be so moved and emotional was a serious indication that something was wrong. She ran her hand up his arm to grasp his elbow.

"Antonin, what's wrong?"

He didn't answer immediately. It seemed that he wasn't even sure how to form his words. Neither of the Dumbledores rushed him for an answer.

"I didn't know where else to go," he finally admitted in a whisper.

"Did something happen?"

"My… my mum… _died_."

Hermione gasped. She hadn't expected anything remotely resembling that news. Feeling her own eyes fill up with tears, she wrapped her arms around the wizard again. Antonin loved his mother. She was one of the few bright spots on his life. Long discussions they'd had while they were still dating revealed just how much he cared about the shy, soft-spoken woman. At times when he could not stand his father, Mira Dolohov was the person he relied on the most. She could only imagine what he was going through. A dozen different questions were swirling around in her brain, but it didn't seem the right moment to ask.

"Dad?" Hermione addressed Aberforth over Antonin's shoulder. Her father's concern was clear. He might not care much for the boy, but he was still a compassionate man. "Do you think you could find Thomas?"

Aberforth nodded his head. There weren't any customers at that time of night yet to worry about. Most of the regulars weren't even off of work yet. On his way out the door, no doubt headed to Marjorie's house, he flipped the sign on the door to 'Closed'. At least they wouldn't have to worry about any patrons barging in to a private moment.

"Antonin, what happened?"

He stood back up and wiped his face with his sleeve.

"The Healers aren't really sure. Papa said she was fine when he saw her last. He went to work this morning and she seemed all right. When he came home, she was lying on the floor of the kitchen. They think it was something with her brain. She'd been having terrible headaches lately, but wouldn't go to St. Mungo's. Papa begged her to, but she said she was all right."

Mrs. Dolohov was an extremely shy woman. Uncomfortable by the fact that after so many years in the country that she still didn't speak English very well, she often avoided going out in public. Antonin vented his frustrations about his mother's tendency to hide in her house more than once. Hermione wasn't surprised to hear that she wouldn't go to a Healer.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered.

"I was supposed to have lunch with her on Sunday, but I owled her that I was busy."

He spoke in a hushed tone, clearly ashamed of his actions. Hermione knew that it was too easy to overanalyze every wasted moment, every honest mistake, when it came to the loss of a loved one. It was something she struggled with when she had to Obliviate her parents. When she thought about the people she loved who died at the Battle for Hogwarts, she often regretted that she'd not spent more time with them or said something she should have. Regret could eat away at a person's soul. She didn't want him to suffer any more than he already was.

"You can't blame yourself, Antonin."

She ran her hand through his hair, pushing away the locks from his eyes. It was such a familiar gesture and one that she'd used many times in their shared history when he was upset. Antonin closed his eyes, leaning his cheek into her palm.

"Maybe if I'd been there I could've convinced her to go to the Healer."

"Shh, Antonin, no. This isn't your fault."

"She listened to me. If I'd just gone there…"

Hermione moved her free hand to cover his mouth. There was no reason to keep going down that line of thinking. He would drive himself mad. People died. Sometimes they were able to be saved, but too often, they weren't. In a perfect world, Mrs. Dolohov would have had many more happy years left to live. Her wizarding genes meant that she could've lived well past the century mark. Unfortunately, sometimes even the young and good passed away too soon.

Grief can make a person act out of character. It was something Hermione knew too well. Too often she'd witnessed what someone who was grieving was capable of. Living through a war at a young age meant she'd seen much more than she should've seen. So she shouldn't have been surprised when Antonin gripped her hand to pull it down off of his mouth. She also shouldn't have been surprised when he reached for her waist and covered her mouth with his.

His kiss tasted of the saltiness of grief. Bitter and strong. She didn't want to kiss him. It felt wrong and completely inappropriate. She could understand that he was just seeking comfort where he thought he could find it. Hermione didn't want him to do anything that he would regret. She slipped her hand between their bodies to press on his chest. Knowing that she was trying to break their embrace, Antonin pulled her tighter, determined not to let her get away. She pushed harder. He pulled tighter.

Only the sound of the bell above the front door tinkling made Antonin rethink his actions. Hermione pushed him one final time. Once apart, she looked up to see her father had returned to the pub with Thomas, his mother, and surprisingly, Kingsley. There was no way that he hadn't witnessed what just happened. The fury in his eyes was all the proof that she needed to know the wizard she'd been waiting for was not pleased. He spun on his heel to exit the pub.

Thomas and Katie ignored their relative rushing from the building. Their focus was entirely on the grieving wizard. As soon as she saw Katie reach for Antonin and hold him in her arms like a surrogate mother was supposed to do for their hurting children, Hermione headed for the door. She _hated_ that Kingsley saw Antonin kiss her.

She had to run to catch up to him before he reached High Street. Even though she called out his name, he didn't stop. His long legs put a distance between them.

"Kingsley, please! Stop."

Hermione grabbed his arm. He stopped and sighed. When he wouldn't turn in her direction, she circled around to his front. Kingsley didn't want to meet her eyes. He stared down at the ground just past her. His anger and pain was written all over his face. He was not a man who had learned yet how to conceal his true emotions.

"Roxanne broke up with me this afternoon."

His voice was so soft that she almost missed it.

"I was getting ready to come to Hogsmeade to tell you when your dad Flooed into our kitchen. Definitely wasn't expecting to walk into _that_."

"He kissed _me_ , Kingsley. He's upset and hurting. It didn't mean anything."

The wizard sighed again, his shoulders sagging.

"He's always going to be the one you love most."

She didn't know where this was coming from. The sadness and defeat in his tone broke her heart. What was happening? She didn't understand.

"No, Kingsley."

Hermione grabbed the lapels of his outerrobes with both of her hands. She wasn't just going to let him say something like that without her disputing it. Did New Year's mean nothing to him?

"Foolish of me to assume that you'd ever want me when you had the chance to be with _him_ again."

"No, you've got this all wrong! I tried to push him away. I didn't want to kiss him. There's only one wizard I want."

She rose up on her tiptoes to prove she wasn't lying. Before she could brush her lips against his, Kingsley turned his face away. It would have hurt less if he'd slapped her.

"You always choose him over me. _Always_. Let me just make your choice easier this time."

Kingsley wrenched his robes out of her hands. He didn't give her a chance to respond, to promise him that _this_ time was different. She wanted to run after him and make him listen to her, but she didn't. He needed time to cool down. Speaking to him in that moment wouldn't do anything but make it more tense. And truthfully, Hermione wasn't certain she had the energy to deal with another jealous wizard. Hadn't she had enough of those to last a lifetime?

* * *

March 21, 1975

 **2:05 pm**

Mira Dolohov's funeral was much larger than Hermione expected. She assumed that a woman as shy as the Russian matron would be sparsely attended. Of course, she didn't take into account the number of people who arrived in support of either Vadim or Antonin. Hermione was surprised by some of the attendants. Her uncle Regnault was one of the first to arrive at the Hogsmeade cemetery for the graveside service.

He greeted her with a formal kiss to the cheek and immediately crossed to the grieving father and son to pay his respects. Hermione had arrived at the same time with Thomas to provide whatever support Antonin needed. Though they weren't a couple and likely would never be again, she still cared about her ex. Knowing that he was in such pain hurt her too. She had been deeply touched to realize that she was the first person that he thought of in his pain. He'd Apparated to Hogsmeade only a short time after learning his mother passed. Hermione was the one he wanted to see. She tried not to encourage him to read more into her willingness to be a support.

"Kingsley hasn't been home in a few days," Thomas stated when they were alone again.

"Is he all right?"

She tried not to let her concern be too obvious in her tone. Their relationship had been a secret because of his girlfriend. Until that was dealt with, they couldn't be together. Hermione didn't want to be the one to tell his family, even if it was just Thomas, that there had ever been the hope of something between them. Though she had the benefit of knowing the future, she still felt hurt over Kingsley running away from her without giving her the chance to explain what he walked in on. Proving yet again that the two wizards were extremely similar, Kingsley had shit timing just like Antonin.

"I think so. He's been working long hours, picking up a few extra shifts, and sleeping over at the Prewetts' flat."

"I hate that he's hurt. The other night… the kiss…"

"You don't have to explain anything to me, Hermione. I _know_ the two of you will figure it out. Some day you're going to be my sister, and I look forward to that day. Kingsley loves you. Clearly, you have deplorable taste in wizards and love him too."

His cheeky wink broke the tension. Hermione smiled. Thomas wrapped his arm around her shoulder and tucked her into his side. She appreciated that finally, _finally_ there was someone in her life she didn't have to continually lie to. If she didn't count the fact that she was keeping what she knew about Antonin's past to herself, she was being entirely honest with Thomas about all the dirty secrets in her life.

"Just give him some time, love."

Their conversation was halted when Regnault returned to stand with them. The actual service was not scheduled to begin for at least half an hour, but it was important to be punctual. Thomas made polite small talk with the two Lestranges until his parents arrived. She spoke of inconsequential topics with her uncle as the other mourners arrived. Several of them approached her uncle once they paid their respects to the family.

"Hermione, you remember Silas Selwyn and his lovely sister Sybille, don't you?"

Seeing Antonin's former fiancée arrive with her elder brother had been a surprise to both Hermione and her uncle. Neither one of them expected that any member of the Selwyn family would come to the ceremony after the dramatic nullification of their marriage contract a few years earlier. St John Selwyn's disgust for Mira Dolohov's Muggle blood was widely known. Though there were few within the Sacred Twenty-Eight circle and the lesser prominent Pureblood families that disagreed with his rash act, his choice left his eldest daughter as something of a social pariah. There had been no additional requests for Sybille's hand, a fact from all accounts that didn't bother the witch in the slightest.

"Of course, I remember. Sybille and I were at Hogwarts together for a year and I shared a rather memorable dance with Silas at the Greengrass wedding last summer."

Silas' blue eyes flashed with amusement. Even though it was a solemn occasion, Hermione felt her mouth quirk into a smile too. He was almost thirty years old and quite arrogant. Their paths had crossed many times over the years since she'd been in the past due to their overlapping social circles. She'd initially been attracted to the dark-haired wizard with the bright blue eyes until she had a conversation with him. There was no doubt that he was the kind of wizard whose good looks only improved with his silence.

"I still maintain that it was _your_ dress that was too long, Miss Dumbledore," Silas quipped with a wink.

"And I still maintain that it was _your_ seventh glass of fire whiskey that made you step on the fabric."

"Was your house-elf able to repair the rip?"

"No, she wasn't. I had to take it back to the designer who gave me quite the lecture on how to care for nice clothes. Forty-five minutes of my life that I will never get back."

Truthfully, she wasn't as angry as she pretended. They'd both had too much to drink. Towards the end of the night, he insisted on a dance. One wrong step ripped her dress straight up to her yellow knickers. He'd taken pleasure in reminding her that he'd gotten an eyeful ever since by calling her 'Goldie' whenever he saw her. The man was obnoxious, but given the right amount of fire whiskey, _amusing_.

"It was kind of you to come pay your respects to the Dolohov family," Regnault declared, effectively cutting off their less-than-appropriate conversation. Such topics shouldn't be discussed at a funeral.

"Yes, well, of course, Sybille and I have always rather liked Antonin. He was almost my brother-in-law. It seemed fitting to attend. Besides, Father and I disagree on a lot of topics. Blood purity is one of them. Personally, I have no problems with Purebloods marrying Half-Bloods."

His second wink in Hermione's direction made her snort. The man was rarely serious. Regnault's eyes narrowed at the exchange, but he didn't push for further discussion. Once the siblings excused themselves to speak with more new arrivals, her uncle stared down at his niece.

"Is there something between you and the Selwyn heir?"

Hermione had to remind herself that it wasn't appropriate to burst out in loud, obnoxious laughter in a cemetery waiting for a funeral to begin. She bit her bottom lip and shook her head in the negative.

"You could do worse."

"Yes, Uncle, but I could also do _so_ much better."

A hint of an amused smirk on her uncle's face warmed her heart. Perhaps there would be hope for them yet.

"Let's go stand with the Shacklebolts. I know how fond you are of that family."

She accepted her uncle's arm. They remained with the Shacklebolt family throughout the entirety of the solemn ceremony. Hermione had been initially surprised to learn that Mira wasn't going to be buried in Russia. Dean explained in a soft whisper that she'd always made it clear to her husband that she never wanted to go back to their native country even in death. This was their home. He'd been the one to assist Vadim Dolohov in securing a place in the Hogsmeade cemetery just steps away from the Shafiqs.

It was a beautiful, if heart-wrenching, ceremony.

* * *

August 17, 1998

 **9:45 am**

It was almost a week following his meeting with Mafalda Hopkirk before Kingsley had enough information to justify making another trip out to Azkaban. Knowing the history that existed between Miss Hopkirk and Rodolphus, he'd made the offer to pull some strings to get her a visit if she wanted. She promised him that she would think about it. Perhaps when Hogwarts was in session and Jack was off to school.

He hated to admit how botched the investigation into the Longbottoms' torture had really been. At the time of the attack, he was a young auror with a few years of experience under his belt. He _thought_ it was all handled properly at the time. Or perhaps, he didn't care whether or not it was. Frank had been his friend, his colleague. Alice had been an auror, as well, but Kingsley hadn't known her very well. She seemed sweet and had a witty sense of humor that kept her husband happy. The realization that neither of those people would ever be the same because of the unimaginable torture they endured broke everyone's heart. It became a mission to make certain that there was some kind of justice for that young, broken couple doomed to spend the rest of their lives in St. Mungo's.

But clearly, they had been too hasty. Once he had Mafalda's statement of what she witnessed and how Dolores Umbridge blackmailed her into remaining silent for so many years, he had a place to start correcting their mistakes. Every spare moment he had when he wasn't dealing with the day-to-day crises that seemed to pop up at all hours for the Minister, Kingsley was down in the Ministry Archives searching through dusty files and sealed boxes. He'd even fallen asleep down there more times than he cared for.

Protocol had not been followed from the first minute. Mistakes were rampant when viewed from the outside years after the fact. Laws had been bent to serve the whim of the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Ashamed that his son was a member of the group that was responsible, Bartemius Crouch Senior wanted it to be known throughout the country that he had not made exceptions for the sake of his son. In his haste to make certain that his son was dealt with swiftly, he'd made many allowances that shouldn't have been made. It was no wonder that he was demoted to a different department following the end of the war.

The wands of the accused should have been examined by a panel of DMLE officials, not just _one_ witch with some sort of grudge against one of the accused. Multiple examinations of the accused by at least three qualified and licensed Healers should have been made to determine whether or not the accused was under the influence of the Imperius Curse. Two minutes with an unqualified witch from the Improper Use of Magic office wasn't the right method for a crime that serious. Trials were supposed to be conducted a full _month_ after the crime to ensure that the esteemed members of the Wizengamot had time to cool their heads. Too much emotion so soon after a horrific crime would sway the outcome of any trial.

All of that was enough to declare a mistrial, if enough members of the Wizengamot were so inclined. Of course it wouldn't affect two of the already deceased accused, but if necessary, it could finally get Rodolphus the justice he deserved. There wasn't enough evidence to exonerate Rabastan even if he hadn't already made it clear that he was guilty and right where he deserved to be for the rest of his existence.

Kingsley needed more proof to make his case effective before the Wizengamot. As a new Minister for Magic, he had to prove himself a little bit longer before he could just automatically expect the support from the members. If he wanted to pardon Rodolphus or at minimum declare a mistrial and have another trial, he would need irrefutable evidence that there was mishandling of evidence and Ministry protocol following his arrest.

After he'd searched through piles and piles of parchment, he came to the same conclusion each time. There was someone else he needed to have a conversation with. Someone else needed to provide him with answers to some of his questions before he could even hope to be successful in getting Rodolphus out of Azkaban.

As the door to the familiar interrogation room in Azkaban clanged shut behind him, Kingsley sighed. He glanced up at the prisoner shackled to the table. This was not going to be easy. Or pleasant.

"What a splendid surprise, Minister Shacklebolt. I'm so pleased to see you again."

"I would say the same to you, Dolores, but my mother taught me it was wrong to tell a lie."


	60. Chapter 60

Chapter Sixty

October 25, 1975

 **1:30 pm**

Nothing of any interest happened in Hermione's life for months after the funeral in March. She might have been inclined to complain about the lack of excitement if she wasn't so thankful to simply be left alone for a little while. The violence around the country that she knew to expect as the first war raged on became more apparent and less able to hide. Insulated in the sleepy village of Hogsmeade with the security she had come to expect as a member of the influential Lestrange family, she felt no fear for her safety. All of the names she read in the newspaper each morning were strangers from a different era. At least that was how she was able to justify her non-participation.

Voldemort had not approached her since the lunch she shared with him eight months earlier. His interest in Augie had been clear from the very beginning. She tried to subtly speak to her friend whenever she happened to see him while visiting the Ministry with her uncle to watch the Wizengamot proceedings. Nothing in his outward appearance indicated that he had already turned his life over to the man who would ruin it. He was the same as he ever was except even happier as a new husband and desperately in love with his pretty, young wife. Once he even spoke about children and teased Hermione about the fact that she wasn't getting any younger. To Regnault's dismay, Hermione poked her wand into Augustus' chin to threaten him with magical disembowelment if he ever uttered the words 'biological clock' in her presence again. After a hearty laugh and a discreet roll of her uncle's eyes, they returned to a normal conversation.

Hermione wasn't naïve enough to believe that she wouldn't be called upon again to provide a name or several for additional recruits. It made her sick and hate herself a bit when she would lay awake at night running through the rolls of the Death Eaters she remembered from the future for possible consideration if approached again. At least being at the wrong end of their wand multiple times in the second war gave her an advantage over who to include. She hated what he was asking her to do, but she didn't exactly have a choice.

Fenrir Greyback had been suspiciously absent from her life since Christmas night. With the exception of the year she was in Hogwarts, Hermione had yet to go so long without being at least _annoyed_ by the werewolf. She had a hope that he might have finally moved on, but she knew better. He would never move on. Full moons had been quieter in Hogsmeade to the point that the villagers were convinced that the beast that had been stalking them each month had finally moved on. If only that were true. Hermione remained vigilant. It would only be a matter of time before the monster came back to taunt her, at best, and attack her again, at worst. She stayed out of the woods when she was alone. Igor's locket never left her neck even when she was alone in the safety of her own bed.

1975 started off with such promise. A tall, dark, handsome man crossed her threshold first after midnight bringing with him the hope for a special year unlike no other. If Antonin's Russian superstition about meeting the New Year how one would like to spend the entire year had been true, Hermione could've been in a passionate relationship with a wizard she'd already begun to love dearly. Kingsley had not spoken to her in more than a few obnoxious, monosyllabic grunts since the night Antonin's mother died. He actively avoided her at every turn. The few times their paths crossed in either Hogsmeade at his grandmother's house or in London at his parents' house, he made some excuse to leave as soon as possible.

She tried not to let the fact that Kingsley seemed to hate her bother her. Easier than said than done, of course. The feelings that she had for Kingsley had developed slowly in the past, building on the crush she had on his older self when she was younger. Being with him, even for just one incredible night, only stirred up what was already there. She could feel the connection they shared. It was unlike any that she'd had with any wizard in her life. There had been a safety with him. A _peace_. Having that within her grasp for only a few hours to have it ripped away hurt more than if she had never had it to begin with.

Knowing that Kingsley always compared himself to Antonin only to find himself lacking was heartbreaking. Hermione couldn't stand that she'd contributed in any way to his inferiority complex when it came to Antonin. She hadn't meant to. It just _happened_. All of Kingsley's life, he'd been compared to Antonin Dolohov and never quite seemed to measure up. His older brother, who he had always looked up to with an almost idol-like fervor, preferred the company of his best mate to his little brother. At a tender age, that had been a blow to his self-esteem. As they all grew older and he still wished privately that he could be more like his brother, Kingsley never felt good enough to compete. And when a pretty witch with wild curls appeared one day in the village to his delight, she picked _him_ over Kingsley.

She didn't know how she could prove to the future Minister that she wanted _him_ and not Antonin. Her relationship with the sullen, broody Death Eater had run its course a long time ago. Despite repeated attempts to rekindle their romance, it just wasn't going to happen. They both needed to move on with people who would actually bring them some measure of joy. The misery they seemed to breed was exhausting. More than once, more than a _thousand_ times, Hermione wished that she had never encouraged Antonin. She knew what kind of man he would become. She knew she couldn't change the past. Why did she even bother?

Thomas tried to be encouraging at every turn. He promised Hermione that no one knew his little brother as well as he did. Kingsley would come around. Once his wounds were licked clean and he remembered how much he loved the time traveler, he would be back. Hermione wished she had his confidence. Even having some idea of what the future would hold for the two of them didn't help much. She still had a fear in the back of her mind that Kingsley would never forgive her.

After too many accidental meetings at his parents' house, Kingsley took the drastic step of moving out. Thomas tried to assure Hermione that it was simply because his brother was ready to move on with being an adult. Living at home with his mum was cramping his style. Thomas, however, couldn't care less. His Muggle girlfriend Grace lived next door when she was home on break from school. He was right where he wanted to be.

Hermione had the unexpected spy into Kingsley's life in the form of her dear friend Caradoc. His relationship with Gideon Prewett was still going strong. The two of them were disgustingly in love as Hermione liked to tease him. She hoped that each moment of happiness with Gideon would help him move on from the unrequited love he felt for Rodolphus. Caradoc was at the flat that Kingsley shared with the twins on a regular basis. He would frequently report back to Hermione what he'd witnessed. His opinion was that Kingsley was quite sad, but loved to overcompensate by putting on a brave, happy face. Her Hufflepuff friend was an excellent judge of people's moods and emotions. He was never fooled by Kingsley's gregarious antics. The wizard was hurting.

That seemed to be a recurring issue with the wizards in her life. Following his mother's death, Antonin shut himself away from those who loved him best. He continued to allow Thomas to have a small corner for the first few weeks. When he began avoiding even his lifelong best friend, Hermione got worried. He was spiraling downward into darkness because of his grief. The loss of his mother was likely something Antonin would never get over. She was the one person in his life who seemed to keep him grounded, who urged him to make the right decisions. Without Mira Dolohov acting as some sort of conscience for her son, Antonin was lost. Hermione hated how he changed, but she couldn't save him.

With no special wizard in her life willing to speak to her, Hermione spent a great deal of time with the Tonks family. She loved each of the three members more than she knew it was possible to love. As she watched Dorie grow up, it was easy to forget the fact that the hilarious and happy child would never see her thirtieth birthday or get to watch her son grow up. At times, Hermione would hold the child in her lap as she read her a story or crawl around on the floor with her playing with the toys that her Auntie Hermione continued to spoil her with, and the most overwhelming sense of sadness and grief would come over her. She would look at Dorie with her pink hair or her turquoise hair and feel as if someone had punched her in the gut.

How does one live with the knowledge of when their loved ones will die? If there was any person that Hermione would have sacrificed herself for to ensure their future did not turn out how it was planned, it would be Nymphadora. She deserved to have a chance to raise little Teddy. They _all_ deserved more than what they would get. When she was stuck in one of those pensive moods trying not to think about the pain that would come with them all growing older, Hermione would snuggle the little toddler close to her heart. She would use every moment she was given to show the child how much she was loved.

She felt the same about Ted as well. There were evenings she would leave the Tonks' home and burst into tears on the pavement just outside their building. _Why_ did such a good man have to be murdered? What was the point of even being in the past if she was so helpless to do anything to keep the people she loved from dying? It had been her plan when she first arrived in the past to not spend any time around anyone that she knew from the future that would die horrifically. Randomly running into little James Potter around Hogwarts had been gut-wrenching. For a moment every time he crossed her path, she'd swear that she'd just seen Harry. She couldn't bear to be around any of the baby Marauders. Their deaths were tragic and she wanted to try to spare as much of her heart as she could.

Her thoughts about Ted's and Dorie's tragic murders always brought her mind back to Andromeda. Before she knew Andy, before she lived a minute in the past, Hermione hardly gave much thought to the witch. She, of course, thought that the poor woman had been through too much in her life. Hermione stood in the back of the mourners at Remus' and Tonks' funeral. She was still reeling from all of the loss. Her role in the war became widely known and she didn't want any attention taken off of the ones they were there to mourn and celebtrate. She remembered seeing the beautiful, almost regal woman who stood near the caskets holding young Teddy Lupin in her arms. It was clear even to a complete stranger that Andromeda Tonks was trying to keep her emotions under control. She seemed burdened more so than any single person should be.

Hermione _had_ to get back to 1998 as soon as possible. She would periodically try to turn her time turner to see if it was working again. Nothing ever happened. Her fear was that it was a one-time use only artefact. Andromeda needed someone who loved and cared about her in the future to help support her in her grief. Healing was a process that could take a lifetime. Knowing that her best friend was alone was too much to bear at times. She clung to the desperate hope that the reason why she disappeared just before Christmas in 1980 was because she was going back to nineties. She was needed.

The Hog's Head was usually busy during Hogsmeade weekends. Hermione was able to keep her depressing thoughts about the fate of the Tonks family to a minimum as she cleared the tables of empty butterbeer bottles and tricked the of-age students with more of her dad's special 'Smoke Whiskey'. She was content to work in the pub for the moment. What her life would be like as time progressed was anyone's guess.

As she cleaned off one of the newly empty tables, an owl flew in through an open window. A letter dropped at her feet. Curious by the contents of the unexpected missive, Hermione bent down to pick it up and break the seal.

 _My Dearest Niece,_

 _It has been too long since our last pot of tea. There is something I would very much like to discuss with you. Please come to the castle at your earliest convenience._

 _Affectionately,_

 _Albus_

Any amount of time spent in the presence of her former Headmaster was sure to be unenjoyable. Hermione never felt at ease around the wizard especially after knowing all of what he would do in the future to ensure that his agenda was furthered. She likely would never forgive him for what he put Harry through. In order to not create any undue suspicion, she would periodically meet with the man for a harmless cup or two of tea. The meetings were usually fraught with a subtle tension. She _never_ went into his presence without being fully shielded.

His note was odd. Usually, he invited her to tea, but never informed her that he had something to discuss. Hermione couldn't ignore the request as much as she wanted to. Knowing what she did about Albus Dumbledore, he would not rest until she complied. Sighing to herself, she scribbled a hasty reply that she'd come by the castle once all of the students were out of the pub.

Aberforth assured her when he asked what the letter was all about that he would be perfectly fine to handle the few students left behind. Hermione wished there was another excuse to keep her in the village longer. When none could be found, she pulled her cloak on and headed towards the castle.

Many of the students were already heading back to the school. She was glad for the company on the lonely road through the woods. In the daytime, she wasn't too nervous to be there, but it still made her uneasy. Greyback's absence had been conspicuous. She knew it was only a matter of time before he returned.

She managed to slip inside the gates to the castle grounds with some of the tired, but happy students returning from their visit. They paid her no mind as she made her way up to the castle with them. Many of them recognized her from earlier visits or remembered her from the one year she was there.

The staircase to the Headmaster's Office was visible before Hermione even had a chance to give the gargoyle guarding it the password. She climbed the stairs, mentally preparing herself for the experience as she did. Once upon a time she would have been more nervous approaching a meeting with Voldemort than she did the kindly, old Headmaster who had been such a huge part of her adolescence. A lot had changed. At least with Voldemort she had _some_ idea what he wanted from her. Albus Dumbledore was an unpredictable variable.

He was seated behind his ornate desk shuffling through large pieces of parchment when she passed through the open door to his office. His twinkling blue eyes only looked up to meet hers once she was halfway across the floor. Albus rose to his full height with a smile on his face. Hermione leaned up to kiss him on the cheek. Their relationship wasn't entirely warm. There was still a great deal of distrust on both sides. She didn't care for how he would handle himself in the future and he didn't care for how close she was to the brother he'd never taken the time to understand.

Once they were seated in comfortable armchairs in front of the massive fireplace in his office, Hermione sipped at her tea waiting for the wizard to explain why he practically summoned her to the castle. The first several minutes of the visit were spent engaging in the inane pleasantries that were required of any visit between relatives. She asked him how the school year was going so far. He asked her how she was enjoying her work at the pet shop and at the pub. A few subtle digs at her waste of potential were ignored in favor of keeping the peace. Albus Dumbledore wasn't the first person in their society to believe she was wasting her time and talents. He would not be the last.

"You wrote that there was something specific you wished to speak to me about," Hermione declared, ready to get the reason of the uncomfortable visit over with.

Albus smiled at her abrupt change of the conversation. She did not want to be there any longer than she had to be. If he had something more than just inane pleasantries to spew at her, she wanted to get them over with.

"Yes, indeed there was," he replied.

Hermione had had plenty of experience since she arrived in the past feeling when an accomplished Legilimens was attempting to read her stealthily without her knowledge. It was an odd feeling. Certainly one that she had trouble explaining when Thomas asked her to describe how it felt. It was a slight nudging at her brain, an almost tickle in her head that certainly would have gone unnoticed by those who weren't _expecting_ to feel it.

Albus wasn't even being sneaky about the fact that he was trying to dip into her mind. Hermione stared him directly in the eye, daring him to break through her carefully protected shields. Her confidence had grown tremendously through her interactions with the Dark Lord. Practicing with Thomas had helped as well. She did not fear what her uncle was capable of. He was not the kind of wizard who would recklessly tear through her defenses. No, he was too confident in the fact that he was a _benevolent_ man. He was on the 'good' side. Those kinds of tactics were beneath him.

When Voldemort attempted to break through her shields, she would let through small teasers to satisfy his curiosity. Perhaps she was making a terrible mistake by not doing the same for Albus, but she didn't care. She _wanted_ him to know that she didn't trust him. Wanted him to know that she knew what he was trying to do. Reading a person's innermost private thoughts was a violation of trust and common decency. The fact that the wizard clearly distrusted the witch who was supposed to be of his own blood was even worse.

"You have, I'm sure, noticed the increase in violence around our country in the last several months," he stated once it was clear that he wasn't going to be able to read her to his heart's desire. "Many people are disappearing. There was that awful attack on that family in Dorset that I know has upset everyone. Terrible tragedy. One of their sons is in his third year. He was spared being here. Very upsetting."

"Yes, it was. I was sorry to hear about the attack. Senseless." She was growing impatient and tried to keep her irritation out of her tone. "Did you ask me here to just discuss current events, Uncle?"

"Some of the people that you choose to spend your time with are a bit… _concerning._ "

Hermione had been bringing her teacup to her mouth when he made his statement. She slammed it down on the saucer and set it down on the small table with the tea tray. Their visit was about to get serious. The potential for confrontation was high. She needed to prepare herself for what she was sure would be an awkward and uncomfortable discussion.

"I'm sure I don't know what you are talking about, Uncle Albus."

"It is no secret that you spend a great deal of time with the Lestrange family."

"They are my _family_ every bit as much as you are."

"Yes, they are. I understand that you have a weekly luncheon with Regnault."

If he was anybody else, she might have thought he was jealous of the fact that she seemed to have a much better and closer relationship with her other uncle. She wasn't gullible enough to believe that was what was happening.

"Yes, I do. That's not exactly a secret. Is there a reason you are asking me this, Uncle?"

"And you attend frequent dinner parties and other events where there are other less _savory_ characters in attendance."

"I do not understand what you are getting at."

Truthfully though, she did. Hermione idly wondered one evening when she was standing on the edge of an elaborate wedding reception attended by the crème de la crème of wizarding society if there would ever be a time when Albus would approach her to be some kind of spy for his side. It made sense. She had easy and ready access to many of the people who were the most valued and trusted lieutenants to the Dark Lord. Even her father suggested that he might one day be interested in what she could learn from the people her other family associated with. Aberforth warned her to be wary where his elder brother was concerned.

"I have an _associate_ who informed me that you have even caught the eye of Tom Riddle. That he has shown a great deal of interest in you. Perhaps, even a bit too much."

"Is there a specific question that you are wanting to ask, Uncle? Because dancing around the subject is not doing either one of us any good."

She was frustrated. Of course he would figure out that something happened between her and Lord Voldemort. How could he not? Their affair, if that was what one wanted to call it, hadn't exactly been a well-kept secret. There were over two dozen guests at the dinner party when they set off the virtue alarms. And people had a way of spreading interesting gossip. There were any number of avenues where Albus Dumbledore might have learned about her relationship with the Dark Lord. Indeed, there were likely people who were even more than willing to rush directly to the Headmaster to inform him with glee what his niece was up to.

"Are you Tom's mistress?"

"Not that it is _any_ if your business who I choose to spend my time with, Uncle, but _no_ , I am not his mistress. I'm afraid wherever you picked up your information was from a source that shouldn't be trusted."

"But you do not deny that you have associated yourself with him in the past?"

"I am _not_ one of his followers, if that's what you are trying to get at. I have no desire to enter into any kind of agreement with the wizard. I just want to live my simple life with as little stress as possible. My paths have crossed with the man in social settings on several occasions. I would not say that I associated with him."

Albus was not satisfied with her answer. Though he didn't come right out and admit so, she could tell he was hoping there was more to admit. Hermione would never confirm his suspicions that she'd been intimate with the Dark Lord. Never in a thousand lifetimes. That was her business. No one, not even the great Albus Dumbledore, was privy to all of the secrets of her bedroom.

"You know what he is capable of, I assume," Albus continued.

"I have my suspicions."

"I need someone that I can trust who has access to Tom. Someone who can keep me informed of his whereabouts and his plans."

Hermione struggled to keep her face impassive. Albus had a lot of nerve, she'd give him that. Though he might have claimed that she meant a great deal to him as his only niece, he was willing to put her in a dangerous position that could mean the loss of her life if discovered. It would have angered her years earlier when she first arrived in the past for him to ask. By that point, she'd grown up quite a bit. She had a better understanding of how the world worked.

"And you trust me?" She was skeptical. He'd given her no indication that he trusted her even a little bit.

"We are blood, are we not?" he replied. "Who can you trust if not your own family?"

Those were the exact wrong words for him to say if he wanted any help from her at all. Hermione stood up from the chair. She was done. Nothing else that they could possibly discuss in that moment would be worth hearing. Albus didn't care about her as a gentle, elderly uncle cares about his niece. He was only interested in seeing how he could use her for his own means. Well, she was no Severus Snape. She would never allow the man to manipulate her into doing his bidding.

"Funny question to ask, Uncle… considering you have made it perfectly clear that you don't trust my father. Never have."

She felt a surge of anger rise in her at the thought of what he put his brother through over the years. Aberforth certainly hadn't been innocent in all of it, of course, but Albus never made it a secret that he didn't trust his younger brother. He always viewed him as being some kind of dangerous eccentric.

"My relationship with your father is quite complicated, Hermione. You have not heard both sides of the story."

"It doesn't matter, Uncle. You want me to put my life on the line to bring you back snippets of information that I pick up at dinner parties and wedding receptions that _might_ help you in whatever plans you have, but you don't trust me. You thought I was your enemy's mistress, for Merlin's sake."

"Hermione, my concern is that you are getting involved with the wrong kind of people. You may already be in danger. I am trying to do what I can to make this world safer. Tom Riddle is dangerous. He is behind all of this violence."

"I don't doubt that you have some grand plan to make the world a better place. I wish you well, Uncle, but you will not turn me into some kind of spy. I don't want any part of the war you believe is coming. I just want to be left alone."

She was halfway to the door before he spoke again.

"The war has already started, Hermione, and I fear, you are already in way over your head."

Hermione refused to turn back around to face her uncle after he made his pronouncement. He wasn't wrong on either account. She just didn't want to hear it.

* * *

December 11, 1975

 **1:35 pm**

Hermione's least favorite time was the end of the year. As the holidays approached, she felt uneasy and even a bit sad at times. Many of the more difficult events in her life occurred that time of year. The rest of the country seemed excited about the upcoming winter holidays, but she wasn't. Just as Aberforth reminded her each year, Christmas wasn't always a happy time. It was the time of year that one really felt their losses the most.

Following a rather uneventful weekly lunch with Regnault, she decided to take a stroll through Diagon Alley to do some holiday shopping. Dorie was at the age when she might actually be able to enjoy Christmas. Though Andromeda warned Hermione that she was going to be responsible for turning her daughter into a spoiled brat, she wasn't worried. There wasn't a sweeter child alive. She knew there were some toys that Dorie would love that were way out of the price range of her young parents. What was the use of having more money than one could spend without a little spoiling every now and then? Hermione set her sights for a toy shop at the end of the Alley.

She was halfway between the restaurant and the toy shop when her path crossed a familiar figure. Dressed up in a thick coat with a heavy beard and hair falling into his eyes, she almost didn't recognize Antonin. For a brief moment when their eyes first met, she was reminded so strongly of how he looked when she first saw him in the Department of Mysteries that she almost forgot to breathe. She hadn't seen him since his mother's funeral. Clearly, the months had altered him.

Antonin seemed as surprised to run into her as she was. He greeted her with a rather formal kiss to her cheek. The thick facial hair scratched her cheek. She definitely did not care for his change in appearance. A quick, subtle survey of the man proved that he'd lost some weight since she'd seen him last. Weight that he didn't really need to lose.

"How have you been?" she finally asked when the silence between them grew too awkward.

"All right," he quickly replied though there was nothing in his tone that led her to believe that was the truth. "I've been very busy."

"Yes, that's what Thomas has said. He told me that you two rarely see each other anymore because you're always working. What exactly are you doing?"

He made a dismissive wave of his hand while claiming his job wasn't interesting enough to talk about. Hermione already knew that he was working for someone at Voldemort's request. Couple that with the fact that she knew he'd been associating with the Dark Lord on a regular basis, it didn't take a genius to figure out that he was already well enmeshed within the Death Eaters. He probably had been for many months. Probably since just after they ended their relationship the last time.

Once he learned she was headed to the toy shop, he offered to walk her there. He was on an errand for work that would take him right by the area. They could use the time to catch up. Hermione wasn't about to refuse the request. Though they were no longer together and she felt some slight anger towards him for being the reason that she and Kingsley weren't together, she was worried about him.

"I never apologized to you for kissing you _that_ night," Antonin stated to her surprise.

"You were upset. It's all right."

"Not an excuse. It was wrong. Inappropriate. I'm sorry."

She accepted his apology without hesitation. Years of knowing him very well meant that she knew when he was sincere and when he wasn't. That had been a difficult night for him. She couldn't remain angry at him for any longer.

"I really would like us to be friends, Hermione."

His words shouldn't have surprised Hermione, but they did. Their relationship would always be complex. Being friends or at least _attempting_ to be friends could very likely become quite complicated. She wasn't opposed to trying though. A bright smile was his answer.

When they reached the door to the toy shop, Antonin leaned down to kiss her cheek again. He promised that they would see each other very soon before heading off into his own direction. Hermione's mind wandered to the sullen, broody wizard for weeks following their accidental meeting.

* * *

December 25, 1975

 **9:45 am**

Christmas Day arrived long before Hermione was truly ready for it. Frequently throughout the previous horribly lonely, uninteresting year, she'd looked forward to the day. If there was one day that she knew for certain Kingsley would not run away from her, it would be Christmas. His mother and his grandmother would hex him if he even attempted to skip out on the annual meal. She imagined what she would say to him, how she would force him to listen to her, and maybe even how she would corner him under more enchanted mistletoe.

When the day actually arrived, however, she was nervous. What was she going to say to Kingsley when she finally had the opportunity? The thought that he would not listen to her worried her more than she cared for. Aberforth had to resort to knocking on her bedroom door to get her out of her sanctuary. One look at his girl and he knew that she was worried. She didn't want to admit to why. Truthfully, she just assumed that he already understood.

"Are you nervous, lass?"

She couldn't lie to the man. Hermione stepped out of her bedroom and nodded her head. He did not push her for an explanation.

"I'm not going to pretend that I know all of what happened between you and the wizard, but it's clear that he's been a little bit in love with you since the first time he met you."

They hadn't spoken about Kingsley many times throughout the year. Only a few times Aberforth asked her why he was no longer stopping in for a drink when he had some free time. She never told him in so many words that he was actively avoiding her, but somehow he'd figured it out.

"Sometimes it takes a wizard, especially a young one, a little while to get over injured pride."

Hermione usually appreciated the advice that her father freely gave, but she wasn't in the mood that morning. Hoping to prevent him from continuing further, she grabbed her cloak and headed for the front door. Snow was still falling as they walked through the village to Marjorie's house. Neither of them spoke the entire journey there. Aberforth was a wizard who enjoyed silences and his daughter had grown to appreciate them.

Just as he had every year since she appeared suddenly in the past, Dean welcomed the father and daughter into his mother-in-law's home warmly. He made certain that neither of them made it past the living room without the customary champagne and orange juice they all loved. Hermione would never forget how upsetting it had been to be caught so off-guard by the werewolf when she'd been intoxicated the Christmas before. She spent most of 1975 completely sober. It hadn't been easy. There were plenty of family dinners with the Lestranges that would've been improved by being completely drunk. Lots of lonely nights watching the patrons in the pub drinking could have been made slightly easier with a few glasses of fire whiskey, but she'd been resolute in staying as sober as possible. The last thing she needed was an addiction like her cousin's. She'd witnessed personally how destructive that could be.

Once in the dining room she greeted all of the assembled guests. Marjorie's son, daughter-in-law and granddaughter were all there again. Some years they were able to attend while others were spent with their other relatives. Hermione's attention immediately went to the corner of the room where Antonin was chatting with Sada. For the first time since she'd known him, he didn't seem annoyed by the young witch's presence. Maybe it was the difference in her age. She was eighteen and almost as beautiful as her aunt. Men could put up with a lot of annoying habits that came from a gorgeous woman.

Hermione crossed the dining room straight to an ill at ease Kingsley. He wouldn't meet her eyes at first to her extreme annoyance. Almost an entire year passed since their argument in the street when he ran away from her. He knew better than to be openly rude to a guest in his grandmother's home. After the perfunctory kiss to her cheek and the wishing of a 'happy Christmas', he rushed to his empty seat.

Brunch was always a pleasant affair with the Shafiq/Shacklebolt family. She was determined to not allow the fact that Kingsley wouldn't look in her direction to ruin the mood. So much time had passed since their argument in the street. Why was he still hurt about it? Hermione pushed down the anger that was threatening to bubble up. Being upset and furious with the wizard for his insecure stupidity would do nothing positive to repair the break between them. Thomas reached across from his seat next to hers more than once during the meal to offer her an encouraging squeeze of the hand or arm. She appreciated his presence more than he knew.

A few times during the meal everyone present was surprised by the sudden outburst of laughter from the corner of the table where Antonin and Sada were engaged in quiet conversation. His feelings that she was nothing but a silly girl clearly had changed as the years passed. Hermione chose to be heartened by the small smiles she saw on his face instead of being bothered by the slight jealousy she felt in her gut. Would she always feel that way towards any witch he chose to spend any amount of time with?

When the plates were cleared away from the table by a wave of Katie's wand and Dean insisted that everyone join him for more drinks in the lounge, Hermione knew she couldn't let the day end without having a private conversation with Kingsley. Too much time had passed between them since they spoke. Even if he wasn't interested in renewing their romantic relationship or even their physical, she missed him as her friend. Just as Sada grew out of her obnoxious phase for Antonin, Kingsley had grown out of that for Hermione.

It took some determination to get Kingsley cornered in the lounge, but she was successful. To Hermione's disappointment, they weren't standing underneath the mistletoe when it happened. She tried to ignore the eyes of everyone else in the room on her as she approached the young auror. Kingsley sipped at his glass of champagne without saying a word. She knew him well enough to know by the set of his shoulders that he was uncomfortable. He knew better than to be rude in his grandmother's house. Marjorie would never allow that and neither would his mother.

"You've been so busy lately, Kingsley, it feels like it's been ages since we had a proper chinwag," she said, hoping that her tone was light and not in the least pushy. "How is work? The Ministry keeping you busy?"

"Yes, very."

She wanted to groan out loud at the lack of participation. One-sided conversations were never enjoyable. Hermione stepped closer to Kingsley, not caring that she was essentially pushing his back into the large piano. If she had to trap him, she would. No one in the room was being particularly sneaky with their attempts to listen in on their conversation. She lowered her voice so he was the only one who could hear.

"Can we _please_ talk, Kingsley? You can't avoid me forever."

He sighed though he didn't seem to care if everyone in the entire village heard the sound. When he set his glass down and reached for her hand, Hermione tried to keep the grin that was forming on her face away. Clearly, he had grown annoyed with her persistence. She allowed him to lead her out of the house to the back garden. Happy memories of the best New Year's Eve she'd ever had came flooding back. How had so much gone wrong in the previous year when she'd started it off so right?

"Granny has been telling me to talk to you for months," he announced when they were seated at the same bench they'd passed a lovely evening almost a year prior. "How that woman always knows everything is beyond me. Obnoxious really. I'd like to have _some_ secrets from my grandmother."

"She's very perceptive."

" _Too_ perceptive."

The beginning of their conversation seemed promising. He hadn't spoken that many words to her in rapid succession since the night Antonin's mother died. Hermione was encouraged. Maybe they would actually be able to iron out their differences. Maybe he would actually understand that Antonin wasn't a threat. She wanted _him_ , not her ex.

"I never wanted you to run away from me that night," Hermione admitted. She couldn't look him in the eye as she made her declaration so she kept her gaze focused on the snowy ground. "It wasn't what you thought. I wasn't choosing Antonin."

Kingsley sighed again.

"I know," he replied.

"You _know_? What do you mean that you know?"

"Just what I said, Hermione. Yes, at the time when I walked in on _that_ , I thought you were choosing him over me _again_ , but I've had a lot of time to think about it."

"Yeah, almost an entire year."

Her petulant words were muttered under her breath but he didn't miss a single syllable.

"I've been competing with Dolohov my _entire_ life. Do you have any idea how many times I've actually won?" He didn't wait for her to respond before he answered. " _Never_. Tommy likes him better. My parents constantly compare me to him. He's a Ravenclaw, I'm not. He made better marks than I did. More witches like him. When we'd play games as children, he _always_ won. I always fall short."

"And yet, I'm sitting here with _you_ instead of him."

Kingsley's eyes snapped into her direction. Hermione met them with confidence. She could understand his inferiority complex when it came to Antonin. Hadn't she spent years around Ron's own complex with Harry? The circumstances were slightly different considering Antonin and Kingsley were never actually friends, but it was still the same idea. Kingsley was very different from the rest of his family in many ways. They didn't always understand the way his mind worked or what made him tick. It was all too easy for even well-meaning loved ones to dismiss a relative they didn't understand. Hermione had experienced that many times with her own Muggle parents. Many times in her life, she felt like she wasn't good enough for the Grangers simply because they couldn't possibly understand her new world.

"Honestly, Kingsley, I wish I'd never been with Antonin," she confessed. "He was never the right wizard for me. I should've figured that out early on, but I made so many mistakes."

It was the complete truth. Aberforth warned her on several occasions even without knowing the full truth about his future. Her other family members wanted her to stay away from him. She should have listened. Both of their lives would've likely been better if she had. Maybe he wouldn't have even gotten caught up with Voldemort if she'd just left him alone.

"I'm sorry for running away from you that night, Hermione. It was immature and I don't have a good excuse for it."

"Thank you. I appreciate that."

They sat in silence for a couple of minutes unsure what to say next. The little spark of hope that popped up in Hermione when he grasped her hand to actually lead her away to talk began to grow. Maybe they could get past the misunderstandings. Was it too much to hope that they could celebrate the New Year together again? This time without the pesky thought of a relationship with someone else hanging over them?

"Why have you been avoiding me for so long? It was really starting to hurt my feelings."

She tried to make her question sound light, but it was the truth.

"Mostly I was embarrassed," he answered. "It's just easier to avoid confrontation sometimes."

"Can we make a promise to each other that we won't do that again? That we won't run away from each other or avoid each other?"

He gave her a half-smile and a nod of his head. The knots in her stomach that had been an almost constant companion when she thought of the handsome wizard for the better part of year started to untangle. She certainly felt lighter and less burdened. Perhaps this was the next step to moving forward with any potential relationship.

She wanted to do something dramatic and meaningful to seal the moment their disagreement was finally resolved. Her hands were around his neck and her lips were on his in mere moments. Though there had only been one memorable night with the man in her past, she felt a strange sense of serenity fall over her as she moved her lips against his. Kingsley's hands immediately found their way to her body. She loved the feel of them.

Until she realized that he was using them to push her away. It took him a couple of tries to get her attention enough that she broke the kiss. Hermione stared at his sheepish expression with wide, confused eyes. Why was he pushing her away? Did she completely misread the entire situation?

"I have a girlfriend, Hermione."

She wanted to slap him, wanted to scream and rage at him for his horribly shitty timing. Or, rather, she wanted to hex him because he wouldn't listen to her that night so many months earlier and now it was too late. Kingsley could sense her frustration and sighed. He dropped his hands to his sides.

"We've been seeing each other for a few months," he explained. "It's new and it's uncomplicated. There's no uncomfortable history between us."

"Oh."

"Her name is Emmeline and she's a Healer in training at St. Mungo's."

Hermione wanted to scream at him that she didn't care what her name was or what she did. Part of her wanted to beg him to break up with this unsuspecting, innocent witch for her sake, but she knew that was unreasonable. She stood up from the bench suddenly needing to be alone. The hope she'd been carrying around in her was extinguished by the crushing reality that they weren't going to happen yet again.

"I hope you can find some real happiness with her, Kingsley."

She ignored his pleas to stop as she rushed out the back garden gate. Clearly their promise to not run away from each other wasn't going to be honored.

* * *

 **6:50 pm**

Aberforth didn't question Hermione's abrupt exit from the Shafiq house. He didn't need to. Everyone present knew there was something happening between the two of them that wasn't really any of their business. When he returned to the pub a short time after she'd left Kingsley alone in the garden, he'd tapped lightly on her bedroom door. Hearing the unmistakable sounds of soft sniffling, he'd given her her space. Hermione appreciated when he seemed to know intrinsically what she needed. His comments about being rubbish at family were woefully inaccurate.

After a long nap and a hot shower, Hermione's mood improved greatly. Or at least the outward appearance of her mood was improved. She still felt very much like she'd just been dumped _again_ by Kingsley and she didn't care for how it felt. Determined that she would not spend another moment of her Christmas crying about what happened earlier in the day, she dressed for the annual formal Christmas dinner at the Lestranges.

Aberforth did not stop her from leaving to assault her with a myriad of questions about her private life. Years of being her father and decades of running a pub taught him that when someone was ready to talk, they would. He kissed her cheek, declared her gold dress almost as beautiful as his girl, and wished her a good evening.

She was slightly nervous about Christmas dinner. A week earlier at her lunch with Regnault she casually asked who would be in attendance. She'd been fortunate to not have to be in the same room as Lord Voldemort since she gave him Augie's name. Knowing that he had been the guest of honor at the Black Family's Christmas dinner the year before gave her pause. When she found out that only the Lestranges and the Selwyns would be there, she almost relaxed. Regnault explained that as a show of goodwill considering the Selwyns' youngest daughter would be marrying Rabastan the next summer, they would be try to behave as one big, happy family for the holidays. He had been oddly vague about _which_ Selwyns would be there, leaving her to believe he had some kind of plan in store for her.

Apparating to Norfolk was second nature by that point. She was a frequent guest at her uncle's home even if it was just to return books she borrowed from the library. The gates opened for her immediately. Though there was a distinct chill in the air, the walk up to the manor was usually quite pleasant. Hermione was halfway to the house when she heard the distinct crunch of footsteps in the gravel just behind her. She turned, unsure who to expect. When she made eye contact with Silas Selwyn's bright blue eyes, she tried not to groan.

"Good evening, Goldie."

He was alone. Hermione could only assume that his family was either already in the manor or coming a few minutes behind him. Her interactions with the Selwyn heir had been few and far between. Though he was a member of the same social set her forged birth certificate gave her entrance to, Silas wasn't overly bothered by doing what was expected of him or interacting with the people his father deemed acceptable. They had never been alone before. Usually there was a large group of people nearby any time they spoke or attempted to dance when they were both too intoxicated to find a proper rhythm.

"Good evening, Silas."

His long legs made catching up to her side easy. They travelled up the path to the front door for several meters without speaking. Once inside the main hall, they were greeted by Rosie and a couple of her underlings. Rosie was quick to admonish them both for _almost_ being late. The rest of the guests were waiting for them in the study. The elves removed their cloaks and directed them to the long corridor.

"Have you done something different with your hair, Goldie?" Silas asked as they walked side by side down the corridor.

"Must you keep calling me that?"

"Yes, I _must_. But seriously, you look different than the last time I saw you."

Hermione knew what he meant. She'd been having a heartfelt chat with Andromeda over entirely too much wine a couple of weeks earlier. Her best friend was under the impression that Hermione needed a fresh look to help her improve her outlook. Codswallop, in Hermione's opinion, but she allowed Andromeda to cast the beauty charms to shorten and lighten her hair. So far, it had been unsuccessful in changing her outlook or her sour attitude towards life.

"I think I like it. Perhaps now I should call you Goldie _locks_ instead of just Goldie."

"Are you this annoying with everyone you meet or am I just a special case?"

She hated that even his laugh was charming. Why did the universe seem to think it was perfectly all right to make obnoxious men attractive? She felt the same way about evil men. They should all be readily identifiable by their ugly faces and ungracious manners.

"I'd like to think that you are a special case."

His wink made her snort. Perhaps it worked on other witches, but she wasn't easily taken in. They reached her uncle's study before she could think up an appropriate response to his statement. When they stepped inside the brightly lit room, there wasn't opportunity to continue their discussion. Hermione went around the room greeting each person in turn. Her uncle kissed her cheek first and then Rodolphus hugged her tightly. Bellatrix gave her a half-smile that looked as if it was quite painful. She seemed to be at least _attempting_ to be friendlier at her master's request.

The Selwyn family was certainly not the worst family in the Sacred Twenty-Eight. St John, their Patriarch, could be a bit full of himself at times, but he was generally quite affable. He kissed each of Hermione's cheeks and then introduced her to his wife Elizabeth. Hermione had nothing but kind thoughts about both of Silas' younger sisters. Sybille was quite serious while Solveig was silly in a very charming way. Both were pleasant and friendly.

Regnault led the assembled guests to the formal dining room. Hermione was just about to head out the door on her own until Silas forced his arm upon her with another one of his obnoxious grins. The wizard was entirely too arrogant. She had to remind herself to keep her wand in the special pocket Seraphina sewed into all of her gowns. It wouldn't do for family relations if she cursed the Heir of the Selwyns.

When she was led to the seat at the table next to Silas', Hermione had an inkling just what her uncle had been up to. She rolled her eyes at the very idea that Silas Selwyn would make a good match for her. The man was amusing at times, but that certainly didn't mean she was interested in spending a lifetime with him. Hermione shot a subtle but effective glare in Regnault's direction to let him know she was on to his plans and she did not appreciate them.

Christmas dinner was the most pleasant meal she'd ever experienced in the Lestrange manor. Funny how the simple change of attendants could make for a more enjoyable evening. Hermione frequently compared that meal with ones she'd had with the Black family in attendance or one of the awful dinner parties with Lord Voldemort. She found that the lively and interesting discussions made even the longest dinner pass quickly. Even the soft-spoken remarks made by Silas that were for her ears only didn't annoy her as much as she assumed they would.

"Any special wizard in your life?" he asked quietly somewhere near the fourth or fifth course.

"Not at the moment, no," she replied, surprising herself with her candor.

"Pity."

Hermione snorted and took a sip of her wine. Her temporary ban on all alcoholic beverages was being slightly lifted for a few glasses of her uncle's finest vintages. He was a wizard who enjoyed his wine. Besides, it was Christmas and she'd already made the decision that she wouldn't go back to Hogsmeade that night. What would it hurt if she indulged just a little?

"The last I heard, you were with that Karkaroff chap. That not work out?"

"Igor and I are still friends."

"Just friends or friends with certain privileges?"

She rolled her eyes and tried not to laugh at his impertinent question. Many times over the previous year since she was dropped by Kingsley she'd considered approaching Igor for a little bit of the fun they used to have before it all got serious. Each time she thought about it though, she stopped herself before she sent out an owl. She didn't want to give him the wrong impression about what she wanted. It could all get quite complicated if she wasn't careful.

"Just friends, I'm afraid."

"Do you have any friends with those special kinds of privileges?"

"No, Silas, I'm afraid I don't."

He leaned in closer to whisper directly in her ear. His breath tickled.

"Do you want one?"

The second snort that came out of her mouth was much louder than the first. His question had taken her completely by surprise. She had to bite her bottom lip to keep from laughing when every other person at the table turned their attention towards her. The nerve of the wizard! At the very least she could never say that the man lacked confidence in himself. He sat next to her with a broad grin across his face that she wanted to hex off. How could one person be so confident and full of themselves?

"If I wanted one, Silas," she began when the other conversations around the table resumed and they had some privacy once more. "I would certainly keep looking if you were my only option."

"You haven't been seen with any wizards in a very long time. That must be _uncomfortable_ for you to go so long without any special attention."

"And I suppose you're offering your services to simply knock the cobwebs out that might have formed?"

"When I see a beautiful witch in need, I only wish to help."

Hermione rolled her eyes and turned her attention to the Selwyn seated on the other side of her chair. The rest of the meal was spent in pleasant conversation with Sybille about a number of fascinating topics that didn't involve how long it had been since the last time she had a wizard in her knickers. All too quickly, the meal was over and Regnault was firmly insisting his guests join him out in the gardens.

Her uncle took a little bit of pity on the newest guests to his home. While he would ordinarily speed through the gardens, he chose instead to take his time to slowly stroll with his younger son's future mother-in-law on his arm. He pointed out the different kinds of flowers planted throughout the estate while the rest of the party followed behind. Hermione stayed close to Rodolphus to discourage Silas from making any further inappropriate requests.

When the walk was completed and they were all standing back in the entrance hall, Hermione considered how impolite it would be to excuse herself to go upstairs to bed before the guests left. Before she could think of a plausible ailment, Regnault interrupted her thoughts.

"Hermione, Silas expressed an interest in seeing our library. Would you be a dear and give him a tour? I know how much you enjoy the room."

She thought about saying 'no' to her uncle, but stopped herself. The small smirk on Regnault's face told her all she needed to know. He was orchestrating an opportunity for them to be alone together. Her uncle's matchmaking skills weren't nearly as subtle as he imagined they were. Knowing she couldn't argue with a determined man, she headed towards the library with Silas only steps behind.

The last time she gave a man a tour of the library it had not ended how she wished. She tried to push thoughts of Voldemort out of her mind. There was no point in dwelling on the past when there was nothing she could do to change it. Just as it happened the last time she was there with the Dark Lord, Silas stopped on the second level where there was a small reading area with squashy armchairs. Thoughts of Voldemort bending her over one of the chairs flooded her mind. She hoped there would come a day when she didn't immediately think of that evil wizard when she entered the room.

"Impressive," Silas stated.

"Did you really want to see the library?"

"Not really. I just knew you liked books and your uncle has been trying to get us alone. This seemed like a perfect opportunity."

Hermione didn't want to be alone with the wizard any longer. His entire demeanor was unbearably arrogant. Did he really think that his pretty face and startling eyes were enough to make women look past his flawed personality? She moved to walk back to the spiral staircase that would lead to the exit. Two steps away from Silas and his hand reached out to grab her arm. The feel of his hand on her bare skin startled her. When he carefully pulled her closer, she didn't even attempt to pull away.

"I think your uncle is hoping that I'll marry you."

"Surely he has higher hopes for me than _you_."

He laughed and she couldn't help but smile back.

"You wound me, Goldie."

"No, I don't. You'd actually have to possess the capacity to feel human emotions to be hurt by that."

"And you don't think I'm human? Because I assure you, there's nothing artificial about me whatsoever. I'd be glad to prove it to you."

Silas stepped closer. The very atmosphere in the room seemed to change with each inch he moved towards her. Hermione wasn't sure what she was experiencing, but she found that she didn't exactly hate it. There was something there. Something she never would've noticed if she hadn't been feeling vulnerable and extremely lonely. She tried to push away the depressing thoughts of Kingsley from earlier in the day. Maybe Silas wasn't wrong. Maybe she just needed a physical touch with no strings attached. She was young and single after all. What did she have to lose?

"You know what, Silas? You are much more handsome when you shut up."

"Then shut me up."

It was a challenge that she wasn't about to back down from. Hermione was the one to close the last of the distance between them. She was also the one press her lips against his first.

* * *

August 17, 1998

 **9:50 am**

One of his first acts as Minister for Magic was to preside over the trial of one Dolores Jane Umbridge. Kingsley had never liked the loathsome woman, especially after all of the mess that happened the year she became the Headmaster at Hogwarts. He hadn't been in support of any of the changes she attempted to make in the school. When the war was finally over and he'd been appointed the Interim Minister for Magic, he'd gladly called for the arrest of the mastermind behind the Muggle-Born Registration Commission. _His_ Hermione had been forced to go on the run because of that woman. She'd made it all extremely personal for the newest Minister.

It hadn't taken long for the Wizengamot to declare her guilty of all charges of her crimes against Muggle-borns. She would be a guest in the very prison she sent countless innocent Muggle-born witches and wizards to for many, many years. Kingsley personally escorted the woman to the prison when the trial was over. He wanted to watch her enter the fortress with his own eyes.

How the mighty had fallen. Her normally perfectly coiffed iron grey hair hung around her face in limp, thin strands. There was a certain beauty in seeing the hateful woman shackled to the table. She was where she belonged and Kingsley felt nothing but pride for the role he played to get her there.

"To what do I owe such an honor as a personal visit from the Minister for Magic?" she asked in the same simpering tone she used to speak to the disgraced former Minister Fudge. If she thought that she was going to impress Kingsley enough to make him forget his hatred for her, she was more addled than he assumed. "I must confess to be quite surprised."

"We have some important matters to discuss, Dolores."

She sat up as straight as she could in the uncomfortable chair. Kingsley didn't waste any time tossing the copy of Mafalda's addendum to the surface in front of her. Dolores scanned the document. A grin crossed her face when she was finished.

"Poor Mafalda. Is she still claiming that I didn't do my job correctly so many years ago when her Death Eater lover was arrested?"

Kingsley was surprised by her bluntness. He expected Dolores to remain tight-lipped about the investigation into the torture of Frank and Alice Longbottom. She seemed to be waiting to divulge all of her secrets. Well, if she wasn't going to be shy, neither was he.

"Some new information has come to light that will _prove_ you did not do as you were ordered."

"You can't _prove_ anything."

"But there are witnesses. Two of them if we don't count Ms. Hopkirk. They were right there in the room when you neglected to complete the duties you were assigned."

Dolores narrowed her eyes and scowled.

"It could also very well result in some additional charges being brought against you. How many years were you sentenced to, Dolores?"

"Thirty-five," she replied through severely clenched teeth.

Kingsley fought the urge to laugh. He knew exactly how many years she was set to serve. There were few trials after the war that felt so satisfying. He simply wanted to hear her speak the number of years aloud for his own twisted pleasure.

"Each charge could easily bring you another five or ten years to your sentence, but if you cooperate, I might be able to reduce your current sentence by about ten or fifteen years. How would that sound?"

Her eyes actually lit up at the prospect of a diminished sentence. Truthfully, she deserved to rot in prison. Kingsley would have gladly sealed her into her cell and conveniently forgotten her until she was nothing but dry bones. But, if she was able to assist him in getting Rodolphus out of prison, he would choke down his pride and actually declare her to be cooperative and in need of a lighter sentence. Prisoners were sometimes rewarded for their assistance in other cases. It had been done before. It would be done again.

"What do you need from me?" she asked.

Kingsley set a blank piece of parchment and a self-inking quill in front of her.

"Your statement of the events of that day and I will also be requiring your memories from that day as well."

She didn't hesitate to begin scribbling on the parchment. It seemed that the potential for freedom was a big enough incentive.


	61. Chapter 61

_Author's Note_ _: So this chapter got way away from me. I stopped it where I did so it wouldn't be a million words long and take me a few more days to finish. Hopefully, I can get the next chapter out in a few days. I would apologize for the cliffhanger, but you know I wouldn't mean it. ; )_

 _(Please excuse any errors. I will be re-editing this chapter later this evening.)_

* * *

Chapter Sixty-One

December 25, 1975

 **10:05 pm**

Their kiss only lasted a couple of heated minutes before Hermione's good sense prevailed. She broke the kiss and pushed Silas away roughly to his apparent amusement. This was the place that three glasses of wine and an injured heart brought her to and she needed an escape. Just because she was still upset about Kingsley didn't mean she should just go off and climb into bed with the first pretty face who asked. She had higher standards than that after all. Besides, she'd gone almost an entire year without a wizard. What was a few more weeks or months? She could be patient.

"Where are you going?" asked Silas, a bit of amusement clear in his tone.

"Anywhere you're _not_."

His laughter followed her all the way down the spiral staircase to the ground floor. Bu the time she made it to the main door of the library, she could hear his heavy footsteps descending the metal stairs. Hermione didn't care if she was being rude. Silas was annoying and they'd gone too far in the reading nook.

Her plans to remain at the manor for the night changed. Suddenly, she didn't really want to be there any longer. As she passed Regnault's study, she could hear the merry voices of the guests enjoying their evening. She was half-tempted to just leave without saying anything to anyone. It certainly wouldn't be the first time.

"Sneaking out already?"

She turned abruptly at the sound of Rodolphus' entertained tone. If anyone could understand her desire to get out of the manor, it was her cousin. Before she could respond, Silas caught up.

"Oh, I see," Rodolphus said, his cheeks turning a light pink. "Well, don't allow me to stop you."

Hermione resisted the overwhelming urge to hex the grin off of Silas' face.

"No, Roddy, I was sneaking out _alone_."

Silas laughed and winked at her one final time before entering the study with the rest of his family. Hermione exhaled in relief when the door shut behind him. She knew encouraging him in the library had been a bad idea. He would likely continue to pop up where he wasn't wanted.

"Obnoxious git," Rodolphus declared under his breath.

Hermione's surprise at his comment made her laugh. Rodolphus rarely had anything negative to say about anyone, even his horrid wife. He took Regnault's perpetual lessons about politeness and graciousness to those outside of the family to the extreme.

"He was a year ahead of me in school," he explained. "His younger brother Sal is even worse if you can imagine."

She found it difficult to believe that Silas wasn't the worst of his siblings. Hermione hadn't really had a reason to be around the wizard who was a year younger than Rodolphus. Their paths had never really crossed and he'd been away with Rabastan for almost two years on his Grand Tour. If Silas the better behaved of the two brother, she hoped she could keep away from the man when he finally returned.

"Rabby's letters are full of how much he doesn't care for his future brother-in.-law. I think he's growing anxious to return home."

Well, I certainly am anxious for him to come home too. I miss him."

Rodolphus smiled and nodded in agreement. The manor hadn't felt the same with Rabastan missing. Though they weren't nearly as close as she and Rodolphus were, Hermione still missed his sharp wit and his ready smile. He was a glimpse into the past. Hermione could almost see exactly the kind of man her uncle Regnault once was when she was with her younger cousin. It made her appreciate them both more.

"If you are so determined to leave me alone with all of these guests, at least allow me the courtesy of escorting you to the gate."

Hermione wouldn't dream of denying Rodolphus the pleasure. With a smile and a nod, he led them to the entrance hall where one of the family house-elves fetched their cloaks. As soon as they were properly outfitted to face the late December night, they stepped outside. The two cousins didn't make it very far before Rodolphus asked his first question.

"Am I wrong to assume that brunch did not go well this morning?'

She didn't mean to sigh. It was a common response to all matters related to Kingsley and she thought it was time she stopped.

"He finally talked to me."

"That's progress, isn't it?"

"He has a girlfriend."

Rodolphus followed her example to sigh in frustration. They had spoken many times over the previous year about Kingsley. He had been her most vocal supporter and her constant source of encouragement.

"I know you are very fond of this wizard, cousin, but the poor thing sounds like a complete idiot."

He always knew the right words to say to make her smile. Besides, it wasn't as if she could disagree with him even if she wanted to.

"He might be an idiot, but I'd still like him to be _my_ idiot."

"I hope he can be one day too. He seems like a good sort. Much better than the ones you've picked before. Dolohov was a nightmare and Igor…"

"Is one of your best friends."

"Still doesn't mean he's good enough for you."

Rodolphus' feelings on Igor were well-known. Though he truly cared for his friend, he didn't hide the belief that he didn't think Igor was the right wizard for Hermione. He was always just seen as a temporary relationship before she decided to get serious in Rodolphus' eyes. Hermione could not agree more. As much as she still continued to miss Igor, she knew they weren't right. Theirs was the kind of love Aberforth warned her against that made them both want to change themselves for the other's happiness. It wasn't sustainable. One day they would both look up and no longer be the same people. Hermione didn't want to imagine what her Igor would look like changed. She'd already seen it when he came to Hogwarts her fourth year.

"So what do you plan to do about the poor boy's misplaced affections?"

"What _can_ I do? He said he was with her because they didn't have a complicated history."

"On second thought, maybe I _don't_ want you to be with this idiot. He's running away from something potentially wonderful all because it's 'too complicated'? If he's not willing to fight for what he wants, not willing to deal with complications, then he is a coward. And my Hermione deserves much better than a coward."

She didn't know how to respond to his passionate words. He was right, of course. Nothing good ever just randomly appeared in her life. She usually had to fight and struggle for what she cherished most. Considering Rodolphus was guilty of letting the witch he loved move on without him because he feared the potential complications rejecting Bellatrix for Andromeda would cause, he was a man who knew what he was talking about. Happiness passed him by because he was too afraid to grab it.

"Are you happy, Roddy?"

She didn't know why she was asking him such a personal question when she was almost certain she already knew the answer. How could anyone be happy married to a woman like Bellatrix against their will? Her cousin's wife had a reputation amongst the other members of their set. Though no one was foolish enough to do so to her face, they all laughed about her clear love and devotion for Lord Voldemort. How could anyone have such strong, irrational feelings for a man who made no effort to conceal the fact that he didn't feel the same way? Everyone knew he was just using her. Well, everyone except Bellatrix.

Rodolphus did not answer right away. They continued their leisurely pace towards the front gates with no sense of urgency. Hermione wished she hadn't asked him. She linked her arm through his to give him her silent support.

"There are certain parts of my life that I do find make me happy," he finally admitted.

"Like what?"

"Well, the shop obviously. I love working with the animals and with you and Caradoc, of course. It feels good to feel useful. Best purchase I ever made was that shop."

She smiled up at him. He always spoke of the Magical Menagerie with such joy. Hopefully, he wouldn't have to keep his ownership of it a secret from his father for much longer. It was ridiculous really. Regnault already knew he owned it. Rodolphus couldn't be naïve enough to believe that his father would figure it out. There was very little that happened in the lives of any Lestrange that Regnault didn't eventually find out. The man had very mysterious methods of discovery. She hoped that some day soon he would not have to continue to keep up a lie. Even Regnault made it clear during one of their lunches as he asked after the latest news of the shop that he wouldn't be as unbearable as Rodolphus assumed if he just _admitted_ what he had done. After almost five years in their family, Hermione still struggled at times to understand the family. It seemed all very dysfunctional.

"I have several wonderful friends," he continued.

"And what about love?"

Rodolphus stopped walking. They stood in the middle of the path leading to the front gates for a few beats while he gathered his thoughts. For yet another time that night, Hermione regretted asking him such a personal question. His feelings on Andromeda were widely known. She could only imagine how often they were thrown into his face by his own wife. Though he never admitted so, Hermione got the impression that it was quite often. Indeed, the two cousins rarely spoke about Andromeda Tonks since the morning after Nymphadora was born. It was a subject better left undisturbed.

"I'm not still pining after Andy if that's your concern."

His response was a bit of a shock. Hermione wasn't sure what to say. A part of her assumed that Rodolphus would never get over his feelings for her best friend. They seemed to be two players in a tragic love story that would never be complete. Not knowing what to add to the conversation, she simply stayed silent and allowed the man to speak.

"Maybe a part of me will always love her, I don't know, but it's not like it used to be. I saw her a few months ago. Did she tell you that?"

Hermione shook her head 'no'. Their conversations rarely ever touched on Rodolphus. Even though she was very much in love with her husband, Hermione knew that Roddy was still something of a sore subject for her best friend.

"Yes, well, it was only for a minute. I was coming out of Gringotts as she and her husband were coming in with their little girl."

He stopped speaking again. Hermione squeezed his arm to encourage him. No doubt running into the happy family had been a difficult moment. Rodolphus had made no secret of the fact that he was displeased by the fact that he and Bellatrix had yet to have a child. It was his desire to have a family. Seeing Andromeda's had to have been excruciating.

"We didn't speak long. Just enough to be polite. It was obvious that she's happy. Extremely happy. In just a few moments I was able to see the love between them and their love for their little girl. That's how a family is supposed to look like. If I can't be the wizard she has that life with, I'm glad to see that she's found one who can."

At least he seemed to have a healthy attitude about the loss of his love. Hermione was pleased to see that he had been able to move on. It wasn't good to stay wallowed and mired in the past. She knew that lesson all too well. But, knowing that he wasn't still loving Andromeda from afar made her a bit sad.

"Is there someone else?"

Rodolphus' eyes widened in shock. His reaction made Hermione think that she'd discovered a secret he hadn't meant for her to learn. She knew that Bellatrix certainly wasn't the person he moved on from Andromeda with. There would never be any emotion between the married couple that didn't border on hatred. It was a tragic waste of a life. Even if Hermione didn't know that in a few years the Lestranges would be thrown into Azkaban to live the rest of their lives, she would have thought a lifetime of merely _existing_ in the same house with a person they could not stand would be miserable.

"Don't act so surprised, Roddy," she stated when she thought he'd been silent for too long. "I understand how this society works. You marry who you are told to marry by your parents, have your heirs, and then find happiness in someone else's bed."

"Hermione…"

"No, don't tell me I'm wrong. I've seen how your father and Mrs. Malfoy act around each other when they think no one else is looking. The subtle touches. The lingering looks across the room. You don't marry for love, so you often have to find it elsewhere."

"That's not…"

" _Why_ do you think I've been so vehemently against your father choosing a spouse for me? That's not the kind of life I want. I don't want to be forced to love anyone other than my husband."

Rodolphus dropped his gaze to the thick carpet of grass that Regnault kept charmed to remain green all year long. Seeing how bothered he was by the topic of conversation, Hermione felt guilty about bringing it up. She worried that she should have just allowed her cousin to escort her to the gates without bringing up what was clearly a difficult subject. Why did she always have to say the wrong thing?

"I want you to be happy, Roddy. I'm not going to lie to you and say that I approve of finding love outside of your marriage, but it's not my life. It's not my decision. You are only on this planet for a finite amount of time. I just want you to be able to find some happiness. If this other woman can do that for you, then I will support you."

She leaned up to brush her lips against his cheek. It was the truth. She _didn't_ approve of extramarital affairs, but with Bellatrix and Rodolphus, she made an exception. There was no happiness to be found within their marriage. Hermione didn't want to imagine that the years leading up to their incarceration in Azkaban were miserable. There needed to be at least some ray of sunshine in Rodolphus' life. It was depressing really to be willing to turn a blind eye to an affair. That was no kind of marriage that she wanted.

"I _am_ happy, Hermione."

There was a distinct lack of conviction in his tone that made Hermione question the truth of the statement, but she didn't push it. She hoped that whoever the woman was that he was having a relationship with would be able to make him happy for the short time he had left before Azkaban. Though she tried not to think too much about it, Hermione knew that she only had a few more years left in the seventies before she disappeared. Only five if Aberforth was to be believed.

"I want you to be happy too, Cousin. If this Shacklebolt idiot can't make up his mind about whether or not he wants you or some other witch, it seems like he's already made up his mind."

She also didn't want to believe that was true. Kingsley had moments when he was the man she remembered from the future. It was comforting and even exciting to see those glimpses until he reverted back to the obnoxious child he was when they met five years earlier. He still had a little bit of growing up to do. Maybe she did too. The timing had to be right or they wouldn't last like they were supposed to. Though it was difficult at times to keep faithful to the assured knowledge that she and Kingsley would finally be available at the same time, Hermione would try. After all, what good in her life came easily?

"Kingsley and I will be together one day. He's just not ready yet."

Rodolphus sighed and nodded his head. They resumed their walk to the gates in another of their usual comfortable silences. Enough had been discussed that night. There would be plenty of opportunities to hash out the same topics and subjects over and over again later. At the gates, she hugged him tightly before Disapparating away home.

Aberforth was pleased to see her walk in the door hours before he expected her. He looked up from the row of glasses he was filling to gauge her mood. Returning home too early usually meant something upsetting had happened to his girl. Hermione flashed him a bright smile as she made her way to their private section of the pub. They were busy and serving drunken patrons in one of Seraphina's creations would have been blasphemous in the eyes of the designer.

"Everything all right?" Aberforth asked when she slipped behind the bar in more appropriate attire. "I wasn't expecting you back tonight. Reg say something obnoxious? Was there a seven hundred-year-old wizard with no teeth but a large vault looking for a wife?"

Hermione laughed loudly at the question. The smirk on her dad's face proved he was pleased by her response. Their relationship started off a bit awkward when she woke up in his spare bedroom one June night, but in time, they'd become very close. She struggled to even remember what life was like before he was her dad. Part of her didn't want to remember. It was easier than to dredge up past heartache.

"Not quite that old. There was a wizard just under thirty there though who seemed to be in need of a wife. At least Uncle Regnault thought it a good idea to place him next to me at the table and then forced me into giving him a tour of the library."

"No bonding ceremony to plan for then?"

"Absolutely not!"

She made a dramatic shuddering gesture to his continued amusement. To keep her mind off of the fact that she'd willingly and brazenly snogged Silas Selwyn in the very spot she was cursed by Lord Voldemort to have such horrid visions, Hermione took the bottle out of Aberforth's hand to pour the drinks herself. That was likely a memory that would come back to haunt her when she tried to go to bed that night. It would be best to keep her mind occupied as much as possible.

"Where do these go?" she asked, gesturing to a pitcher of smoking cocktails he'd just stirred up.

Aberforth didn't immediately answer. When he cleared his throat and made a clearly obvious and concerted effort to _not_ look in the direction of the table in the darkest corner of the pub, Hermione focused her attention in that area. Sitting very close to each other and whispering with smiles on their faces was Antonin and little, obnoxious Sada Shafiq. Clearly their interactions at brunch earlier in the day hadn't been just pure politeness on Antonin's part.

"Well, that's lovely," she muttered.

"They are sneaking around," Aberforth stated. "I've seen it time and time again in this business. I suppose they don't want her family to know."

"And why would they come _here_? Knowing that there was a very real possibility that I would be here?"

"Oh, lass, don't get yourself too worked up over the wizard. Every Christmas you have dinner at the Lestrange manor. Not exactly a secret. There's more of a chance of the knowledge of them together getting back to the Shafiqs if they go into the Three Broomsticks. Rosmerta is sweet and a damn fine looking witch, but she has a nasty habit of spreading around the gossip."

Hermione didn't know why it bothered her so much to realize that Antonin was in her father's pub on a clandestine date. Maybe it was the fact that she knew how much he couldn't stand Kingsley's younger cousin in the past. Or maybe because she was jealous that _she_ didn't have anyone to spend Christmas with huddled in the dark corner of a pub. Silas certainly didn't count. She might have been lonely, but she hadn't made it _quite_ that far yet.

"No, no, my girl. _I'll_ just charm those glasses over to their table."

Aberforth attempted to take the tray out of her hands for only a moment before he saw the determination in her eyes. No, she wasn't going to just take the easy way out. Part of her _wanted_ Antonin to know that she knew what he was up to. And, at least it wasn't Kingsley with his girlfriend. She didn't think she would be able to handle that well.

"Hermione, I didn't expect you to be here tonight," Antonin declared when she started setting their drinks down in front of them. He seemed suddenly uncomfortable. That made his ex-girlfriend very happy to note.

"Dinner was over and I knew Dad would need help." She hoped that her tone was upbeat enough to keep either of the patrons from knowing she was not pleased to see them there. "Busiest night of the year and all. Lots of people come in tonight to hide from their relatives."

She smiled warmly at Sada. The younger witch shifted uncomfortably in her chair, but attempted a smile back.

"You two enjoy your evening and just let me know if there's anything else I can get for you."

Antonin's eyes narrowed at the saccharine tone of her voice. He wasn't buying her upbeat and perky attitude. Hermione smiled again and returned to the bar.

"They'll stay until those drinks are done," she informed Aberforth. "Then they will sneak out of here and find somewhere else to spend their evening."

"Are you all right, Hermione?"

"Honestly, Dad? Not really."

"Do you still have feelings for the Dolohov boy?"

Hermione sighed, unsure how to answer the question. No matter how toxic and negative their relationship could get, there had been something special between them. She used to be able to ignore the fact that he would one day be a crazed Dark wizard intent on killing her and anyone who got in his path simply because he wasn't that man yet. It had been too easy to forget that Antonin would grow up to torture and murder innocent Muggles. Just as it had been too easy to forget that Igor would do the same. Knowing of these men as nothing but lunatic, violent Death Eaters made hating and fearing them easy. Knowing them personally as real human beings with loves and fears and plans made reconciling them at their younger age with the men they would become extremely difficult. They just simply _weren't_ the same people.

They all lived within shades of grey. Even Hermione. Though she was reminded every time she changed clothes of the level of depravity that Antonin would one day sink to, it was easy to compartmentalize that version of Antonin. Easy to tuck him away in a part of her brain she could uncover later. Dolohov the Death Eater was the monster. Not Antonin the shy boy who had to work up the courage to kiss her on New Year's. Or Toshka, the boy who loved his mother so fiercely that he didn't know what to do with himself when she died. Not Tony whose best friends were Thomas Shacklebolt and a Muggle-born named Ted Tonks. She didn't know what would be the final catalyst that would change him, but she desperately hoped that she would not be around when he finally became the monster he was always promised to become.

"It's complicated."

"Isn't it always?"

His wistful sigh made her believe that he wasn't talking about her relationship with Antonin any longer. Hermione had such a strong curiosity about the woman that she pretended was her mother. What kind of relationship had they had? Aberforth could talk about her fondly in one breath and in the next, he could say something that made Hermione think Roesia Lestrange was the worst member of her entire family. Love was complicated, indeed.

"You're young, Hermione. It's perfectly acceptable and even expected that you will make a few mistakes in love. Don't be so hard on yourself."

He excused himself to head down into the cellar for more bottles. Hermione rolled his words over in her mind trying to discern his exact meaning. Just as she suspected, once the glasses were empty, Sada and Antonin slipped out of the pub. She wanted to hate them for being able to find something enjoyable when she was having a less than pleasant night. When Aberforth returned, she kissed his cheek. A long, hot bath and a good night's sleep was what she needed to get the bitter taste of Christmas Day out of her mouth.

* * *

December 31, 1975

 **9:45 pm**

Hermione waited until the last minute to walk the short distance across the village to Marjorie's house for her annual Hogmanay party. There hadn't been much joy in the week following Christmas to make her excited for another evening spent with a number of people she didn't actually care to see. If Aberforth hadn't been so terribly insistent, she might have stayed home all night locked behind an impenetrable force of wards. Her dad, however, threatened her with a number of unusual curses if she didn't make an appearance before ten that night.

"Nothing to maim or scar you, of course, but enough that you'll wish you would've heeded my warning."

She rolled her eyes at the memory. It was yet another cold and snowy New Year's Eve. Walking alone through the village streets ordinarily would've made her frightened, but for whatever reason, she had no fear that she would be harmed. Greyback had been silent for over a year. She hadn't seen him since Christmas the year before. It was too much to hope that he'd been killed. No, she had interactions with him in the future to look forward to. He wasn't going to give up hope that there would be a day she was foolish enough to remove the locket from around her throat.

There was no one out on the streets as she walked. She wasn't looking forward to the party. Kingsley would be there. Like Aberforth, Marjorie likely threatened bodily harm to the wizard if he didn't show up. Every year he was there without fail. Knowing that her mind was going to wander to the night a year ago when she snuck him into her bedroom in the back of the pub, Hermione really wished he would decide to risk pain from his grandmother than be there. But she just knew he was going to be there and he was going to have his new girlfriend with him too.

Dean opened the door when her feet finally landed on the doorstep of the brightly lit, loud house. His face lit up in the same bright smile that she adored, the wizard wrapped his arms around the much smaller witch to lift her up off the ground. It was a gesture that she loved and never failed to make her laugh. Once she had both feet back on the ground, she handed him her cloak and stepped inside.

"You ran off so abruptly last week," he gently chastised. "Did my son upset you?"

"What do you think?"

She didn't mean for her tone to sound so bitter or argumentative. Dean didn't take offense. He'd gotten to know her very well over the previous five years. They had probably had more friendly arguments with each other than they had with anyone else. Their minds worked in similar and yet, very different ways. It was fascinating to debate with the patriarch of the Shacklebolt family. Dean placed his arm around Hermione's shoulders and led her to the bar where he usually spent much of the evening stationed behind.

"I haven't given up on the two of you yet."

His words were uttered with such self-assurance that Hermione couldn't help but smile in return. There was a reason why he was so respected amongst the esteemed members of the Wizengamot. He had a way about him that inspired confidence in those he spoke to. When she tried to say 'no' to the large glass of fire whiskey he was pressing into her hand, Dean scoffed and pushed harder.

"You're going to want that. Kingsie brought his girlfriend and Margie already made it clear that she wouldn't allow you to spend another evening hiding in the back garden."

Hermione knew better than to reject a glass a second time. She had been very good the previous year with her alcohol intake. Though she didn't believe she was anywhere near approaching a dangerous case of alcoholism that seemed to plague her favorite cousin, she also didn't want to spend her life feeling dependent on a substance to make her life easier. And the fact that she had been cornered by a werewolf when she was drunk didn't make her any less inclined to worry about drinking too much.

Truthfully, the heat of the liquor sliding down her throat and into her belly felt incredible. Thanks to the magic infused in every bottle of Ogden's Finest, she could feel the effects on her body almost immediately. The tight ball of agitation and worry in her stomach began to loosen slightly. Dean stared at her as she downed the entire glass. When she tried to stop before it was empty, he would stare at her until she started drinking again. Satisfied that she was calmer, Dean took the empty glass out of her hand to banish it to the kitchen.

"That should make this evening easier. Thomas is standing watch over the food table in the dining room. He's missing his mysterious girlfriend he won't tell us anything about."

She thanked Dean for the drink and for pointing her in the direction of Thomas. If she had to be there, at least she could spend some of the time with her friend. He would understand why she was so reluctant to be there.

As it was every year, there were people in every part of the house. Hermione had to press through the crush of guests to make it to the dining room. Several guests she had no desire to speak to stopped her on her way. Not wishing to cause a scene by being overtly rude, she smiled politely and answered questions until she could finally make it to Thomas' side.

Just as Dean described, Thomas was not in a good mood. He was picking at a plate full of food with a sour expression on his face. When he looked up to see her enter the room, he perked up only slightly.

"I was beginning to think you weren't going to come," he declared.

"No, my dad threatened me with creative hexes if I didn't show up."

Thomas laughed, a crack appeared in the veneer of his bad mood. Their conversation was light. Neither of them really wanted to go into details why they weren't looking forward to celebrating. Hermione knew that his Muggle girlfriend Grace had been away for most of the year studying abroad. She was expected to return for the holidays, but at the last minute, decided to prolong her visit. There had been a terrible row and it was decided, mostly by Grace, that they should stop seeing each other. Thomas had been in a horrid mood ever since.

The two friends stuck together the rest of the night. In a sea of joyful merrymakers, they were both grumpy and ready for midnight to come so they could finally have an excuse to go to bed. Hermione took more joy than she should have when Thomas confronted his best mate about his intentions towards his young, impressionable cousin. Antonin and Sada had not been as discreet with their affectionate gestures and looks as they assumed they were. Following a rather tense lecture from Thomas, the couple snuck out to the back garden to be alone away from prying eyes. Hermione tried not to be bitter about the fact that they were enjoying the garden she and Kingsley had the year before.

"I should've known something was happening between them. When Tony asked me if she was going to be at Christmas brunch, I should've been suspicious."

"Don't worry yourself about them, Thomas. Antonin will treat her well."

"Oh, yeah? And how's your wrist, Hermione?"

His tone was bitter and angry. The expression on his handsome face could be described as nothing less than 'murderous'. Though she had never told him about that night in Knockturn Alley, clearly someone else had. She knew that there were few secrets between Antonin and Thomas. It was likely that Antonin himself confessed to his best friend what happened that night.

"I'm still not done being angry over that," Thomas confessed. "And best mate or not, if he lays one harsh hand on my cousin, he's dead."

They dropped the discussion about Antonin's new relationship and his past misdeeds. Neither of them were in any hurry to leave the corner of the dining room to face the other guests. Thomas even made the comment once or twice that if he wasn't positive both his mother and grandmother would miss his presence, he'd sneak them both into his bedroom upstairs, cast a number of silencing spells, and they could both nap away the rest of 1975. It hadn't been a good year for either of them.

Hermione was grateful that she hadn't seen Kingsley. He must have been aware that she was staying in the dining room because even though she knew the auror could tuck away platefuls of food, she hadn't seen him fill up a single plate. Fabian Prewett, however, had been in numerous times. It didn't take much to infer that he was taking food out to his best mate.

Just before midnight, however, neither Thomas nor Hermione could hide in the dining room any longer. Forced to go outside with the rest of the guests to await the changing of the year, the friends did not leave each other's sides. They half-heartedly joined in the countdown of the last ten seconds of the year. When the cheers and the fireworks went off around them, Thomas kissed Hermione's cheek and wished her a better year than she'd had the year before.

"Stay right here. Let me go get the traditional gifts and I'll walk you to the pub. I'll be your First Footer this year."

She was grateful for Thomas' offer. As she waited for him to return, Hermione's eyes scanned the happy crowd. Most of the women in the village had already begun rushing home to wait their first guest of the year. It wasn't difficult to spot Kingsley. He was taller than most of the guests and his broad shoulders always stood out. A tall, thin witch with brown hair stood in front of the auror laughing. When she turned enough that her profile could be seen, Hermione softly gasped.

It had been years since she last saw the smiling, friendly face of Emmeline Vance, but she was a witch Hermione would never forget. Extremely popular within the Order of the Phoenix, her death right before the three Gryffindors went on their horcrux hunt had affected the entire Order profoundly. Hermione remembered crying when she learned of the older witch's death. In many ways, just like Kingsley, Emmeline had never treated Hermione like an annoyance. Also like Kingsley, they'd spent many hours in the basement kitchen of Number Twelve drinking tea. Emmeline taught Hermione many of the basic healing spells that she used over and over again during their hunt. It wasn't unreasonable to say that she helped keep the three of them alive long after she'd been murdered.

Thomas was at her side moments after she realized just who Kingsley was dating. He could tell there was something bothering her and followed her line of sight. His sigh at the sight of his brother standing there with his girlfriend broke Hermione out of her memories. She grasped his arm and pulled him away towards the pub.

"What's wrong, Hermione?" he asked when they were far away from all of the other ears. "You're not all right."

"I was hoping that when I saw Kingsley's girlfriend I could hate her, but I can't."

"Why? Oh! Do you know her… from the… from _before_?"

She only trusted herself enough to nod her head. Thomas didn't push her for information. Together, they walked silently through the snowy streets. There had been several times when she was in the Headquarters that she wondered why Kingsley and Emmeline acted so strangely around each other. A couple of overheard conversations that didn't make sense and a few times she'd seen one or the other reach out to softly touch an arm or grasp a hand when they didn't know there was a witness. It wasn't unreasonable to believe that there was something going on between them. Maybe Emmeline had provided him with support and love when she disappeared and was feared dead. Could she really hate someone who made it so he didn't have to be completely alone in his grief?

"A man wouldn't risk his entire career and his freedom to send someone he didn't love back in time, Hermione. You and Kingsie will be together."

Hermione wished she had as much confidence as Thomas had in her situation. It wasn't hard to give up hope when it seemed that neither one of them would ever be ready at the same time. To further lend his encouragement, Thomas held her hand in his. She appreciated the wizard more than he knew.

At the front door to the pub, Hermione removed the wards. They stepped inside and exchanged the traditional gifts. After their glasses of whiskey were empty, Thomas kissed her cheek another time that night.

"Go to bed, Hermione. You'll feel better in the morning."

As she closed the door behind him, Hermione's eye caught a letter laying on the bar she hadn't noticed before she left earlier in the evening. It must have arrived when Aberforth was still there. Her name was scribbled across the front in a handwriting she didn't recognize.

 _Goldie,_

 _If you're not at the Leaky Cauldron after midnight, you will be missing out on the pleasure of my company. I know you would hate that. Come have a drink with me. I'll even keep my hands to myself until you ask me not to._

 _Silas_

Even in his note she could hear his cocky attitude. It might have been an attractive quality if he wasn't so damned annoying. Hermione wasn't tired enough to go to bed just then without a heavy dose of sleeping potion. Despite knowing she would likely regret her decision, she walked over to the large fireplace. A pinch of floo powder turned the flames green. It was only one drink and she could leave any time she wanted.

"Leaky Cauldron!"

The London pub was packed with loud, drunken revelers laughing and talking loudly. It seemed the perfect place to keep her mind off of the disaster that was 1975. As soon as she stepped out of the fireplace, she noticed a figure seated at the bar. With long, thick hair, she felt sick when she saw his shoulders tense up. Fenrir Greyback turned in her direction with a grin.

* * *

August 20, 1998

 **10:05 pm**

Kingsley sat at his kitchen table surrounded by more files that Iain managed to smuggle out of the Ministry. How the auror was able to do it was a mystery that he refused to reveal, but Kingsley didn't care. There was simply too much to be done during the day while he was at the Ministry to devote enough time to his own investigation of what happened with the Longbottoms. He wanted to have a solid case to present to the Wizengamot before he even _hinted_ that he wanted to pardon Rodolphus.

Andromeda had been evasive about what she had been doing on her end to make certain that he was released. He would send owls that would be returned with simple assurances that she knew what she was doing and no, she wasn't doing anything illegal… _yet_. Her messages never made the Minister relax. What would be the point of getting an innocent man out of prison to only end up in there themselves?

Just a few minutes after ten he heard the front door open. His nephew had been staying in one of his two spare bedrooms since the night he was arrested. Kingsley had been pleased to have the opportunity to get to know Dean better. Many nights when he was exhausted of reading old documents and searching for more answers, he would sit in his favorite armchair by the fire and talk about his older brother with his son.

"Still working?" Dean asked as he opened a cupboard to pull some tea down.

"I'm afraid so. The Minister's job is never done apparently."

He watched his nephew brew some a pot of tea. Neither of them spoke until Dean asked if he wanted a cup too. Once he was seated at the chair across from Kingsley, Dean filled two teacups.

"You're home late. Everything all right?"

"I was showing my new house to Seamus. It apparently has a great deal of 'potential'. He thinks we can get it livable again with just a little bit of work. It will have to wait until next summer though."

"Oh? Why then?"

"What do you think my godmother will say when she comes back and finds out I didn't return to school for my final year?"

The cheeky grin on Dean's face reminded Kingsley so much of his older brother that he almost couldn't breathe. Realizing the content of his words, he chuckled. Yes, Hermione would be positively unbearable if she found out that her godson wasn't living up to his full potential.

"Seamus has all of these ideas and plans for the house too. It's all a bit overwhelming to be honest. I'm grateful that my godfather gave me the contents of his vault too. I don't think I could afford all of the changes without it. He wasn't happy with any of the furniture already in there. Called it 'outdated' and 'neglected'. Why do you think he's being so _enthusiastic_?"

"I think they call that 'nesting', son," Kingsley answered with another chuckle.

"Oh."

Dean stared down at his teacup. Clearly there was something serious on his mind. Kingsley didn't want to push him. He would speak when he was ready.

"You knew my dad better than anyone, right? I mean, he was your brother."

"I knew your dad very well, yes."

"Do you think he would… I mean, I know how my mum feels. She loves Seamus, but I guess, I'm a Shacklebolt now. It's not as if we can have children. Would my dad…"

Kingsley reached across the surface of the table to place a gentle hand on top of Dean's to stop his worried rambling. He understood the topic they were discussing was serious. It deserved an honest response.

"Dean, your dad is the bravest man I've ever known. He walked away from you and your mum to keep you both safe. Your happiness is all that matters. What good would his sacrifice be if you weren't happy? If you weren't living a life worth living? Yes, you are a Shacklebolt, but that doesn't mean you have to live your life the way you're told or what is _expected_. Whether you like it or not, you're a member of this family now and Seamus will be welcomed too. You can worry about children when you're older. There are plenty of children out there who don't have a family. Blood doesn't make a family."

He could see his nephew visibly relax. Kingsley squeezed his hand and released his hold. Both wizards could sense a lessening in the tension that a serious conversation can always bring.

"What's all of this anyway?" asked Dean, gesturing to the stacks of parchment.

"Just trying to get an innocent man out of Azkaban."

A tapping at the kitchen window halted anything Dean might have said in response. He rose from the table to open the window and take the letter off of the owl's leg. Once the creature was satisfied with a treat, it flew off into the night.

"It's for you."

Dean handed the rolled up parchment to Kingsley. Curious to know who would be sending him a message so late at night, he didn't hesitate to unroll it.

 _Minister Shacklebolt,_

 _I will be in your office promptly at eight o'clock tomorrow morning. There is something very serious I wish to discuss with you._

 _Augusta Longbottom_


	62. Chapter 62

Chapter Sixty-Two

January 1, 1976

 **12:15 am**

Only moments inside the Leaky Cauldron and Hermione was already regretting her rash decision. Just because she wasn't tired and didn't really want to spend the anniversary of the night she and Kingsley proved they had undeniable chemistry alone in the same bed, it didn't mean that she should be foolish enough to seek out the company of a wizard she didn't even really like. Seeing the grin on Greyback's face only proved her theory that she struggled at times making the right decision. What good was being a talented witch if one also had to deal with the pitfalls of being an imperfect human?

When the werewolf didn't make a move from his perch on the barstool, Hermione stepped away from the fireplace. They were in a heavily populated public place. There was safety in numbers. As long as she could keep from being caught alone by the monster, she would be safe. To show him that she wasn't afraid of his unexpected presence, Hermione gave him the two-fingered salute to his delight. She turned his attention away from him to seek out the person she was actually there to see.

Silas Selwyn was seated alone in a large booth in the darkest corner of the pub. She didn't even bother hiding her annoyance with the fact that he'd chosen to sit in the place where they would have the most privacy and where it would be much easier to steal a kiss or another inappropriate touch without anyone seeing. He was bringing a glass to his lips when their eyes met. With a satisfied smirk on his face, he waved her over to the table.

"It's very rude to keep your companion waiting, Goldie."

"You are _not_ my companion, Selwyn."

She slid into the booth, careful to keep several inches of space between their bodies. It wouldn't do to give him even more of the wrong impression than she already was. An almost full bottle of an exorbitantly expensive fire whiskey sat in the middle of the table with an empty glass next to it. She wasn't sure if the alcohol was there to impress the fact upon her that he too came from a family with vast wealth or if he simply had expensive taste. Either way, it wasn't exactly as if it mattered. Silas would have to do a great deal more than just order a bottle of liquor that most people in their society would never be able to afford to impress her.

Hermione didn't wait for an invitation to pour herself a glass. As she filled the glass with more fire whiskey than she really should consume, she could feel Silas watching her every move. He had another of his amused smirks on his damnable face. A tiny part of her wished she had the ability to read minds. The majority of her was glad she couldn't. No doubt it would be disgusting and depraved.

"Was that an ex-boyfriend seated at the bar?"

An unattractive grimace crossed her face making him laugh. She wasn't about to explain what her real relationship was with the creature. It was bad enough that seeing him again pushed all happy thoughts of the previous New Year's out of her mind to be replaced with much more upsetting ones from a few years prior. Even without looking in his direction, she could _feel_ him looking in her direction. It was an experience she couldn't quite explain, but one she knew very well.

"Definitely not," she replied. "Just a horrible excuse for a human being that I would be happy to never see again for the rest of my life."

"Still sounds convincingly like an old boyfriend to me."

She shot him a glare that dared him to say another word. To his credit, Silas wasn't as thick as Hermione initially thought. He dropped the subject instantly. They sat in the booth sipping at their glasses for a few minutes not speaking at all. Finally, just as she knew he would, Silas couldn't remain silent any longer. She had a belief that it was physically impossible for him to be quiet for any significant length of time.

"If I may be so honest, I'm a little surprised you actually showed up tonight."

"I didn't have anything better to do."

"Just what a wizard likes to hear. I always love being a lady's last choice."

His chuckle drew a smile out of Hermione. As each mouthful of fire whiskey made its way down to her belly, she felt herself calm. Even the constant knowledge that she was being eyed from the bar was easily pushed into the back of her mind. At least for the present, she was safe right where she was.

"Maybe if you weren't so obnoxious all of the time you might actually find some witches wouldn't mind being around you."

"I think you will find if you ask around, I don't have any problems attracting women."

The wink that accompanied his remark made Hermione snort. Sure, he was handsome, but that wasn't everything. The arrogance might have been attractive to some. There was just something about Silas that rubbed Hermione the wrong way. It was nothing overt. Just a tiny, niggling feeling in the back of her mind.

She tried to run through her memories of all her encounters with Death Eaters in the future. There had been a Death Eater named Selwyn who came to the Lovegood house when she was there with Harry and Ron during their hunt. Poor Xenophilius Lovegood had been so frightened and desperate to have his daughter back that he was willing to turn them in to get Luna back. Hermione couldn't blame the man. Luna was everything he had. Her memories of the Death Eater Selwyn were hazy. Everything happened so quickly before the house blew up. It was possible and in fact, highly likely that Silas was the very same wizard who pledged his life to Voldemort.

The Selwyn family was one of what her uncle called the 'middle families' of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. If ever given half an opportunity, Regnault would gladly rank each of the twenty-eight families in descending order from the most prestigious all the way down to the Weasleys. Their reputation as a blood traitor family was well-known throughout their society. Anyone possessing the surname and the trademark red hair was cast in the same light. Naturally, the Lestrange family ranked at the very top of the list. According to Regnault, they were the wealthiest family with the most influence. Their ancestors were infinitely more illustrious than any other family. The Selwyns had a respectable rank in the middle of the families.

Any family that Dolores Umbridge tried to claim membership of had to have been nasty. Hermione highly doubted the woman's claims that she was a long-lost cousin, but if she were, it would make sense that the family had less than desirable members. St John Selwyn was as embarrassing a social climber as Vadim Dolohov. It was no wonder they both saw the advantage of aligning their children with the Lestrange family.

"My father is very interested in you," Silas announced.

"Oh, yeah? And what does your mother think about that? Must be a bit awkward."

He appreciated her cheeky wit. Noticing that both of their glasses were empty, Silas tipped the bottle over to refill them. Hermione started to stop him and then decided against it. She wasn't ready to go home just yet. The night was still early after all. Silas might be obnoxious, but she knew for a fact that the more he drank, the more entertaining he became.

"I certainly won't deny that he finds you an attractive witch. He's made that very comment to me on more than one occasion."

"How flattering."

She tried not to show her disgust at discovering that she had been the subject of a leer or two from the elder Selwyn. There might have been a time in his youth when he was as attractive as his sons, but that day had come and gone long ago. In their social set, it wasn't that uncommon for a man St John's age to court and wed a witch Hermione's age if something unfortunate happened to his first wife. Imagining being in a relationship with a man old enough to be her grandfather disgusted her terribly.

"You have been the topic of many discussions lately. My father feels it is past time that I marry and get to the business of providing him with grandchildren."

"And I am supposed to help you with giving him grandchildren in what way exactly?"

Silas scooted his body across the booth to close the distance between them. With his mouth just outside her ear, he answered.

"By becoming my wife, of course."

Her sudden, loud laughter drew attention to their table from all over the pub. She didn't care. It was a preposterous idea to think that she would ever consent to marry the wizard. Even if he did smell heavenly. Hermione placed a hand on his chest to push him away.

"I do hope you haven't gotten your hopes up, Silas, because that will never happen. Not in a thousand lifetimes. Not if you were _literally_ the last wizard left on Earth."

"And yet, you accepted my invitation to come here tonight."

"Don't read too much into that. I was bored and didn't want to go to bed yet."

"Well, maybe I can convince you to come to bed with me before the night is over."

Hermione had no response to his remark other than to laugh again. Excusing herself to go to the ladies' room, she got up from the booth as quickly as she could. The room was growing a bit too warm. Or maybe it was the heat from the alcohol. She needed to splash some cool water on her face.

There was no one else inside the loo when she entered. Concerned that this might be the perfect place to be cornered by Greyback, she cast several locking charms on the door. It would annoy any other woman who wanted to use the room and possibly Tom the proprietor, but she didn't care. Better to be thrown out than to be trapped with a werewolf intent on marking her as his.

She took her time. Rushing back out into the main dining room before she was ready to face Silas again would be a disaster. It seemed that every mouthful of fire whiskey she swallowed made her reconsider her feelings about the man she was there to see. Allowing herself to get too sad and lonely would do nothing but make her wake up in a strange bed with a wizard she could hardly stand. After a few minutes, she made the decision that she would go out there, have _one_ more drink, and floo back home before anything else happened.

As soon as she removed the locking wards on the door, Hermione cautiously poked her head out of the door to survey the dark corridor. It wouldn't be smart to just step out without some idea of who or _what_ might be waiting for her. She could just barely make out the form of Fenrir Greyback still seated at the bar. Sighing with relief, she stepped out into the corridor.

Only one step away from the door, a firm hand grabbed her arm. Hermione had her hand in her pocket ready to grab her wand and hex whoever it was that had the audacity to touch her without permission. Sneaking up behind someone in a darkened corridor? Who did that? She turned her head around to look directly into the irritated eyes of Tom the proprietor. Bracing herself for what she was sure would be a lecture about not placing locking wards on a public toilet, Hermione felt her initial fear dissipate. At least being thrown out of the establishment was a good enough excuse to stay away from Silas.

"A guest in one of the private dining rooms would like a word with you, Miss Dumbledore."

Tom did not even give her an opportunity to refuse. His grip on her arm tightened and he pulled her further down the dark corridor to one of the private rooms. Hermione was nervous. Why was she being dragged against her will? What was happening? A single knock on the door and a simple 'Enter' from inside later, she stood alone in a small room with Lord Voldemort for the first time since they were alone in her bedroom in the manor.

"Thank you, Tom. You may leave us."

The sound of the door clicking shut behind the proprietor made the whole situation seem even more real. Could she have one holiday season where something dire and awful didn't happen to her? It seemed unlikely. She was growing weary of the unexpected visits when she had just gotten comfortable again. Maybe that was the key. She needed to never relax again. Bad things happened when she got complacent.

"Please have a seat, Miss Dumbledore."

Lord Voldemort gestured to an empty chair next to him. Hermione knew better than to refuse. Life was easier when she followed his instructions. All she needed was for him to see her as an enemy. People were disappearing every day it seemed like. She didn't want to be just another name in the Daily Prophet next to an outdated picture.

"This is a pleasant surprise, my Lord," she lied as she took the offered seat. "I had no idea you were here this evening."

"If you'd arrived a little earlier, you would have been able to ring in the New Year with several of my most devoted followers."

"I'm so sorry I missed that. Did Bellatrix try to kiss you at midnight?"

Hermione wasn't sure what possessed her to make such a snarky remark, but at least the Dark Lord didn't seem offended by it. He chuckled softly, clearly amused. She hated that expression. Somehow it was more frightening when he was smiling at her than when he was angry. He'd already proved that he was willing to be quite devious and underhanded to get what he wanted in life. Especially what he wanted from _her_.

"Poor Bellatrix was unfortunately unable to get close enough to me for that to happen. Her disappointment was palpable."

"I'm sure it was."

"I sincerely hope that you weren't as disappointed in your midnight kiss as Mrs. Lestrange was. You look wonderful in dark green, by the way. I rather like seeing you in Slytherin colors. I believe you are entirely more Slytherin than the Sorting Hat gave you credit for."

He didn't seem in any hurry to get to the point of why he made such a dramatic request for her presence. His seeming reluctance to move past the point of inane pleasantries was quickly growing frustrating for Hermione. She wanted out of the room. Nothing good ever happened when they were alone. In fact, very _bad_ things happened when they were by themselves. Almost a year earlier he told her that he wasn't interested in taking her to bed again, but that might change in the future. Was this what that was about? Did he enlist Tom to bring her to his private dining room so he could force her to have sex with him again? This time he might not even bother to use a spell.

"Clearly you weren't expecting to see me. Your shields are slipping."

The delight in his voice was evident. Hermione instantly cleared her mind to snap her Occlumency shields in place. She only hoped that she hadn't allowed too much to slip through in the short time he attempted to read her.

"I'm flattered that I have such an effect on you, but you need not worry. My purpose for requesting your presence when I learned you were here was not for a renewal of our physical relationship."

She had to exert all of her self-control to keep from sighing in relief at his announcement. One time was bad enough. Thinking about having to one day tell Kingsley that she'd been intimate with the Dark Lord was something she didn't even want to imagine. And Harry… she shook her head. No, she would _not_ think about that. She would _not_ imagine what he would say if he ever found out. Her survival was more important at this point in her life than what her best friend might say.

"Then may I be so bold as to ask you why you wished to speak with me, my Lord?"

"You mean, other than to wish you the happiest and most prosperous of New Years?"

"While I certainly appreciate the sentiment, my Lord…"

He held up a hand to silence her from speaking any further. She snapped her lips shut with relief. Truthfully, she had no idea what she was going to say. She was simply running on instinct and hoping that whatever she uttered wouldn't get her killed. Being in his presence made her mind fuzzy. Fear was a powerful emotion. Even the most intelligent and rational people could struggle with remaining calm in the face of someone they were terrified of.

"Your recruits have been invaluable to me," he explained. "Antonin has continued to prove himself time and time again. I'm very grateful that you introduced me to him."

Hermione felt a sinking in her stomach. She didn't want to know what he'd been doing in the service of his Dark Lord. The short walk she had with him weeks earlier showed her that without a doubt, he had already begun the descent into darkness. Part of her wanted to find Antonin and demand he tell her exactly how many people he'd already killed. She was certain it was a number high enough to make her sick.

"And Augustus has been a surprising help. I have been quite pleased with him. It's always nice to have an insider in the Ministry. I'm currently working on finding a few more."

"Augie is my only friend in the Ministry. I'm afraid that I can't help you."

"Surely there are others that you are aware of. You have a wide social circle, Miss Dumbledore. Give me another name."

She felt the return of the clenching of her guts. How many more times in the past would she be confronted with this situation? How many more men and women was she going to put on the Dark Lord's radar? It was dangerous to say 'no', but her conscience didn't care for the realization that she was essentially finding him people to ruin their lives.

Knowing that he wouldn't give up without some name, she took a few moments to think about everyone she'd met in the Ministry. Regnault often brought her to the Wizengamot as his personal guest to watch the proceedings. He enjoyed sharing that part of his life with someone who was actually interested. Hermione would watch the session from the guests' gallery and when it was over, they would have lively debates and discussions about the day over lunch. Many of the names were familiar in the future as well.

She thought back to the previous month right before the Wizengamot closed their current session. Regnault was introducing her around to some of the higher ups in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. It stuck out in her mind because she was hopeful that they would run into Kingsley. He couldn't exactly be rude to her and run away while he was at work. Sadly, they hadn't seen him. But… there had been an obnoxious wizard that the Head of the Department, Bartemius Crouch Senior, was keen to introduce Regnault to. Something about him making a name for himself. Maybe he would make a good Department Head when Crouch succeeded the current Minister for Magic.

"Corban Yaxley. Do you know him?"

Voldemort's face split into his fearsome grin. She hated to see when he was pleased.

"I do not. Though I confess I have heard the name before. Mostly spoken in whispers that he wouldn't be interested in joining my ranks. Something about him being too by-the-book."

"Yaxley follows procedures when it suits him. He will be interested. Maybe not the first time he is approached, but I have no doubts about your ability to woo and seduce, my Lord."

He seemed extra pleased by her statement. Hermione hoped that it was enough to get him to leave her alone. She didn't really want to think about the implications for the future of what she was doing. It was important that she be kept alive. There was no proof that she would actually survive her sojourn to the past. As long as she kept playing the game, she might be safe. The names she'd given him already were men who made their decisions. If she just pushed the Dark Lord into their path, it wasn't as if she _made_ them become a Death Eater, was it?

"And now tell me a little bit about your companion who is patiently waiting out in the main dining room for you. Not to worry. I had Tom send over a fresh bottle of fire whiskey with my apologies for taking away his date."

"He is _not_ my date."

"Be that as it may, tell me about him."

Hermione felt an unease in the request. Silas wasn't exactly the kind of wizard she wanted to end up with, but he wasn't entirely horrible either. She felt unsettled when it came to bringing him to the attention of Voldemort. Her thoughts turned to the day that she and her boys were at the Lovegood house. Selwyn had been so gruff and mean. The years had not been kind to him. Even his voice sounded rougher and harsher than it did at present. If she gave Voldemort his name, would she be responsible for the change? Deciding that no, just like the others, Silas had the ability to make up his own mind, she felt a lessening in the tension in her gut.

"Silas Selwyn, the Heir to the Selwyn family."

"A fine family with a rich history. He sounds exactly the sort of wizard that your uncle Regnault would like to see you with. Is that why he is so unpalatable to you?"

"Something like that."

Voldemort's renewed laughter rang through the small room. It wasn't like she remembered it when he laughed over the battlefield at Hogwarts, but it was no less chilling. There was a hint of the monster that he would one day morph into.

"Do you think he would be sympathetic to our cause?"

"I believe he may be interested in joining your followers if that is what you are asking, my Lord. I do not know or care to find out his sympathies."

"He is merely someone you wish to ring in the New Year with in bed?"

She didn't stop the grimace that appeared at his words. Clearly, she needed to say goodnight to everyone in the pub and get home before she did anything foolish.

"Or perhaps, you are just using this location as a convenient place to meet the werewolf? You claim that you hate him and are afraid of him, and yet, you didn't run off when you realized he was here."

"I am not allowing him to frighten me or to make me change my life for his benefit. I do not fear him."

"Then you are a fool, Miss Dumbledore. The _moment_ he figures out how to get that locket off of your neck, he will finish what he started."

Hermione did not want to be there any longer. Without waiting for permission, she rose to her feet. The act of defiance seemed to amuse the wizard. He didn't even try to stop her when she crossed the floor of the dining room.

"Happy New Year, Miss Dumbledore. I will be seeing you again very soon."

As soon as the door clicked shut behind her, Hermione leaned up against the wall in the corridor to catch her breath. It didn't matter how many times she'd been in the presence of the Dark Lord. It never got any easier. She closed her eyes and reminded herself how to breathe.

"Lingering in dark corridors with your eyes closed, little girl? That's not safe. There are dangerous monsters about."

She opened her eyes to see Greyback standing only inches away. He wasn't foolish enough to touch her, but even just the feel of his presence was enough to make her terrified. What if he hadn't been boasting for no reason when she saw him a year earlier? What if he had finally figured out how to remove the locket? She was angry at herself for letting her guard down for even a moment.

"Oh, you need not worry that I'm going to touch you tonight," Greyback continued. "Besides you still wearing that blasted trinket, your protector hasn't let me out of his sight all night long. It's been a bit obnoxious really."

"My protector?"

Greyback gestured to the end of the corridor with his head. Though she wasn't keen to take her eyes off of the creature for even a moment, her curiosity got the better of her. Standing at the entrance to the corridor dressed in heavy robes was Igor. He was leaned up against the wall with his wand held prominently in his hand.

"If you really want to track a werewolf without his knowledge, Karkaroff, you'll have to be more creative in your surveillance methods."

"I didn't care if you knew I was there, Greyback. I wasn't trying to hide my presence."

Hermione stepped away from the werewolf to make her way towards Igor. She couldn't even imagine why he was there.

"Igor? What are you doing here?"

Without asking for permission, he placed his arm around her waist to pull her close to his body. It was a non-verbal claim of possession that only served to make Greyback growl lowly and bare his teeth.

"It didn't seem appropriate for me to track _you_ , Charodeyka. I thought that if I could keep this arsehole in my sights all night, at least I could be certain he wasn't able to hurt you."

Her eyes filled with tears at his confession. After everything that passed between them, he was still so concerned about her safety that he willingly tracked a known dangerous werewolf all night long. Not caring in the slightest that there was an audience of a furious werewolf, Hermione raised up on her tiptoes to kiss Igor on the mouth. A twitch of his lips into the smirk she loved so much reappear on his face.

The sound of Greyback's renewed growling ruined the moment. He did not care for the show of affection. Greyback stalked closer to the couple, only stopping when he was within arm's reach. If they were both wearing their protective talismans, he would be in a great deal of pain if they decided to touch him.

"Don't get too comfortable, little girl. When I set my mind to something, I never give up."

His warning was spoken in a low, hoarse tone that made her entire body erupt into terrified goosebumps. Knowing that his fun for the night was over before it even began, the werewolf exited the corridor. They watched him stalk across the busy pub to the exit. Only when his form could no longer be seen did Igor turn his attention back to the witch.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

"Yes, I am," she lied. It wouldn't do to tell him the truth. "He just surprised me."

"I was afraid he might try something like this when I saw you exit the fireplace."

Igor reached for her hand to lead her back into the main dining room. A quick glance in the direction of Silas' booth proved that he hadn't been too bothered by Hermione's absence. Three witches sat at the table with him happily drinking his whiskey. His smile proved that he wasn't missing the witch he had been with at all. Worried that she was making a mistake, but finding that she really didn't care, she turned her full attention on to Igor.

"Can I come home with you, Igor?"

The tightening of her hand in his was his response.

* * *

August 21, 1998

 **8:00 am**

The Minister made it a goal to arrive at the Ministry each morning promptly at half past seven. Not only did it keep him from being distracted by the hordes of Ministry officials arriving for their workdays, it gave him the opportunity to enjoy a few minutes of peace and quiet inside the office that never seemed to be empty. In the few months since he was appointed Interim Minister for Magic and then when it was made official, Kingsley almost wished that his Little Witch hadn't encouraged him so thoroughly to set his sights on the top job in the Ministry. He was unaware how utterly _boring_ it could be at times.

Of course, he rarely had a morning start off with a black cloud hanging over his head. Just why Augusta Longbottom wanted to meet with him made him a bit nervous. Forget about his years as a respected auror. Forget about the better part of a year he spent on the run from Death Eaters after he carelessly broke the Taboo. Forget about facing down Lord Voldemort himself in a duel in the Final Battle. All of those instances were just exciting enough to get his heart racing and his adrenaline pumping. A private meeting with Augusta Longbottom inspired almost as much terror in his heart as a furious Hermione when he knew he was in the wrong.

He had his suspicions about what the meeting was going to be about. The reopening of the investigation into the tortures of Frank and Alice Longbottom had been done very quietly and with little fanfare. Currently, other than himself, he only had two others that he knew he could trust from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement working on the case: Auror Iain Proudfoot and Mafalda Hopkirk. Kingsley trusted Iain with his life and trusted that Ms. Hopkirk would never do anything to intentionally sabotage the investigation. She had more to gain from Rodolphus' release than anyone.

Even with the numbers working on the case remaining very small, there was always a potential for gossip to spread. He only hoped that whatever nuggets of information Mrs. Longbottom managed to pick up about the case weren't too incendiary. She was a well-respected witch with extremely influential friends. If she chose to, she could cause a great deal of harm to the case simply by stating she was against the reinvestigation.

Just as the clock on his desk chimed the eight o'clock hour there was a firm knocking on his door. He wondered if the witch hadn't been standing out there for several minutes waiting for the exact moment to knock. Regardless, Kingsley stood from his chair, smoothed his robes, took a deep breath, and crossed the expansive office to pull open the door. Just as she promised, Mrs. Longbottom was standing outside his office ready to address the Minister, stuffed vulture hat and all.

"Good morning, Mrs. Longbottom. Please come in."

She didn't immediately address the Minister. Just simply marched in and headed straight for the comfortable armchairs arranged in front of his massive fireplace for guests. Realizing that fancy title or not, he was not the one in charge of this conference, Kingsley followed the formidable witch. Once they were both seated, she got straight to the point.

"I understand that you are in possession of memories pertaining to the night my son and my daughter-in-law were tortured. I would like to see them."

Kingsley was taken aback by the request. Or rather, the _demand_. Why would anyone want to see their children tortured into insanity? He couldn't understand the reasoning. It had been difficult enough for him to view them as a colleague of the two aurors. How much worse would it be for the actual mother of one of the victims? It seemed unconscionable to let her have the memories.

"Mrs. Longbottom, I'm not sure where you heard this rumor…"

"Andromeda Tonks. Would you call her a liar?"

No, he absolutely would not. Especially to her face. Kingsley sighed. Though he trusted Andromeda, he did wonder what her motivation was for letting such a large secret out to the elderly witch. What was her angle? He made a mental note to himself to have a chat with Andy again very soon. Just what was she up to?

"Mrs. Longbottom, I won't deny that I have memories from that night, but I don't think it a good idea for you to see them."

"Because I'm nothing but a weak, old woman who can't possibly handle it?"

"I never said…"

She held up a hand to keep him silent. Kingsley had had enough strong and determined women in his life to know when it was best to remain silent. When she was satisfied that she would not be interrupted again by the Minister, Augusta continued.

"I'm not going to play the card that so many people seem to want to utilize when speaking with people who have never had children…"

Kingsley's heart clenched at the simple statement. She couldn't have possibly known what a sensitive subject that had always been to him. Very few actually did. Too often it was assumed that he'd never had children because he hadn't found the right witch yet or maybe because he was too consumed in his own career to think about anything else. Once he was even accused by an acquaintance of being 'selfish' because he wasn't a father. His mind went back to a horrible December morning over twenty years earlier when he received a frantic owl from his mother ordering him to drop everything and come immediately to St. Mungo's. He shook his head to dispel the lingering thoughts. Some memories were better left undisturbed.

"But as a mother, I _implore_ you to give me those memories. I want to see… I _need_ to see what happened to my children."

"I'm not sure why Andromeda would have told you about the memories, but I can't just show them to you. They are part of an open investigation."

"Yes, an investigation that I was told nothing about. Would you like me to take my concerns as a grieving mother forced to raise her only grandchild due to the incapacitation of his parents to the papers, Minister Shacklebolt? As much as I abhor that Skeeter woman, I'm certain she would find the knowledge very interesting that an old case has been opened up at the whim of the new Minister for mysterious reasons."

He sighed. How was he going to get out of this? After several moments of thinking through all of the potential options, Kingsley understood that he really had no choice. Augusta was a fighter. She could make his life very miserable if he didn't comply with her wishes. If she felt that she was capable of handling what would undoubtedly upset her, who was he to argue?

Kingsley stood up from the chair and walked back to his desk. A secret compartment in one of the drawers was warded to his magical signature alone. Even if one blasted the desk to pieces they would be unable to retrieve the twin vials containing Rodolphus' and Umbridge's memories of the awful time in their history. One spell was all it took to open the compartment. He reached in for Rodolphus' memories and at the last second decided to grab Umbridge's as well.

Being the Minister for Magic gave him access to some of the most fascinating and dangerous magical artefacts available. A simple press of a panel on the wall opened a cupboard full of priceless items. He removed the ornately carved pensieve he had already used to view the memories multiple times. Once he had it placed on his desk and the memories dumped inside the swirling liquid, Kingsley gestured to Mrs. Longbottom to join him.

She showed no hint of nervousness as she traversed the carpet though the Minister had a feeling that she was merely putting on a show. At the desk, she took a deep breath and dipped her head into the pensieve. Waiting around for someone to finishing viewing memories could be both tedious and nerve-racking. Though there was something of a suspension in time when one viewed memories, it could still feel like an eternity for the person standing around waiting.

Only ten minutes had passed before Augusta Longbottom removed her head from the pensieve. It was incredible how one could view hours of memories in only a few minutes. She didn't speak for almost a minute. There were no tears in her eyes, but her skin was paler than it had been when she went in. The content of the memories had clearly affected her in a negative way. How else could they?

"Thank you for your time, Minister Shacklebolt."

Augusta Longbottom exited the office in much the same imperious manner which she entered.


	63. Chapter 63

Chapter Sixty-Three

January 1, 1976

 **1:30 am**

There were few people out in Diagon Alley at that time of night. Despite it being New Years, most of the revelers and merrymakers were either snug at home in bed or still holed up in one of the countless watering holes catering to those eager to celebrate the beginning of a new year. Or the end of the old, depending on how one looked at it.

Igor didn't release Hermione's hand as they walked through the Alley without speaking. She took a great deal of comfort in just the familiarity of holding his hand. A long time had passed since the last time she was alone with the wizard. It seemed that an entire lifetime had come and gone. Strange how months and years can feel like an eternity when enough happens.

"Are you sure you don't want me to just take you home?"

Hermione didn't even bother to speak. Just shook her head 'no'. There was nowhere she'd rather _not_ be than tucked in her own bed in the back of the Hog's Head. If she was desperate and no rooms were available to rent for the night, she would have even dropped by the Lestrange Manor to sleep in the suite set aside for her personal use. Sleeping in the same bed that she'd broken the disgusting spell with Lord Voldemort was preferable to spending an entire night remembering what she'd been doing in her bedroom a year earlier.

Maybe it was ridiculous to dwell on her night with Kingsley. Maybe she wasn't being rational in her desire to get out of the pub. Maybe she wasn't necessarily making the best choices, but damn it, she was exhausted of always being expected to be perfect. Everyone in her life had always assumed that she was an old woman with no feelings long before her time. How many times while she as at Hogwarts did her two best friends seem to forget that she was even a girl?

So much was expected of her that she found completely unfair. In her past, _err_ the future, she was held by many to some unrealistic standard of behavior. Apparently, being clever and making high marks in school meant that she wasn't allowed to make the same kind of mistakes or questionable decisions that her peers were. Lavender Brown or Ginny Weasley could sneak off to hide in a broom closet with a dozen different wizards, but she was expected to keep some kind of almost nun-like existence focused entirely on Arithmancy and keeping Harry alive. There was a reason she kept many aspects of her personal life completely to herself. Would Harry or Ron ever be able to understand the appeal in her sneaking around the castle with Cormac McLaggen? _No_ , absolutely not. They would've berated her for making bad decisions.

She never asked to be the 'greatest witch of her age' or whatever rubbish it was that Professor Lupin said about her once. It wasn't even as if Hermione believed she was so wonderful. All she had ever done was strive to prove to everyone that she _belonged_ in the wizarding world. That's why she always worked so hard at making the top marks in school. That's why she was always so quick to be a 'Know-it-All'. She never wanted anyone to accuse her of not being worthy to study magic because she was Muggle-born.

One of her favorite parts of being in the seventies was that no one ever questioned her right to be there. As a Dumbledore and a Lestrange, she was a part of their society without even trying. It was such a relief to not have to constantly prove herself. How different would her life have been in the nineties if she'd ever been allowed to just relax and enjoy the world around her?

She was still young. Her adolescence was stolen from her by an evil wizard intent on killing her best friend. When the war began in earnest, she was on the run for her life simply because she had the misfortune of having innocent Muggles for parents. There hadn't been time to just be young. These were the years she was supposed to drink too much, party more than she should, and make reckless decisions in love that she'd come to regret later. She was only twenty-three years old! What other witch her age was _expected_ to have a perfect life and to never make mistakes? Anyone who thought she should be measured by a different standard than every other person her age could go fuck themselves.

"Were you really there with Silas Selwyn?"

Hermione groaned quietly at Igor's innocent question. Part of her hoped that he would be more focused on the fact that she'd been in the corridor alone with Fenrir Greyback than who she was actually there to see. Igor's amused laughter at her less than eloquent response made her want to kick him and smile.

"I don't like him. Too full of himself and more arrogant than he has any right to be. He is not your type, Charodeyka."

"Yes, I'm aware."

"So why were you meeting him?"

She shrugged her shoulders and sighed.

"He asked me and I didn't have any other invitations. Even one drink with an obnoxious prat like him sounded better to me than sitting at home alone. I didn't expect Greyback to be there. Thought it would be all right with so many witnesses. Even he's not stupid enough to try anything in a crowded pub."

"I think you might be underestimating how confident and determined the werewolf actually is. Staying there when you knew he was there was a terrible idea. You're smarter than…"

Hermione interrupted his chastisement with a loud and admittedly, immature growl of frustration. Even Igor was questioning her? She thought that if there was anyone alive in that year who _wouldn't_ berate her, it would be him. The wizard furrowed his brow and stopped walking to take a better look at her face.

"Did I say something wrong?"

"Just spare me the lecture please, Igor. I am _not_ in the mood."

Recognizing that he wasn't up to fighting a battle with the irritated witch that he would likely lose, Igor resumed walking towards his flat. Neither of them said another word until they were standing inside his spacious living room.

"Why don't you draw yourself a hot bath? It might help with whatever is… well, it might help you relax."

She briefly considered arguing with him that she didn't _need_ to relax, but even she could understand that that was just her argumentative nature coming out. A hot bath did sound heavenly. And, to be fair, she had had more than a few fantasies about slipping back into Igor's oversized tub in the time since they stopped seeing each other. It truly was the most magnificent part about his entire flat.

Once Igor removed their cloaks to hang next to the front door, Hermione walked the familiar path to his spacious bathroom. Each step closer seemed to make even more time disappear. She could've been back during those blissful several months when they were together again. Nothing about the flat had changed in any noticeable way. Even her favorite bath oils and soaps were still displayed prominently on the back of the massive bathtub in the same glass apothecary jars they had been years earlier. In fact, she had the distinct impression that maybe they were still left over from all of the time she used to spend in the flat. Something in that knowledge made her both pleased and a little sad all at once.

It didn't take long to fill the tub just like she wanted. Not wasting another moment to disrobe and slip beneath the scented foamy water, Hermione allowed a deep moan of contentment to slip through her lips at the feel of the hot water on all her strained and tired limbs. Stress and fear took a physical toll on a person and that night, from beginning to end, had been miserable.

The sounds of footsteps across the expensive marble flooring in the bathroom several minutes into her bath forced Hermione to open her eyes. Knowing without even needing visual confirmation that it was only Igor, she didn't even worry about shielding what parts of her body might have been peeking through the breaks in the remaining bubbles. It amused her to see that the wizard who was so intimately acquainted with all aspects of her physical form was making a concerted effort to not look in the direction of the bathtub. He placed a pair of his old pajamas that Hermione long ago called her favorites on the edge of the sink.

"You can open your eyes, Igor," she teased. "It's not as if I have anything that you haven't seen or _licked_ at least a hundred times."

She was surprised by the flirting tone in her voice. It hadn't been a conscious choice to speak to her ex in such a manner. When she noticed him close his eyes tighter and clench his fists, Hermione almost laughed. Perhaps, if she was lucky, she might even be able to salvage the rest of her evening.

"Want to relive some of our old memories and climb in here with me?"

"Few things in this world do I desire more than that, Charodeyka, but…"

Hermione groaned her annoyance. He was going to play the 'perfect gentleman' card. How bloody boring. She should've guessed that was going to happen. Nothing else was going right for her that night. Why should she expect that Igor would be willing to help her forget how dismal the entire previous year had been?

"Just leave then, Igor."

She didn't even try to hide her anger. Knowing her well enough to understand when she was serious, Igor quickly exited the room. Hermione tried to find the same peace she'd almost been able to find before he entered, but it was useless. Her mind kept her from enjoying the experience of using his decadent bathtub. Long before the water was cold or her skin pruned, Hermione stood up to dry off.

Dressed in his pajamas, she exited the bathroom into his spacious bedroom. She expected to find him inside. When she heard sounds coming from the kitchen, Hermione didn't waste a moment lingering in the empty room. Igor stood at the kitchen sink busying his hands with washing up a glass by hand. It was a habit she'd learned during their relationship that meant he was distracted and needed something tangible to focus on. She found it endearing that the wizard didn't always immediately rush to using magic for everything. It showed an innovation and willingness to learn that many in their society lacked.

"Maybe I should go home."

Igor set the glass down to dry naturally on a dishtowel next to the sink. In just a few strides of his legs, he was close enough to place his still-damp hands on her shoulders. She could feel the heat of the water seep through the worn material. The wizard looked her directly with a pleading expression in his eyes.

"No, please don't go. I'm sorry."

"Nothing to apologize for, Igor. Maybe me coming home with you wasn't my best idea. It seems like I've been making a number of poor choices lately."

He leaned down to kiss the top of her head, unwilling to give in to her self-loathing speech. It was something about him that always made Hermione feel at ease. No one was allowed to insult her in his presence. That even meant demanding she be nice to herself if she became too vocal in her own personal displeasure.

"Stay. Please."

She didn't want to go anywhere. Even her offer to go home wasn't made in earnest. She hoped even as the words dripped off her tongue that she wouldn't have to leave. Igor's flat was comfortable and _safe_. Igor was comfortable and safe.

As soon as she agreed to stay put, Igor begged her to get in bed. His actions continued to be that of a perfect gentleman to Hermione's increasing disappointment. Every minute that passed seemed to prove her theory that he was only offering her the sanctuary of his home and not the comfort of his touch. She climbed into the large bed on the side she'd slept countless nights on. Igor made certain she was tucked under the covers before excusing himself to take a quick shower.

Hermione might have been tired enough to allow herself to fall asleep waiting for his return if she had allowed it. Just lying in Igor's bed brought a peace to her that she hadn't even been aware she'd been missing. Even in the end when it was harder to pretend like they were working and long after they broke up, she missed the wizard. At times, she wished that she didn't know what the future held. Maybe she wouldn't have been so quick to dismiss the idea of a possible future with him. They worked well together when they tried.

He didn't take long in the shower. He never lingered under the stream if he was alone. Hermione didn't say anything as she listened to him move about his bedroom quietly dressing and preparing to crawl into bed next to her. There was a comfort she'd missed in the familiar sounds of his normal nightly routine. She didn't even have to look up to know when he was checking his security wards or when he set his wand down in the same place on his nightstand that he did every night. With her eyes closed she could go through his daily motions. Only when she felt the bed dip down behind her did she speak.

"I've missed you."

A soft sigh followed by the feel of his arms circling around her body was his response. Words weren't necessary. They were both feeling it too. Hermione swallowed the rising bitterness. In another world, another time, they might have been able to make it. She wasn't naïve enough to believe that they weren't both lying to each other about how they felt about the other. There had always been love there. Even from the beginning when it just seemed like they were enjoying each other's friendship in nights of almost marathon sex. No one crafted a silver locket imbued with their own heart's blood for someone they just sort of cared about.

"I've missed you too."

Igor's lips brushed the top of her head, but neither pressed for more. They simply laid in the safety of his bed holding onto each other without speaking. Even when Hermione snuggled further into his embrace, there was no escalation.

Her mind travelled to the future. _If_ she was able to get her time turner to work again and somehow made her way back to the nineties, she would be returning to a world where he no longer existed. Imagining not being able to see his cheeky grin or to hear his laughter made her unbearably sad. What a complete waste. She tried not to think about the cold wizard she met her fourth year when he came for the Triwizard Tournament. Trying to figure out what must have happened in his life to change from _her_ Igor into the shell of the man he became was too disheartening to even contemplate.

"Do you promise me that you'll never forget me?"

It was easy to tell that he wasn't expecting her request. She knew it was an odd request to make especially when they were lying in bed. His arms tightened around her frame.

"How could I _ever_ forget you?"

Satisfied with his answer, Hermione closed her eyes and tried to just enjoy the feel of Igor's chest against her back again. Igor was more bothered by the question than he initially let on. A few minutes of silence later and she could feel him still staring at her. She turned slightly to be able to meet his eyes over her shoulder.

"Why would you ask that, Hermione?"

"I don't know. I just… I don't want you to forget me."

"Are you in trouble? Is this about Greyback?"

Igor sat up in bed behind her. Unable to keep looking at him over her shoulder at that angle, Hermione turned over and sat up too. She could see even in the dimness of his bedroom that Igor was seriously concerned. It made her heart clench to know that there _would_ be a day when she would disappear. He would know what she meant. Whether she made it back to the future or died some horrific death in the past, he would understand then.

"No, nothing like that."

"Is it the Dark Lord?"

Hermione sighed. Naively she'd hoped that they would never have to bring up the horrible weeks when she was under Voldemort's disgusting and disturbing spell. Igor knew few details of _why_ she was forced to be intimate with his master the night of that dinner party she hated. Though he didn't know everything, he knew enough. Somehow speaking about that time in her life while she was in his bed felt wrong and like an even worse violation. She didn't want the Dark Lord to disturb their private moments.

"No, it's not him either."

"Then why would you ask me that, Hermione? Are you planning on running away?"

If only it was that simple. She considered throwing caution and good sense completely to the wind and telling him everything she told Thomas long ago in the graveyard, but he knew she couldn't. It was bad enough that she already brought an innocent in on the madness. Though she didn't know what Thomas' fate would ultimately be, she held on to a fervent hope that he would be able to stay out of the worst of the wizarding wars. Maybe she would spin her time turner and find him alive and well in the future.

Igor was different. She _knew_ what was going to happen to him. Knew that he would be considered a coward and a traitor. Killed in some non-descript shack no doubt whilst pleading for his life. It was a future bad enough to make her attempt to break all of the laws of time travel and try to prevent. She knew it was hopeless. Nothing she did would keep him from going down the treacherous and lonely path he'd already gone down in her time.

"No, I'm not planning on running away. If I ever do disappear, you can rest assured that it wasn't by choice."

"That's a horrible thing to say! Why would you even suggest that?"

She shrugged her shoulders. Truthfully, she didn't know why she'd said what she had to begin with. Maybe she didn't want Igor to think that she'd run away from him or because she didn't care about him. For whatever reason, she didn't think she could bear the thought that Igor believed he was willfully abandoned.

"I'm not unaware of what's going on outside these walls, Igor. The Dark Lord targeted me once. Maybe he will again. These are uncertain times. You should know that as well as anyone. How many people have you witnessed be…"

Completing the sentence was impossible. She didn't want to know what Igor was forced to do under the orders of his master. Or what he _wanted_ to do. She wished she'd done a better job of researching Igor when she was in the future, but at the time, he was already dead. What did it matter? Her time and energy had to be focused on those that were actual threats to her. Not knowing what he would experience and what crimes he would commit made her stomach twist in knots.

"Hermione…"

His hand reached out to brush her unruly curls away from her face. He had always had a fascination for her hair. She leaned into the touch of his hand.

"I don't know what's going to happen, but you can be certain that there is no way I could ever forget you."

She didn't even have a chance to respond before her lips were covered with his. The kiss was gentle at first. Once the emotions of the moment got the best of them, neither of them pushed the other away. Hands and silent lips spoke more effectively than a lifetime of words.

It was easy to forget when she was with him. Easy to let the world around her fall away as she lived in the moment. Touch and feeling was all that mattered. Only the sighs and moans filling the night air made any sense at all. Igor and Hermione ignored everything else to reacquaint themselves with the other's body, to sear them into their memory.

When they finally gave in to the exhaustion that plagued their bodies hours later, neither of them uttered the words they were both thinking. Hermione laid her cheek on Igor's bare chest. His hand rested in her curls. As she drifted away into unconsciousness, she knew that that was the last night she would ever have with Igor Karkaroff. Their bodies bade the goodbyes their lips couldn't bear to utter.

* * *

March 10, 1976

 **10:05 am**

The first couple of months in 1976 passed with little excitement. Hermione once again was able to lull herself into a sense of security because everyone left her alone. Not once did she feel the prickling on the back of her neck indicating an obsessive werewolf was near. Disappearances and violent crimes were steadily rising around the country, but she was insulated in her own world. Until she had something that she needed to worry about, she wasn't going to. A witch could drive herself mad otherwise.

Leaving Igor the morning after they woke up on New Year's Day had been harder than she ever anticipated it being. He kissed her once last time firmly on the lips before she walked out his front door. Somehow, she felt that an era in her life had come to an end. It was a bittersweet feeling.

On a regular Wednesday morning in mid-March, she walked through the aisles of the Magical Menagerie adjusting the products on the shelves that had somehow come askew since the day before. Every day she spent in her cousin's store was a day she enjoyed. There was a peace and a serenity to be found within the walls of the pet shop that she had never been able to find anywhere else. She never turned down an opportunity to pick up a few shifts to help out.

She was checking on her owls when the bell over the front door rang loudly to announce the arrival of a new customer. Because she couldn't see the door from her position, she called out to them that she would be right with them. No one responded. An unnerving feeling in her gut encouraged Hermione to speed up her steps. There had been a rash of burglaries up and down the Alley in recent months. Making certain that she had a firm grasp of her wand in her pocket, she turned the last corner.

"No wands will be necessary, I think, Miss Dumbledore."

Lord Voldemort stood alone just inches inside the doorway with an infuriating grin on his handsome face. Every time he looked in her direction she got the uncomfortable feeling that he was imagining her naked. Considering he'd actually _seen_ her without all of her clothes on only made the experience less comfortable.

"Good morning, my Lord. To what do I owe the honor of your visit?"

Removing her hand from her wand was the absolute last thing she wanted to do in his presence, but she refused to show him how afraid she was. There did not seem to be any plausible or positive reason for an impromptu visit to her place of employment. She could only imagine what he wanted.

"Would you believe me if I told you that I came to purchase a new pet?"

"Truthfully, my Lord? No, I wouldn't."

His laughter unnerved her. There were times in the past when they had been able to share a laugh together against Hermione's better judgement, but she didn't get the impression this was going to be one of them.

"I came to thank you actually for your help."

"My Lord?"

"Corban Yaxley. I took a chance on him just as you suggested. Some of my most trusted advisors thought I was wasting my precious time."

With each word he spoke, he stepped closer to her. She exercised all of her self-control to remain as calm as possible. Being afraid in the monster's presence only encouraged him to torment her further. Or to lead him to believe there were more secrets she was trying to hide. Either way, Hermione reminded herself to take steady breaths and keep her eyes and her shields up.

"I have been very pleased with the wizards you have put in my path, Miss Dumbledore. Yaxley has already proven to be a formidable ally to have within the Ministry. I have you to thank for that."

She tried to think of some meaningless platitude to say to stroke his ego, but nothing came out of her mouth. Hermione hated what she had been reduced to doing. Though these were men that she had issues with in the future, men that had actively tried to harm her and her loved ones, she still felt immense guilt helping Voldemort recruit more followers.

"I'm not, however, so pleased with Mr. Selwyn. He has been… _unreceptive_ to my offers. I've already approached him twice and both times he has politely, but firmly declined. That's a bit of a disappointment."

"I'm sorry, my Lord. I was certain that Silas would be interested in following you in a more _permanent_ manner. Perhaps he just needs a little more encouragement?"

"Yes, I think you're right. I had already planned to approach him a final time. He's still quite young for a wizard. At that age, they are often given to flights of fancy."

Hermione tried to keep her face as impassive as possible. Learning that Silas hadn't immediately jumped at the opportunity to become a Death Eater surprised her greatly. He seemed to fit the stereotype of many of his followers. Of course, it would only be a matter of time before he gave in. She pushed down the guilt that tried to overpower her once more. She was fighting to survive in this cruel world. If she had an advantage, she had to take it.

"I won't keep you any longer, Miss Dumbledore. I simply thought it would be a good idea to drop in for a brief visit."

He smiled that predatory grin of his that never ceased to give her chills. His meaning was clear. He wanted to remind her that he was always nearby. As she watched him disappear out the front door of the shop, Hermione knew she was going to have to remain on her guard. This wasn't the time to get complacent. Danger was around every corner.

* * *

August 21, 1998

 **6:35 pm**

He was only three steps across the threshold of the Tonks' home before little Teddy Lupin was thrust into his arms by his adoring grandmother. Kingsley had to laugh to himself. Sometimes it was easy to forget that Andromeda was a Slytherin through and through. As long as he had hold of the innocent infant, she need not fear that the Minister would lose his temper. Indeed, Kingsley could already feel his elevated blood pressure begin to slowly lessen the longer he had hold of the sleeping child.

Andromeda had good reason to believe that her old friend would be less than thrilled when he showed up on her doorstep without so much as an owl in warning. He had been waiting all day for the opportunity to get away from the Ministry to make his unscheduled visit. There were a number of questions and _concerns_ he had for the slightly older witch. First of all, just what in the fucking hell was she thinking telling Augusta Longbottom that he had memories of the night of the tortures in his possession? What possible purpose could that serve?

"Will tea suffice or is this a visit that requires something a bit stronger?" Andromeda asked as she led him through the familiar corridor to her warm kitchen.

"Let's start with tea and then see how it goes."

His hostess nodded in agreement at his suggestion. Once inside the kitchen, Kingsley crossed to the chair he was beginning to think of as his 'usual' spot. Teddy was still blissfully unaware that there was any amount of tension in the air. At almost five months old, he spent a great deal of his time simply sleeping, entirely innocent of the turmoil of the post-wizarding war world he'd been born into.

The Minister stared down at the bundle in his arms with a wistful smile on his face. It wasn't difficult to see equal parts of both Nymphadora and Remus in his features. He looked forward to being able to share with the poor orphan the positive memories he had of his late parents. If he had anything to say about it, they would never be forgotten.

"I know what you're trying to do, Andy," Kingsley declared, his voice hardly louder than a whisper to keep from waking up the sleeping baby. "I'll have you know that I wasn't even planning on hexing you."

"That's a relief." Andromeda snorted softly, clearly not believing that she ever had anything to worry about.

"Though I think I'd like to."

She looked up from the teapot she was filling with water to give him a familiar grin. No, she wasn't worried that she was ever in any danger from the man. They had a long history. Too many years of friendship. Kingsley tried his hardest to replace the smile with his usual expression that Hermione always teasingly called his "super serious auror face" but it was no use. A soft chuckle escaped from his mouth, all anger from earlier gone.

"Care to explain to me just what exactly you were trying to do by speaking to Augusta Longbottom? Do you _want_ me to have the dubious honor of being the Minister with the shortest term in office in history?"

"Did you even earn an OWL in History of Magic? Everyone knows that Minister Basil Flack was the shortest serving Minister. He was only in office for two months. You've already more than doubled his term."

Kingsley rolled his eyes at her history lesson. Of course he already knew about Minister Flack. He had simply been making a joke. Truthfully, once he made it past the two-month mark in his current position, he breathed a small sigh of relief. At least he wouldn't have to worry about generations of Hogwarts' students learning his name as the _worst_ Minister. He would have to do a great deal more than he already had to take that mantle away from Damocles Rowle. Even using his power to send his girlfriend back in time almost thirty years wasn't nearly as bad as Rowle's decision to turn the dark wizard Ekrizdis' island fortress into a wizarding prison and use dementors as guards. In fact, Kingsley was quite proud of the fact that one of his very first acts of Minister was to remove the untrustworthy creatures from the island. If he was unable to do anything else in his term, he could be proud of that.

"In all serious, Andy, _why_ did you approach her? I want to understand your reasoning."

Andromeda shrugged her shoulders, but did not immediately answer his question. She took her time finishing up the pot of tea she was brewing. Kingsley, though curious, wasn't in a terrible rush. All he had to look forward to that evening was yet another night combing over more stolen files. A visit with an old friend was the perfect way to break up the monotony of his solitary existence. He knew that in a little over a week, he would be going back to living alone in an empty house when Dean left for his final year at Hogwarts. It would be strange to live by himself again. He'd gotten used to the simple presence of another human being in his home.

"We need allies," she declared as she set the pot on the table. "If you want to pardon Rodolphus or at minimum, grant him a new trial, we have to go in fully prepared. Just approaching the Wizengamot today with the idea that they go along with your idea to proclaim one of the most feared and Death Eaters innocent would be political suicide."

"I hadn't planned on just pardoning him completely out of the blue. I thought it best to wait until the passions following the war died down a little."

She nodded her head and began to fill up their individual teacups. Kingsley wasn't a dumb man. No matter what so many people over the years thought about his choices. He understood full well that it would be difficult to get the support required to ensure Rodolphus was allowed to leave Azkaban. Wizards lived decades longer than their Muggle counterparts and memories were long. The torture of Alice and Frank Longbottom was a horrendous crime seared into the collective memory of their society. It would be almost impossible to get anyone involved cleared of the charges.

"Augusta is a fair woman. I've known her my entire life. She's one of the few Purebloods who continued to actually speak to me after my disownment. I'd like to think that I know her well enough to know how she would react to finding out that all of the facts of _that_ night weren't known. She was skeptical when I told her about Rodolphus' role, but she assured me that she would reserve her judgements until she saw the memories."

"She didn't say anything to me afterwards. Just thanked me and walked out of my office."

"Give her time. That couldn't have been easy. It's bad enough knowing that my Dorie…" Andromeda stopped to take a deep breath. Her emotions were high and Kingsley couldn't blame her. "It's bad enough knowing that Nymphadora was struck down quickly by my sister. From what I've learned from those that witnessed it, she didn't suffer needlessly. _That_ is difficult enough, but to know that your child was tortured for hours into complete madness… I don't think I can even imagine what it must have been like for her to witness that."

They sipped at their tea in silence trying their hardest _not_ to think about the sound of the Longbottoms' screams as they were crucioed into insanity. Kingsley had had many nightmares about that night since seeing Rodolphus' memories the first time. More than once he'd woken up in a cold sweat with their screeches of agony ringing in his ears. It was something he would never forget.

"If we can get the mother of one of the victims on our side, especially someone as influential as Augusta, we may be able to sway enough members of the Wizengamot to pardon Rodolphus. It may be a long shot, but it could work."

"I hope you're right, Andy. Otherwise we just made it even harder for that poor woman to move on from what happened to her child."

The rest of Kingsley's visit with Andromeda passed with relatively ordinary conversation. He kept her apprised of the newest details that his team was able to discover in the investigation. All mention of just _why_ Mafalda Hopkirk was so invested in the case was kept to a minimum. It wasn't his secret to share.

He wasn't at her house for more than an hour. When he walked through the front door of his own home, Kingsley couldn't help but notice the stillness. How strange that in just a short time he'd gotten used to the sound of his nephew's footsteps moving around the house. He knew he wasn't going to like it when September arrived. There simply hadn't been enough time to spend with Dean yet. Of course, thinking back on the number of years that he missed out on, he wasn't certain that there would ever be enough time.

An owl sat on a perch just outside his kitchen window waiting for patiently for him to relieve him of his burden. Kingsley untied the parchment from its foot before offering it a treat and some water out of a saucer. Once satisfied that the creature would have enough energy to return home, he unrolled the letter. A heavy sigh escaped him. It wasn't as if he was surprised by what he was reading. No, he'd been expecting it.

Kingsley read the note from the Longbottom boy requesting a meeting with him once the weekend was over. Knowing that he would be unable to deny the request, he pulled a bottle of fire whiskey out of the cupboard. He was going to need a little fortification before he replied.


	64. Chapter 64

Chapter Sixty-Four

March 10, 1976

 **12:10 pm**

How very like Voldemort to ruin the sanctity of her favorite place with his mere presence. _Fucking bastard._ As she watched the wizard's back disappear out the front door of the Magical Menagerie, Hermione felt all of the fear and anxiety she had just been feeling quickly replaced with pure anger. How dare he continue to harass her! Had she not already done enough for him? Already been _through_ enough for him?

What he was demanding of her was too much. She worried that she wouldn't be able to live with herself if he wasn't satisfied. Sending men into his clutches felt eerily like setting up the innocent lambs to be slaughtered by the insatiable wolf.

"They are making their own choices."

She had to keep lying to herself that what she was doing was harmless. This was all some sick, twisted game they were playing. The winners got to continue to live while the losers…

Caradoc sent her out of the shop only moments after he arrived from his weekly visit with his ailing grandmother. With a heartfelt request that she eat something substantial and take a long nap, her friend booted her out the door. She knew he was only worried about her well-being. She could only imagine how terrible she must have looked in the aftermath of the Dark Lord's unscheduled visit and the two hours she had to stew in her fury.

The fresh air in the Alley helped slightly. Hermione didn't have any solid plans for the rest of the day. Often she felt like she was drifting, waiting for the next major crisis to strike. Knowing her history and the unhealthy fascination Lord Voldemort had of her, she knew she wouldn't have to wait long.

She wasn't far from the shop when she heard a familiar, lightly accented voice call out her name. Once glance over her shoulder revealed a smiling Antonin increasing the speed of his steps to catch up with her. His dimples never ceased to make Hermione smile in return. It was a facial expression so few ever got to see on his serious countenance.

"I thought that was you," he declared as he kissed her cheek in greeting. "I haven't seen you in a while."

"No, not since New Year's, but I seem to remember your attention was focused entirely on another witch."

Antonin's dimples reappeared in a sheepish grin at the not-so-subtle mention of Sada Shafiq. He dropped his eyes from hers for a brief moment. When he lifted them again to meet her eyes, Hermione felt ill at ease around him for a reason she couldn't place. _Something_ wasn't right about him.

"Are you just now leaving the shop?"

"Yes, Caradoc told me I had to leave. 'Go eat a real meal and take a nap' were his direct orders."

"I was just about to eat. Would you like to join me?"

Hermione wanted to say 'no'. Her curiosity, however, was too strong. Maybe she was being paranoid after her morning tête-à-tête with the Dark Lord, but she couldn't ignore the feeling that something was _off_ about Antonin.

"Sure. I'd love to."

They walked to a familiar little restaurant they'd eaten in many times before keeping up a steady conversation of fairly innocuous subjects. When Antonin mentioned how unseasonably warm it had been in recent days, Hermione's suspicions only grew stronger. He was a man who valued silence and weighed his words carefully before speaking. This wizard happily making small talk with her was a complete stranger. She would've almost preferred him screaming at her instead. At least then she didn't have to worry that he was possessed by an overly cheerful entity or someone else entirely using polyjuice potion to impersonate her ex-boyfriend.

By the time they were seated and surveying their individual menus, Hermione's fears had not been put to rest that there was something wrong. Antonin was usually calm and collected when he wasn't in the middle of a raging temper tantrum. Truthfully, his anger was terrifying, but there were times that hints of the toddler he must have one day been seemed to shine through. It was no wonder that he and Kingsley often resorted to throwing toys at one another when they were children.

"Would it be inappropriate of me to order a bottle of wine?"

Hermione shook her head in the negative. Perhaps having a glass or two of a light wine would be just what the wizard needed to relax enough to be like himself again. Once their orders were placed and the waiter left to retrieve the expensive bottle she couldn't imagine that Antonin would be able to afford, the first awkward silence fell between the couple. Underneath the table, she could feel the vibrations of a shaking leg across from her chair. He seemed to be making a concerted effort to calm down.

"Antonin, what's wrong?"

He seemed startled by the abrupt question. Hermione was running out of patience. Everything about that lunch date seemed contrived. Had he been waiting around the Alley for her to leave the shop? She couldn't ignore the tiniest feeling in the back of her mind wondering if he wasn't waiting for her on some kind of order.

The thought seemed ludicrous almost as soon as she thought it. What need did Voldemort have to use her ex as some kind of sentry? He'd made it clear enough that he wasn't afraid to approach her himself. Hermione chuckled softy to herself and shook her head. She was clearly still rattled from her unscheduled visit. The Dark Lord could mess with her mind better than any person she had ever known.

"There's nothing wrong. I don't know why you would think there was."

"Because I _know_ you, Antonin. I know when you're uncomfortable. What's really going on?"

He sighed. Knowing that he wouldn't appreciate the gesture, Hermione had to bite the inside of her cheeks to keep from laughing. It was written all over his face that he wasn't happy with the fact that he couldn't keep a secret. Antonin was good at a lot of things. Lying, however, wasn't one of them. Maybe he would improve as he got older. Somehow, she doubted it.

"Fine. Meeting you in the Alley wasn't an accident."

"It wasn't?"

"No. I was waiting for you."

A swoop of nerves in her stomach surprised Hermione. She couldn't tell if his admission was a welcome one or not. _Why_ was he waiting for her? Before she could make up her mind, she needed to know the motivation for his actions. So much time had passed since they were in a relationship together. Neither of them were even the same people that they once were. She wasn't sure she could ever understand him again.

"Okay." She took a sip of the white wine the waiter poured only moments before. "May I ask why you were?"

Antonin sighed again. The feel of his leg bouncing only grew more frantic. His moment of confession was only making him more agitated. She had never seen him quite so discomposed even in their most ardent of arguments.

"If I told you it was simply because I've missed you, what would you say to that?"

She tried not to sigh in response. All she needed was for him to get the idea in his head that she was interested in them resuming any kind of relationship. That was the last thing she wanted. In hindsight, she should've never even entertained the possibility of dating Antonin Dolohov. What had she been thinking? Hermione understood from the very beginning of her journey to the past that she would never be able to change the course of events that led to the existence she'd known in the future. Nothing that she did would ever change Antonin's destiny to become a crazed murderer. It didn't matter how sincere and sweet he might have seemed as an innocent teenager, one day would come that he would be unafraid to dirty his hands with the blood of Muggles and others who didn't support his Dark Lord.

Hermione knew that that day had already come. Even just looking at the manner in which he held his shoulders and the change in his eyes told her all she needed to know. The wizard seated across from her at the table had long ago ceased to be _her_ Antonin. He was a familiar stranger who cursed her almost to death. Very little of what she used to love about him would remain in him much longer. _He_ might believe he hadn't changed all that much, but she knew differently. No, encouraging him to entertain a fancy that she would ever be a romantic part of his life again would have dire consequences.

"I would ask you whatever happened with Sada Shafiq?"

"We parted ways," he admitted with a grimace. "Several weeks ago. She was more invested in the relationship than I ever was."

"And did Thomas appreciate you leading his baby cousin on?"

Antonin's eyes narrowed and his brow furrowed at the seemingly harsh question. He didn't care for the insinuation she was making. Truthfully, Hermione found his reaction a bit comical. Years of knowing him kept her from showing her true emotion. He would definitely not care for that.

"I did not _lead_ her on. Sada approached _me_. If anything, she led me on."

Hermione didn't even try to control the snort that escaped her mouth. Far from being insulted by her reaction, Antonin smiled shyly before chuckling. Even though it felt a bit surreal to be sitting with her ex discussing one his relationship post their break up, she found it be almost a bit comforting to be able to laugh again with him. Despite him giving off the air that he was nothing but solemn all of the time, Hermione knew him better than that. There were plenty of times in their collected past that they both were crippled by laughter that made breathing impossible. He had a soft and silly side to him that very, _very_ few ever got to see.

"She may not seem like it, but she can be a bit intimidating."

"I don't doubt that at all."

"I never should've entertained even the possibility that something would happen between us, but I'm sure you understand what can sometimes happen when you've been alone for a while and someone offers you the chance to forget about that for a while?"

Hermione dropped her eyes from his to stare at a point in the middle of the table that suddenly became quite fascinating. Yes, indeed she could understand. She could even write an entire book on the subject. With the exception of the bittersweet night with Igor, she had been completely alone for over a year. She tried to ignore the gnawing feeling in her gut by spending more time with her friends and family or fully immersing herself in some task to improve her father's pub, but it never completely took the ache away. Being lonely was difficult. If she hadn't had her heart set on being patient for when Kingsley finally got his head out of his arse and stopped running away from her, she might have made even more foolish mistakes in an effort to convince herself she wasn't lonely.

There had been parties and weddings to distract her mind quite frequently. As even a peripheral member of the Lestrange family, she had entrance to some of the most fabulous galas their society could afford. Frequently, she was asked to attend by her uncle as a representative of their family. Her relationship with her Uncle Regnault had shifted quite noticeably in the five years she'd been there. They once were unable to spend more than a few minutes in the other's presence without having an argument. Now, they were growing quite close and fond of each other's company. She enjoyed the evenings when she could simply sit in his study with him discussing some archaic form of magic they both found fascinating. Their weekly lunches were often the highlight of her week. The times he took her to the Ministry to watch the Wizengamot proceedings never ceased to make her happy. Though they continued to grate on each other's nerves at times and there was certainly not a complete cessation to their arguments, he'd managed to carve out a special place in her heart and she had in his.

Familial relationships did not compare to the love she was seeking. Her frustration with Kingsley was, at times, choking. Following their unproductive discussion at Christmas he had stopped avoiding her. Part of her wished he would go back to the days when he would not stick around if she was at his parents' house or his grandmother's home. It was hard to be happy around him knowing that he was happy with someone else. Hermione knew that was selfish. Shouldn't she be excited for him that he found someone he could love? But, she didn't care. Even though she still couldn't bring herself to hate Emmeline Vance, she _loathed_ their relationship.

"Yes, I understand that we don't always make the best choices when we are lonely. Frustrating human nature and all."

"Is that why you've been seen out with Silas Selwyn?"

His question was asked in a quiet tone. Almost as if he was embarrassed to ask in the first place. Hermione rolled her eyes and took a hearty sip of wine. Antonin made it sound as if she had been seen out gallivanting with Silas on numerous occasions. With the exception of the one meeting at New Year's, she had only seen him at a couple of parties she was forced to attend at Regnault's insistence. They'd shared a couple of dances while Silas teased her about running out on him without any warning. He hadn't been upset by her disappearing from the pub with Igor. In fact, if the cheeky lifting of his eyebrows were any indication, he'd been quite successful with at least one of the witches Hermione saw him with as she was leaving. She didn't ask for details.

"Silas and I met for a couple of drinks after Marjorie Shafiq's Hogmanay party. I did not go home with him. I was _never_ going to go home with him. Is that what you are referring to?"

She didn't mean to sound so snippy with him. It just sort of happened. What right did Antonin have to ask impertinent questions about who she chose to spend her free time with? He was no longer her boyfriend. They were hardly even friends. Despite his assurances months earlier that he would like to be her friend, he'd shown no sign that he intended to follow through on that promise.

"There have been rumors."

"And that's all they are, Antonin. _Rumors_."

"So there is nothing between you and Selwyn?"

Hermione had always been under the impression that Antonin was a smart man. Perhaps that was only when he wasn't dealing with members of the opposite sex. He could be quite clueless where she was concerned. Was she going to have to spell it out for him?

"No, there is nothing beyond a tiny hint of a possible future friendship with Silas."

Antonin seemed both reassured and confused. To Hermione's great relief, their food arrived. For a few tense minutes they distracted themselves by tucking in. She noticed that the bouncing of his leg under the table had ceased. Either he was no longer nervous to be around her again or he was getting more adept at hiding it. Before they were even half finished with their meal, her curiosity, as it usually did, got the better of her.

"Why were you waiting for me?"

He almost dropped his fork in surprise. Before he would answer, Antonin cleared his throat and wiped his mouth. Hermione wasn't about to let him get away without a response. Based on the expression she was certain was on her expressive face, he knew it too.

"I meant what I said earlier, daragaya. I've missed you."

She had a moment of déjà vu. It seemed like they had had this very conversation before in the past. Or at least, he'd said those exact words before. Usually they followed unforgettable moments and then frustrating anger and heartbreak. Hermione wanted to know what he was playing at. She didn't have the energy nor the fortitude to make it through another failed relationship with the wizard.

"I haven't gone anywhere, Antonin. You've known where to find me."

"It didn't seem appropriate."

"That's never stopped you before."

The tension that had pervaded their meal earlier returned in full force. Hermione wasn't sure why she was being so argumentative with him. In the past, _she_ had been the one to make every concerted effort to keep their conversations from descending into full-blown rows. Antonin was easy to push if one knew where to apply the pressure. To his credit, he was remaining calm and not rising to the bait.

"Hermione, I don't wish to fight. I waited for you because I miss you. It's as simple as that. When I walked past the shop and saw you inside, I lingered nearby."

"To what purpose, Antonin?"

"I don't really know."

She could sense the sincerity in his voice. Despite knowing that it was taking a lot out of him to actually voice his true intentions, Hermione couldn't help but be dissatisfied with the entire conversation. He was hiding something. Yes, he might be telling the truth that he missed her, but she knew there was something else. A small voice in the back of her mind continually encouraged her to not allow her guard to fall for even a moment. He had already proven he was a dangerous man. As much as she would like to believe that he posed no danger to her, she knew better. Even the devastating scar across her torso that was a souvenir of their first meeting began to itch in warning.

"I think I should go."

Hermione placed her linen napkin on the table beside her plate. She reached into her beaded bag to pull out several gold galleons to pay for the meal. Before she could put them down, Antonin's hand reached out to cover hers. There was a hint of anger present in his eyes. Through clenched teeth, he spoke.

"I _can_ pay for lunch, Hermione."

She sighed and closed her eyes. It was an old argument. Just one of many. Thinking they could ever spend even just a short time together without fighting was a tad too optimistic on their parts. Some wounds never healed. They only festered and grew more infectious the longer they existed.

"Thank you for lunch, Antonin."

With her hands still clutching the galleons, Hermione exited the restaurant. Antonin never tried to stop her even with a pleading word. An intelligent man, he knew better. She stepped out into the sunshine with a heavy feeling still lingering in her gut. Everything about that meal had been unnerving. Would there _ever_ be a day she was around him that she didn't want to flee? Probably not, she decided.

* * *

March 12, 1976

 **7:00 pm**

Hours after leaving Antonin behind at the restaurant while she was cleaning the windows in the front of the pub, a small owl flew in through the open front door behind a customer. Hermione didn't pay it much mind at first. Owls were a frequent part of life. Now that her father's pub had a more favorable reputation, Aberforth often received requests from guests to provide a room to stay for a night or two. He'd never had to worry about reservations in the past. There had never been a need. At least one room was always available and more often than not, all four of them were.

When the owl dropped its letter at her feet, Hermione wasn't surprised. She had grown used to receiving post from her Lestrange relatives or invitations to meet her uncle Albus up in the castle for tea. Those invitations had been few and far between since the unpleasant meeting she had with him when she refused to become his spy, but as a dutiful uncle determined to keep up the appearances that there wasn't strife within the Dumbledore family, they hadn't ceased entirely.

She bent over to pick up the folded piece of parchment on the floor. There wasn't any writing on the outside. It was only when she opened it that she realized who it was from. The handwriting was very familiar. She'd lost count the number of times she'd seen it scribbled on essays or scratching out Arithmancy equations.

 _Hermione,_

 _Lunch didn't go as planned today. I take responsibility for that. I meant what I said when I said I wanted us to be friends. Let me make it up to you? Dinner Friday night?_

 _-A_

With a great deal of reluctance and a lot of thinking, she finally accepted two hours later with a terse reply on the same piece of parchment. Reverting back to his normal personality as a man of few words, his second note gave only a time and the name of a restaurant. Hermione didn't believe they would ever be able to be truly just friends. There would always be the specter of their history hanging between them.

When Friday night arrived, she wasn't any more excited about the prospect of meeting Antonin for another meal as she had been earlier in the week. The sinking in her stomach had not lessened as time passed. As she took the time to pick out what she should wear that night, she worried about what was going to happen. Was this a date? Or just a dinner between friends? She hoped that her acceptance of the invitation didn't give Antonin the wrong idea of what she was interested in pursuing where he was concerned.

She arrived outside the restaurant right on time without a moment to spare. True to form, Antonin was already there waiting just outside the front door. His solemn expression brightened slightly at her appearance, but only someone who knew his moods very well would ever be able to tell the difference. He nodded in her direction and held the door open without speaking a single word. His return to his usual reticence was heartening. At least he didn't seem as nervous to be around her as he had days earlier.

Their table was ready when they entered. Hermione wasn't sure if it was due to a well-placed galleon in the hand of the young witch at the reservation table or if it was because of who she was. Whether she realized it or not, her association with the Lestranges offered her a number of benefits she was aware of and a few that she was unaware of. They were led to a small table in a quiet, dark corner. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes at the location. It was a table built for lovers.

Antonin didn't waste a moment ordering another expensive bottle of wine when their server approached the table. Hermione had a dozen impertinent questions she wanted to ask him about his finances, but she stopped herself. Clearly his new job working for Lord Voldemort's follower was lucrative. Money had always been a sensitive subject between the two. She always had too much while he seemed to never have enough. Though she was pleased that he'd been able to find a way to support himself, she wished it didn't have anything to do with his new master. There were a number of complications that an association like that could bring.

"You look lovely tonight, Hermione."

She felt the heat of his compliment to her cheeks. Even after so long apart she still appreciated that he was attracted to her. It didn't mean that she was going to push aside all of her suspicions and believe to every single pretty word that might fall out of his mouth, but at the very least, she would listen when he spoke.

"Thank you, Antonin."

There were times even in the best parts of their relationship that they were unable to carry a conversation. The awkwardness of the silences often got to Hermione. She would usually rush to fill the air with a number of inane comments and questions for something to focus on. Though she could feel the urge bubble up in her to start reciting off recent headlines from the Daily Prophet, she stopped herself from giving in to the impulse. She wanted to know his motivation for seeking her out again. He might have claimed that it was simply because he missed her, but she couldn't shake the feeling that there was something else.

Antonin took a deep gulp of the wine. Clearly, he wasn't the only one unnerved by the lack of ready topics to discuss. Because she knew him so well, Hermione could tell that behind those dark brown eyes he was searching for something to say. She learned long ago that just because his mouth wasn't moving, it did not mean that his mind wasn't working.

"I just moved into a new flat," he announced.

"Oh, really? Is it strange that I kind of miss your old flat?"

Taken completely aback by her comment, Antonin stared at his dining companion for several seconds before a bright smile crossed his countenance. Hermione smiled back. It wasn't a lie. Though it was an old flat in a decrepit building in a horrid part of London, she had many wonderful memories in his flat. Some not so wonderful as well, but the spirit of nostalgia that was plaguing her in that moment allowed her mind to gloss over the not so grand ones.

"This one is _much_ nicer than the old. I'll admit that I was a little sad to see it go too."

"Well, I'm happy for you, Antonin. You seem to be doing well for yourself. I'm glad."

He nodded in response, his usual shyness taking over the false bravado she'd seen him employ in recent days. They returned to the silence, each thankful when their salads were brought to the table. At least then they had a reason to not speak for a few minutes. With no conversation to distract her, Hermione found herself carefully watching each of Antonin's movements. There was a slight tremor to his hands that she hadn't noticed before. It seemed odd. Even in their past when he was at his most uncomfortable, he had never had any kind of tremor.

It didn't take him long to realize that she was examining him. Antonin looked up from his salad to stare into her eyes with an air of defiance that seemed to beg her to find something to criticize. While he held her gaze, his left eye twitched an almost imperceptible degree. She must have made an expression of surprise because he immediately lowered his eyes. His hand's tremors only grew worse as he tried to hold his fork. It wasn't difficult to sense his frustration was only serving to make it even more impossible to calm his involuntary motions.

Hermione remembered all too well what it was like following a prolonged bout of the Cruciatus Curse. While she recovered from her torture session with Bellatrix as Shell Cottage, she had problems holding spoons for days. When she was awake, she often had to keep her eyes closed because of the eye twitches. There were a dozen other side effects in varying degrees of intensity that she was certain Antonin was likely experiencing.

She wanted to slap him for his stupidity. How did a man with as much intelligence as he possessed get to the point where he was willing to give up his life to a wizard that would not hesitate to maim, torture, and murder when he was displeased? She also wanted to wrap him in her cloak and take him home with her to protect. What his life had been like since his mother died was a complete mystery to her. Even Thomas wouldn't tell. Either he didn't want to divulge his best mate's secrets, or perhaps most likely, he hadn't been made privy to them either.

"What did you do that displeased him so?"

The words were out of her mouth before she could stop herself. Mentioning Lord Voldemort over dinner, even without saying his name, was a foolish idea. Hermione couldn't bring herself to care in that moment. Antonin _did_ drop his fork that time. It hit his plate with a loud clang that seemed to reverberate throughout their quiet corner of the restaurant. No one else around them noticed, but to Hermione, it was deafening.

"Don't deny it, Antonin. I can tell when someone has been under the Cruciatus Curse," she whispered. "I imagine that your _master_ had something to do with that. What happened?"

"You don't know what you're talking about, Hermione."

His tone had an overwhelming warning to drop the subject, but she was not deterred. Her morbid curiosity was overtaking her good senses. She had an overwhelming suspicion that whatever happened to Antonin was somehow her fault. It seemed silly and she was likely being both paranoid and self-centered. Even so, she could not shake that feeling in her gut.

"Yes, Antonin, I believe I do actually. He is a man who will stop at nothing to keep his followers in line. I warned you about him years ago. What happened?"

"Drop it."

She wanted to continue to argue with him despite knowing that she wouldn't get the answers she sought. Antonin could be frustratingly tight-lipped when he wished to be. To learn what she wanted, Hermione was going to have to be a bit sneakier in her actions. He wasn't just going to freely offer them up.

Dinner was tense. After several minutes of silence, Antonin attempted to strike up a discussion about current events. Hermione had to work extra hard to not bring up the fact that so many people around the country were disappearing or showing up dead in violent manners. She knew that he was at the very least associated with those who were responsible. It saddened her to think about him partaking in the violence, but she knew he was. She'd always known he would.

"Your cousin Rabastan should be returning soon, shouldn't he?"

"Yes, in just a few months. He's getting anxious to return home."

"Is he not enjoying his Tour?"

"No, he is, but I get the feeling in his letters that he is missing his fiancée."

"Oh, well, that would make sense."

Antonin smiled but there was no joy behind the expression. Hermione cleared her throat and took another sip of wine before speaking.

"They will be getting married almost as soon as he returns. It won't be as elaborate as Roddy's wedding, of course, but it still should be quite impressive. Uncle Regnault insisted that he have it at his manor instead of the bride's parents' home. They didn't mind."

Several minutes were wasted discussing the details of Rabastan's wedding. Hermione wasn't exactly looking forward to the event. Her memories of the last big Lestrange wedding weren't entirely happy. Though there were moments that still made her cheeks flush and her stomach clench, she would have been satisfied to purge that entire evening from her memory. She hoped that Rabastan's wedding to Solveig Selwyn would be a much more enjoyable affair.

"Should I expect to see you there?" she asked. Though he had been in the same group of friends at Hogwarts with Rabastan, Hermione wasn't sure how close their friendship actually was now that they were years away from school. "Are you dating another cousin of the bride?"

"No, but I wouldn't be opposed to dating a cousin of the groom."

They were both teasing each other, but there seemed to be more than a little hint in his words. Hermione didn't know what to say in response that wouldn't be rude. She wasn't interested. It didn't matter that she was lonely. It didn't matter that there was so much history between the two of them that she felt confident they could fall back into a comfortable routine. Antonin was her past and she still held out the hope that Kingsley would be her future. If she even entertained the idea of falling back with Antonin again for a second, she might miss out on another opportunity for happiness with the wizard she really wanted. The previous year had been all about patience. She wasn't going to settle.

"Relax, Hermione. I'm just teasing you."

Though Antonin was smiling, she wasn't fooled. She knew that if she gave him only half a reason to think she was interested, he would pursue her again. Realizing she wasn't going to respond, he tried to fill in the silence with the first topic that came to mind. Obviously, it was something that he'd been trying to keep from bringing up throughout the entire meal.

"You said the other day that you and Selwyn are just friends."

Hermione rolled her eyes. This was growing tiresome. Why could he not just trust her words?

"Yes, Antonin. What is your point?"

"If he's your friend, you need to encourage him to rethink his decision to say 'no' to the Dark Lord. He is growing tired of being rejected."

"I have no control over his choices. What's the big deal? He's going to accept eventually."

"How can you know that? The Dark Lord has approached him twice already. Each time he has refused."

A busy restaurant in the middle of Diagon Alley was not the best place to have this discussion. Hermione was ready to call it a night. Whatever Antonin hoped to accomplish with this dinner was not happening. She dabbed at her mouth with her napkin and placed it on the table next to her plate.

"I think I should go home. This is not the place, Antonin."

He reached across the table to gently grasp her wrist. It wasn't harsh in the slightest, but Hermione's mind immediately went back to the night in Knockturn Alley when he twisted her wrist so hard that it almost broke. If there had been the slightest chance that she was going to move beyond their past to entertain even a close friendship, that moment was gone.

"Please don't go, Hermione."

"I don't want to talk about this in public."

"Then let's go somewhere else."

Antonin waved down the server who rushed across the restaurant. Only minutes later they were both outside on the pavement walking down the Alley. Hermione was reluctant to follow her ex-boyfriend. She knew once they were alone their conversation was only going to grow more intense.

They stopped walking in front of a building only a few steps down from Igor's building. Already Hermione was impressed. If he was bringing her to his new flat, here was proof that Antonin really was making significant more money in his new job. She didn't want the details of what his position entailed.

Once inside his flat on the first floor, Hermione found it impossible to relax. Even though the main room was designed to be comfortable and warm, she felt a chill lingering in the air. Maybe it was just because of the nature of the conversation she knew they were about to have. Any time Voldemort was the topic of discussion, she knew it wasn't going to be enjoyable.

"Fuck!"

As Antonin tried to coat his flat in silencing spells, his wand slipped out of his hand. Hermione watched him bend over to attempt to pick it up. The tremors from earlier were back in full force. It took him several tries.

"You have nerve damage," she explained. "Every time you have the Cruciatus Curse applied in the future it will get worse and take longer for you to recover."

"How do you know so much about Unforgivables?" he snapped. His anger and frustration was clear. "How does the perfect little Hermione Dumbledore know anything about the Cruciatus Curse?"

"What do you want to talk to me about, Antonin? I'm ready to leave."

She could see that he was warring with himself internally whether or not he wanted to continue his line of inquiry. It didn't matter how many times he asked, Hermione wasn't going to tell him about her past experiences.

"You weren't wrong," he admitted. "Back at the restaurant. My actions on Wednesday displeased him. That's why it was so important that I meet you tonight."

"Your actions? What are you talking about? What did you do on Wednesday?"

"I was ordered to stand outside the shop and wait for you."

Hermione was surprised that he was being so open about his master's demands. Knowing that she was the cause for his punishment made her sick to her stomach. What could he possibly mean?

"To what purpose?"

"I don't know what your _relationship_ with the Dark Lord is, Hermione, but he is not happy that you haven't made a more permanent alliance."

"You mean, he's upset that I haven't allowed him to Mark my arm and turn me into one of his mindless, murderous puppets?"

He did not appreciate her remark. Antonin's eyes flashed with an anger she was all too familiar with. She slipped her hand in her pocket to grasp her wand. If their discussion went badly, she was going to be prepared to defend herself.

"What I don't understand, Hermione, is that you're more than happy to _fuck_ the Dark Lord, but you're not willing to be a part of his movement to build a better world."

The moment his hate-filled words dripped out of his mouth, Hermione had her wand pointed in his face. She was so angry she could feel raw magic running through her veins begging for an outlet. He could be so cruel. There were times that she knew he chose his words specifically for the amount of pain they were going to inflict.

"You don't even understand what you are talking about, Antonin. Don't _presume_ to know anything about my life. You're not a part of it anymore."

"And whose choice was that?"

" _Yours_ … when you couldn't look past my history with Igor."

She really didn't want to have this argument again. Her decision to accept Antonin's invitation to dinner had been a terrible idea. She wasn't sure what she hoped to accomplish, but it hadn't worked.

"I don't want to argue with you, Hermione."

"Then don't. Just explain to me _why_ you were tortured by your precious Dark Lord and let me go about on my way."

" _Why_ don't you want to be a part of us?"

"Is that it? You were ordered to try to convince me to be one of _you_?"

Antonin sighed giving her all of the confirmation she needed to know that she'd discovered the truth. It concerned her to know that Voldemort was resorting to such tactics. He was no longer content with her just providing him with names of potential recruits. The Dark Lord would not be happy until she had his Mark on her arm and her life at his command. She didn't know what to do. Life was about to get much more dangerous. If she continued to refuse, she would be in trouble.

"I'm worried about you."

His tone was much softer, more like the old Antonin she loved. Ignoring the wand that was still pointed in his direction, he closed the distance between them. He placed his hands on the outside of her upper arms and stared in her eyes. Hermione's breath hitched the closer he got. She did not lower her wand.

"You have a target on your head, daragaya. It's only a matter of time before you get hurt."

He moved to kiss her, but she stepped back before he was successful. She did not even want to entertain the _idea_ that she was willing to pursue another relationship with him. The moment she stepped backwards, Antonin sighed again and closed his eyes. His disappointment was clearly written all over his face. Knowing that she needed some space, Hermione headed towards the front door. Before she stepped outside, Antonin spoke once more.

"Be careful. The Dark Lord isn't going to give up on you."

* * *

June 4, 1976

 **7:01 pm**

Showing up for dinner at Regnault Lestrange's home even a minute late was enough to earn Hermione a stern lecture from Rosie the house-elf. Hermione stood in the entrance hall of the manor patiently listening to the squeaky voice berating her for not showing her Uncle Reggie the proper amount of respect he was due as the Head of her family. She had been in the past for five full years but her relationship with the house-elf had not improved. Once upon a time it bothered her tremendously, but Hermione was no longer annoyed.

As soon as the elf finished her lecture, Hermione headed down the corridor to the study where she knew the other guests would be gathered. Rabastan was returning from his two-year Grand Tour and a welcoming dinner was being served. She knew to expect the Selwyn family, but was unsure who else might be attending. Somehow, she had been able to make it several months without a repeat of running into Lord Voldemort. It made her nervous, like she was always waiting to turn a corner and run directly into him. Antonin's warning stuck with her.

Ordinarily when she was running late to one of her uncle's dinners, she could hear sounds coming from the study as she walked down the long corridor. The complete absence of sound made her anxious. It usually meant that she was about to walk into a room with a very angry Regnault. No one enjoyed that. Knowing that it would better to get the inevitable second lecture of the night over with as soon as possible, Hermione sped up her steps to get there faster.

There was only one person inside the study. Seated in Regnault's favorite chair sipping on his favorite fire whiskey was Silas. Hermione rolled her eyes and sighed. She knew to expect to see him that night at some point, but she assumed it would be in the midst of a large group of people. He looked up at the sound of her footsteps to wink. Not wanting to waste a moment, Hermione crossed to the table holding the premium fire whiskey to pour herself a drink.

"I thought I was late," she declared as she sat down in the chair next to the only other occupant in the room.

"Technically, you _are_ , but there was a delay with their international portkey. Rabastan and Sal should be here shortly. While we were waiting, your uncle took my parents and my sisters to see the preparations for the happy event happening next week. I offered to stay behind to greet you."

"How polite of you."

It felt awkward to be alone with Silas. They hadn't been in the same room by themselves since the incident in the library. Hermione still wasn't sure what it was that prompted her to kiss the arrogant wizard. Likely it was a combination of the alcohol and the challenge he presented her with.

She wanted to ask him what he had been up to since they had last seen each other, but she wasn't sure how to word it. Flat out asking him if he had been recently approached by an evil wizard labelling himself as the Dark Lord seemed inappropriate. She was curious though. Another of Antonin's warnings to her had been to encourage Silas to take Voldemort up on his offer to include him in his ranks. It was a surprise that he was being so reluctant.

"I'm always willing to sit in an opulent room drinking premium fire whiskey while waiting for a pretty witch to arrive. Hardly a sacrifice. How've you been, Goldie?"

"I've been all right. How about you?"

He just smiled and took another sip from his glass. Even though she usually was of the opinion that he was more amusing when he was silent, it bothered her immensely that he wasn't saying anything. Hermione felt nervous being around him when he was so out of character.

"I had an interesting visit from your ex-boyfriend recently," he announced to her surprise. "Dolohov."

"What did Antonin want?"

Silas set his glass down on the table next to the chair. Before he answered he turned in his chair to face her head on.

"I think you have a good idea what he wanted. Said he'd actually spoken to you before about me. He was warning me that I shouldn't be so quick to not join your little group of friends."

" _My_ group of friends?"

In a single swift motion, Silas grabbed her left arm. He had it pulled across the arm of the chair before she could stop him. With his free hand, he pointed his wand at her arm and muttered an incantation. The glamour that she always wore to cover up her disgusting scar disappeared. Silas' eyes widened when he saw the hateful slur carved into her flesh. His grip slackened immediately. Hermione ripped it out of his hand and held it up to her chest in an effort to hide the scar.

"How dare you!" Her teeth were clenched to an almost painful degree. "You had no right."

"That's not what I was expecting to see," he admitted. "I've seen your arm shimmer before. Not hard to guess you had it glamoured. I thought you were hiding a… well, it clearly doesn't matter."

"You thought I was one of _them_?"

There was no reason to actually say the term 'Death Eater'. Silas knew what she was implying. He sighed and emptied his glass in a single swallow.

"You really aren't aware of your reputation, are you?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Maybe no one else is brave enough to say it to your face, but I'm not afraid of you. Your past relationship with a certain wizard making waves right now in society is widely known. I just assumed that you fell into believing all of that codswallop he and his ridiculous little followers believe."

Every word that came out of Silas' mouth only served to confuse Hermione further. She knew she wasn't wrong about him becoming a Death Eater in the future. That's why she hadn't hesitated to give up his name.

"Who carved that into your arm?"

His disgust at the scar was palpable. Hermione wanted to hex him straight in his perfectly straight teeth. As if it wasn't embarrassing enough that he saw Bellatrix's permanent reminder of a night she could never forget, he had to show how horrified he was. Clearly, he was yet another one of those Pureblood fanatics who hated to be reminded of those around them deemed of lesser blood.

"Doesn't matter. They're dead."

"The hell it doesn't matter, Hermione! Why would anyone _carve_ that into your skin? That's… _Fuck_ , no wonder you're not part of those arseholes' little club. Probably full of dozens of others who would do the same thing."

She was surprised to find that his disgust was at the actual act committed against her and not her less than Pure circumstances of birth. Had she completely misread him as a person?

"I just want to live a quiet life," she replied in complete honesty.

"That's all I want too. I'm not completely naïve to what they're up to, you know. I may be a fool for not casting my lot with them, but I just cannot abide people who would resort to using violence and intimidation to subjugate an entire portion of our world."

"You're not a Pureblood supremacist?"

Silas' derisive snort echoed through the room.

"Wrong Selwyn, Goldie. That's all my father's beliefs. I have nothing against Halfbloods and Muggle-borns. I was in complete support of Sybbie marrying a Halfblood. Maybe not Dolohov, per se, but I think that if we as Purebloods, especially those in the Sacred Twenty-Eight families, continue to only marry each other, we're going to die out."

"Are you not in support of your sister marrying my cousin?"

"No, I'm not. We need fresh blood. Anyone who understands anything about basic biology knows it's not good to interbreed to the point that we have. Solvie and Rabastan will have beautiful children, no doubt, but will they have magic? Three sets of teeth? A third arm growing out of their heads?"

The imagery of his statement caught Hermione by surprise. She laughed, causing the tension to finally break in the room. Silas smirked. She had clearly misjudged the Selwyn heir. He didn't seem like the type to become a Death Eater. Hermione wondered what it was going to take to make him change his mind. She would never forget the day she almost came face to face with him in the future at Luna's house. Even his voice, altered though it was, still rattled around in her brain.

"That's a horrifying thought."

"I agree completely. That's why it's important that we put aside these antiquated ideals of Pureblood supremacy and do what needs to be done to have the healthiest, most powerful society possible. I haven't married yet because I've turned down every single bride my father has found. I _will_ not contribute to the problem. Either I marry a woman I love who isn't a Pureblood or I die alone."

"I'm surprised that love is even a factor for you. I didn't think that you Purebloods even had the capacity."

He understood that she was teasing him and chuckled.

"Many of us don't. Be thankful that you managed to grow up outside the stagnant pond that is Pureblood society. You did not miss out on a thing."

Silas rose from his seat. He picked up his empty glass and Hermione's. Their conversation halted while he refilled their glasses. Only when he slipped her glass back in her hand did they speak again.

"It's dangerous to defy the Dark Lord," Hermione stated. She was seeing a different side to Silas than she ever expected to see and she wanted him to truly understand what his choice might bring. "You should be very careful around him."

"I'm not naïve, Goldie. I'm well aware that my decision may cost my life. These disappearances aren't just a coincidence. Despite that, I will remain firm in my convictions. I refuse to be a part of a group of people who would think that marring a witch's arm with a cursed blade simply because she wasn't of so-called 'Pure' blood is acceptable behavior."

She didn't know what to say. Either he was brave or foolish. In the end, it wouldn't matter. He would give in.

"My younger brother, on the other hand, is a wizard who shares our father's views. I have little doubt that he would make a different choice than I have."

"I don't know your brother well at all."

"And I would highly recommend that you keep it that way. While you are in your uncle's home, you are safe, but there's much about my brother that I don't trust. He may very well be in full support of that scar you carry on your arm. You must promise me, Goldie, that you won't ever allow yourself to be alone with him. He's not as… not as _kind_ as I am."

The sound of a throat clearing loudly in the doorway startled them both. They each turned their attention to the latest addition to their small group. Silas' shoulders slumped. Hermione didn't care for the manner in which the wizard in the doorway was staring at her with an almost predatory grin.

"Now now, Brother. Whatever must Miss Dumbledore think of me now?"

As the first word came out of Salazar Selwyn's mouth in the same raspy, hoarse voice Hermione remembered, she had the sickening realization that she'd given the wrong name to Voldemort.

* * *

August 24, 1998

 **8:00 am**

He'd had all weekend to dread the meeting he was going to have first thing Monday morning. His anxiety was high enough that Kingsley hardly slept at all the night before. He was awake long before his early alarm was set to go off. There seemed to be little point in lying in bed dreading what was to come.

Very few people were in the Ministry when he crossed the main Atrium. Most of the officials were likely still tucked in bed. Even his personal assistant wasn't in yet, and Kingsley always got the feeling she was constantly trying to prove how invaluable she was by arriving long before he did and remaining long after he left. Or perhaps, she hoped to make a more _lasting_ impression on him. He had never had problems attracting witches in the past, but something about being the Minister for Magic brought them out in droves. A bit unnerving really. There was only one witch he was hoping to one day make his wife.

Kingsley settled down behind his desk with a stack of confidential reports that needed to be sifted through daily. The sheer amount of paperwork made him nostalgic for the days he was free to Apparate across the country chasing down the darkest of wizards. His job was tedious most days. More bureaucratic nonsense than he was prepared for. Part of him considered stepping down from his position once Hermione returned, but he knew she would tell him that he was wasting an opportunity to do some good in the world.

Long before he was mentally prepared for the meeting, there was a knock on his office door. Just as his grandmother had the week before, Neville Longbottom was there precisely at eight. Kingsley welcomed the young war hero into his office with a bright smile that hid most of his nerves. The war had changed the young wizard in immeasurable ways. Even the manner in which he crossed the Minister's office with purpose was reminiscent of his grandmother. Neville chose to sit down in one of the chairs on the opposite side of Kingsley's desk. This was clearly a business meeting.

"What can I help you with, Mr. Longbottom?" Kingsley asked as he lowered himself back into his own chair.

Instead of speaking immediately, Neville's gaze was locked on the shimmering liquid in the pensieve on the edge of the desk. Knowing that he was likely there for the exact same reason as his grandmother, Kingsley was prepared. Even the vials of memories from both Rodolphus and Umbridge were waiting.

"I don't wish to see them," Neville announced. "I've thought about it. Talked it over with Hannah all weekend actually. I don't want to see them like that."

"All right. I can understand and respect that."

"But I trust you, Minister Shacklebolt. You've proven yourself to be a good man. I think the Ministry got it right when they made this a more permanent position for you."

"Thank you."

Kingsley was very curious to see how the rest of this meeting would continue. If he wasn't there to view the memories, what did he want? Andromeda was of the opinion that Neville would be one of, if not _the_ , most powerful ally they could hope to have in the quest to free Rodolphus from Azkaban.

"Is it true that _he_ saved my life?"

"Yes, it is. Rodolphus Lestrange faked your death so the other Death Eaters wouldn't actually kill you. The night that your parents were… well, on the night in question there was an incendio spell cast in the Muggle neighborhood. It caught the attention of the Improper Use of Magic office. When they began scanning the area, they discovered the residual magic from the Unforgivables cast on your parents. A team of aurors and obliviators were sent there immediately. Mr. Lestrange was the one who cast that incendio. Without him doing so, we might not have been able to find and catch the perpetrators. He not only saved your life, but he made it so Healers were able to get to your parents in time to keep them from dying too."

The slump of Neville's shoulders broke Kingsley's heart. No doubt he was thinking the same thought that he was. Maybe it would've been better all around for the Healers not to have been able to save the poor kid's parents. A life in complete madness seemed like no life Kingsley wished to live. Regardless of his personal beliefs, it was absolutely the truth that Rodolphus saved _three_ lives that night.

"And Umbridge didn't test him for the Imperius Curse or test his wand?"

"No, she didn't. Her memories prove that and she has a signed confession that she didn't check him."

"Why wouldn't she?"

"She admitted to having a grudge against Mr. Lestrange. Something about humiliating her in a café and ignoring her feelings for him."

Neville's involuntary shudder at the thought of Dolores Umbridge's unrequited affection made both wizards laugh. Some of the heaviness that had plagued their meeting from the beginning dissipated slightly.

"What was it that famous Muggle said? 'Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned'?"

"Yes, very good, Neville."

He shrugged his shoulders.

"Hermione wasn't the only Gryffindor that liked to read."

The casual mention of her name made Kingsley's stomach clench. Though he'd had many conversations with Dean, and even Harry and Ron since their dismal first attempt, about Hermione, it still made him feel odd to talk about her with her classmates.

"What are you going to do with Mr. Lestrange?"

"I'll be perfectly honest with you, Neville. I am working with a small team to reinvestigate what happened that night. If we continue to uncover more proof that he was not only innocent, but that he behaved heroically, I am planning to pardon him."

"And you can do that?"

"As long as I have twenty-six esteemed members of the Wizengamot supporting my decision, yes, I can."

Neville's facial expression was serious. His eyes were focused entirely on the vials of silvery memories. Kingsley could only imagine how difficult it was for him to be only inches away from all of the answers he desired about the night that altered his life entirely. To _not_ look at them showed a presence of strength in the young wizard. He might have only been eighteen, but he was no longer a child. His childhood was over the night Bellatrix Lestrange and her cohorts stripped away his parents' insanity.

"My grandmother and I may be willing to offer you our public support. We are still discussing it, of course, but she was very adamant that we do _something_ to show our gratitude. She thought we might be able to help him get his sentence lightened, but if it's possible to grant him a pardon… well, I'll have to talk to her about it."

He stood up from his chair. Reaching across the large desk, Neville shook Kingsley's hand firmly.

"Thank you for your time, Minister Shacklebolt. We will be in touch."

Kingsley walked with Neville across the office. They shook hands one final time before he exited into the small reception area outside the door. He watched him for a few seconds until he heard the horrified shriek of his assistant.

"I've already told you, Ms. Hopkirk that you _cannot_ go in there. The Minister has a very full schedule today."

"It's all right, Gemma. I am always free to speak with Ms. Hopkirk. She is working on a very special project for me."

"What project is that, Minister Shacklebolt?" Gemma Farley began shuffling all of the pages of his calendar. "I don't see _anything_ with her name on it."

He held up a hand to stop the witch before she went into a full-blown anxiety attack. The woman was a little too serious about her job at times.

"It's nothing you need to worry about, Gemma. Please come inside, Mafalda."

Kingsley tried to pretend like he didn't see the smug look that Mafalda shot in Gemma's direction as he held the door open. Once the door was closed behind his new visitor, he gestured towards the comfortable chairs near the fireplace.

"Oh, no, I won't be here long enough," Mafalda announced. "I just wanted to see if I could finally take you up on your generous offer."

He didn't even have to ask what she was referring to. Several times he'd offered to pull some strings to get her a visit with Rodolphus in Azkaban. Each time she had politely told him she would think about it.

"Jack goes off to Hogwarts next Tuesday. Can we go Wednesday morning?"


	65. Chapter 65

_Author's Note: You are all amazing! I cannot believe the responses to the last chapter. Thank you so much for all of your words of encouragement. Quick note, I screwed up my math. Sigh. I had the wrong age for Jack. He should only be sixteen years old and in his sixth year. Grr. I hate when I make embarrassing mistakes like that. I have corrected his age in previous chapters where it was mentioned._

 _You know those weeks when life decides to heap a whole big pile of shit on you at once? Yep, that's what has happened with me these past two weeks. I had a horrible allergic reaction, my husband had surgery, he had annoying complications from the surgery (but is okay now), and we had a death in the family. I would apologize for the delay in updating this chapter, but life comes first. Hopefully, life will quiet down very soon!_

* * *

Chapter Sixty-Five

June 4, 1976

 **7:35 pm**

Hermione didn't like the way Salazar Selwyn was staring at her from the doorway. It was unnerving. Almost like he knew a secret about her that he was waiting to spring on her at the last second. Or that he had seen her naked before and was reimagining what she looked like underneath her dress. The smirk on his face detracted from the beauty of his features. Like his older brother and his two younger sisters, he was attractive, but unlike all three of his siblings, there was no warmth behind his eyes. In fact, there was something behind his green eyes that could only be described as 'cruel'.

"I'm afraid that you've given Miss Dumbledore some kind of horrible impression about me before we've even been given the opportunity to get acquainted," Salazar continued as he fully entered the room.

"How long were you standing there?" demanded Silas.

"Long enough to know that you think that our future brother-in-law's cousin should stay as far away from me as possible."

The clink of the charmed ice cubes landing in Salazar's glass as he prepared himself a drink from the side table seemed unnaturally loud in the room. Hermione felt ill at ease around the younger brother and he'd only been there for at most a minute. All of her previous encounters with the man had been polite nods at the gates of her uncle's estate and nothing else. He always gave off the impression that he was somehow too good to spend a moment in her presence. It honestly didn't bother her in the slightest. She'd had her fill of arseholes like him while a Muggle-born student at Hogwarts.

"And long enough to see you remove some kind of glamour from her arm."

Salazar was light enough of foot that Hermione didn't even hear him sneak up behind her chair. Before she could even react, her arm was gripped in his hand. There hadn't been time to glamour the hateful scar. The amused grin that appeared on his cruel countenance made her stomach twist.

"Lovely reminder of what you are."

He dropped her arm quickly enough that her elbow slammed against the armrest of the chair. The jarring pain was ignored. Long before her arm hit the edge of the chair, Silas was on his feet in front of her with his wand pointed at his brother. Far from being frightened, Salazar simply laughed.

"There's no need for heroics, Silas. As you said earlier, she's safe from me as long as she is in her uncle's home."

Hermione tried not to dwell on the very specific words he chose. There was almost a threat warning her that if she was away from the protection of her family, she was fair game. The glare on Silas' face and the fact that he still had his wand out proved he didn't care for it either.

The trio was interrupted by the sudden arrival of Hermione's younger cousin. Grateful for a reason to get on her feet, she pushed past the brothers to cross the room. Rabastan didn't seem fazed by the tension that was present in the study. Likely he didn't even notice what he'd just walked in on. As soon as they were close enough, he reached out to pull her into a warm hug. When they broke apart, she felt more at ease. Rabastan wouldn't let anyone hurt her, not even his future brother-in-law.

"I've missed you," she admitted. It was the truth. Though Rodolphus was her clear favorite, she had a special place in her heart for the younger brother. "I hardly recognize you!"

Two years away from home had changed her cousin in a noticeable way. Gone were the last rough edges of boyhood. He had always been handsome, but in the time since he'd been off traveling the world, he'd grown into an even more attractive man. His complexion was darker than his brother and his father, much more like his late mother. There were hints of Regnault in his facial expressions and his mannerisms, but it was clear that he favored the Rosier side of the family. It saddened Hermione to see him grow more into the terrifying man she remembered from the Department of Mysteries.

"It's wonderful to be home again. Well, for at least another week that is."

He would hardly be home before he and his new bride rushed off to a honeymoon abroad for several weeks. Somehow, Hermione got the impression that he wasn't going to be missing home much then. Rabastan was one of the only examples she'd seen of a couple happy to be arranged together in a marriage. Both parties seemed to be, at minimum, infatuated with the other. It was a great deal more than his elder brother entered his marriage with. She hoped it would be enough to ensure continued happiness as the years wore on. But, even if it didn't, she knew that his time before his imprisonment was limited.

Hermione plastered a smile on her face that she wasn't feeling to try to dispel any further depressing thoughts about her cousin's dismal future. Some of the tension that was present in the room before he arrived began to disappear. She knew it wouldn't be the last time she was forced into conversation with Salazar Selwyn, but for the moment, she would be content to use Rabastan as a shield from that unpleasantness.

Before there was even a chance for the study to grow awkward again, they were joined by the rest of the family. Rosie must have announced to her master that his son was home the moment he arrived. There was a great deal of laughter and kisses as the returning sons were welcomed by their families. Hermione was pleased to see even the usually stoic Regnault pull his younger son in for a warm embrace. She knew from their conversations over lunch that he had been missing Rabastan. The two of them were closer and seemed to understand each other better than he and Rodolphus ever could.

With a sly wink in Rabastan's direction, Regnault led everyone but the engaged couple out of the study to the formal dining room just down the hall. It was kind of him to give them some time alone for the first time in two years. Inside the dining room, Hermione headed straight for her usual chair at the table. Silas was right behind her to pull the chair out. Just as he pushed her back in and started to reach for the empty chair next to her, Salazar slipped into the seat.

"You had the pleasure of Miss Dumbledore's company for quite a while in the study, Brother. Allow me the opportunity to get to know her better over dinner."

There was no real reason to argue with his request without causing a giant scene that no one wanted. Silas looked at Hermione, begging her without words to give him a reason to forcibly remove his brother from the chair. Though she wanted him as far away from her as physically possible, she didn't give Silas any indication that he needed to pursue an argument. He nodded once and walked around to the other side of the massive dining table to another empty place setting.

None of that went unnoticed by Regnault. He had already gone so far as to actually tease Hermione several times about her friendship with Silas. His hope was that there was something happening between them that could one day blossom into another advantageous marriage for the Lestrange family. Certainly the heir to the Selwyn family was a covetous prize for an illegitimate Halfblood regardless of what family she came from. Her uncle was a perceptive man who never missed anything that happened in his presence. She knew to expect him to find the fact that the two brothers were falling all over themselves to spend time in her presence a very interesting development.

"You don't mind that I sit here, do you, Miss Dumbledore?"

"Of course not, Mr. Selwyn. It's my pleasure."

Hermione thought she might be physically sick if she had to continue to tell such blatant lies. The handsome, unnerving wizard found her amusing. The same predatory grin she remembered from earlier made its reappearance as did the same twisting in her stomach. She found it odd that one person could make her so ill at ease with just a glance.

Maybe it wasn't just the wizard. She hadn't had time to process the fact yet that she had given Voldemort the name of the wrong Selwyn brother. That was something that she was sure would keep her awake long after she'd climbed into bed that night. Determined to not dwell on her worst fears until she was far away from the group she was in, Hermione tried to engage in the activity going on around her. Regnault would not allow the first course to be served until his son and his fiancée were in there with them. As the minutes ticked by with no return of the happy couple, the amused atmosphere around the table grew. Finally, Rodolphus stood up from the table.

"Excuse me for a few moments while I rudely barge into a private moment I am sure I will regret."

Laughter followed him out into the corridor. Hermione could feel the gaze of her dining companion so she kept her eyes firmly on the ornate silver candelabra in the center of the table. Perhaps if she was lucky, she could get through an entire meal without having to exchange a single word with Salazar. Even without being able to See all aspects of the future, she knew that any discussion she had with him would be _uncomfortable_ to say the least. She was going to do all that she could to follow Silas' advice to stay away from him.

Just as it seemed that Salazar was going to open his mouth, Rodolphus returned with his proud younger brother and the blushing, but smiling bride-to-be. Hermione felt a pang of jealousy knowing that in just a matter of days they were going to be married. Though she knew that she wouldn't want to be married in the past, she was growing weary of being alone. It was unsatisfying. As more time passed since the perfect New Year's she spent with Kingsley, the more she missed him. She knew that he would eventually be single again and they would finally get together, but it was getting harder to remain confident in her waiting. Holding out for the wizard she wanted instead of any of the others that looked in her direction was getting gradually more difficult. She hated herself for allowing her own envy to color her cousin's happiness.

To her relief and surprise, Salazar seemed more interested in speaking with everyone else at the table than he was with her. Hermione felt herself relax just a tiny bit as the meal wore on. Regnault had ordered an elaborate meal from Rosie of all of Rabastan's favorites. There was enough food and wine to keep her mouth occupied. She foolishly hoped that if she remained as quiet as possible, she wouldn't have to speak to the younger Selwyn brother. Every time he opened his mouth, she remembered her mistake.

"I was always given the impression that you were a witch who never knew when to shut up."

The whispered words startled Hermione out of her complacency enough that she almost spilled wine down the front of her dress as she sipped. A quick scan of the area proved that no one else had heard Salazar's softly spoken statement. She willed her heartbeat to slow down to a less dangerous rate before turning to face the wizard.

"I am not afraid to speak my mind when I have something to say, if that's what you are referring to."

"Of course you aren't. Seems like you don't have a lot of fear at all."

"No, I don't. _You_ certainly don't frighten me."

"Looks to me like you had someone to fear at one time. That mark on your arm. The person who did it still around?"

Hermione's instinctive reflex made her look up from her plate to lock on to the horrible woman responsible for the scar that would never go away. Bellatrix had not grown bold enough yet to make any attempts to make Hermione's life miserable, but she knew that it would only be a matter of time before the snide remarks and hateful glances manifested into something physical. It still seemed weird to Hermione to think about the fact that Bellatrix still had that night of torture in Malfoy Manor in her future though it was already in _her_ past. She wondered what thoughts must have gone through the witch's head when she saw Hermione Granger that night. Did she recognize her or had all of those years in Azkaban completely stripped her of all coherent sanity?

"No, they're dead." She hated that she wished she was the one to wield the wand that finally killed the crazed lunatic instead of Molly Weasley. Even before she'd been tossed into the past, Hermione wanted to kill Bellatrix.

"What a pity. I so would have liked to shake their hand for providing an abomination like you a permanent reminder of where you stand."

Being called a 'Mudblood' in her past had been painful. The first several times she heard the word her first year, she didn't know what it meant. It was clear by the tone of voice used by those who uttered the foul slur that it was nothing to be happy about. Several months into her first year at Hogwarts, Hermione pulled Percy Weasley aside one night in the Gryffindor Common Room to whisper the word to him and ask him what it meant. Ordinarily a stoic, stuffy young man, Percy's fair complexion flushed as crimson as his hair. His anger that anyone would say something so terrible to her had warmed her heart. It made her not feel quite so alone knowing there was at least one person out there who cared. No one, however, had ever called her an 'abomination', and certainly not in the seventies.

"Oh, dear. Have I offended you?"

Hermione didn't want to give the cretin the satisfaction of knowing that he bothered her with his hate-filled words. He seemed the type to relish in the power. Instead of responding, she looked around the table to see if anyone else was witnessing what was happening. Rodolphus might cause him bodily harm for his remarks. Regnault, though not a fan of her less than Pure heritage, would never stand for his family to be insulted in his home. Unfortunately, no one else heard Salazar. She wondered if he'd cast a spell similar to Muffliato and decided he likely had. If she could stand up to both Lord Voldemort and Fenrir Greyback without showing fear, she could do the same with Salazar Selwyn.

"In order for me to be offended by something you've said, Mr. Selwyn, I must first possess a high enough opinion about you to care. Fortunately, I care less than nothing about your opinions."

She amused him. At least, his silent chuckles and the slight shaking of his shoulders made it seem so.

"All of the stories about you being a high and mighty cunt don't give you enough credit, Miss Dumbledore. You are much worse than they say."

"I will accept those words out of _your_ mouth as a compliment."

"They certainly weren't intended that way. Perhaps I should finish the job that that person started on your arm. You clearly haven't learned your place yet."

"I know _exactly_ who I am and where I belong. This is my family's home that you are a guest in. You would do well to remember that."

Salazar laughed again. Hermione resisted the urge to pull her wand from her pocket to point at the guest. Listening to another of Regnault's lectures about proper etiquette at a dinner party was the last thing she wanted. No, it would be better for everyone involved in no one else at the table was even aware of how he was speaking to her. She didn't need to start a feud between the families so close to the wedding. Simply making it through the meal to the final course was her highest priority.

"You should have been exterminated the moment you slithered out between your mother's thighs."

Despite trying her hardest, Hermione wasn't able to keep the horror she was feeling at his crass words from appearing on her face. What was wrong with this man? When Silas warned her about him, she'd only been slightly alarmed. When she didn't respond to his statement, Salazar continued.

"Halfbloods are worse than Mudbloods. At least Mudbloods are accidents born of ignorant, filthy Muggles. Halfbloods are cretins born deliberately when a witch or wizard of Pure ancestry decides to forget their heritage to fuck an animal."

"I see. So you are of the opinion that the only good Halfblood is a dead Halfblood, I take it?"

He smiled at her, showing all of his perfectly straight teeth. If she hadn't known what a horrible excuse for a human being he was, she might have thought he was attractive. Just like the former Tom Riddle, he was another of the pretty monsters. How many people were going to be lured into a false sense of security when he smiled at them? She didn't want to think about how many people he was going to murder in the future. It was another moment she couldn't stand to be a time traveler knowing about events no one should.

"There might be some use discovered for them at some point in the future, but I won't hold my breath."

Their conversation was halted to Hermione's immense relief by Regnault addressing Salazar directly with a question about his travels. The spell that she was so positive was cast around them was lifted, and the rest of the meal passed without the wizard speaking to her directly again. When Regnault rose to his feet to indicate the meal was at its conclusion, she actually sighed in relief.

Silas would not leave her side for a second for the duration of the walk through the gardens. Respecting that his guests likely would not appreciate the punishing pace he normally set when it was just family, her uncle strolled leisurely with Mrs. Selwyn on his arm. There was still a great deal to discuss about the wedding. Hermione appreciated Silas remaining with her as a shield against his brother.

"Are you all right?" he asked in a whisper as his eyes sought out where his brother was walking with their younger sisters.

"Yes, Silas, thank you. I'm fine."

"You didn't look fine over dinner. What did he say?"

"It doesn't matter."

He looked as if he wasn't going to drop the subject. Hermione had had enough of that night. She wanted to get as far away from all of the Selwyns as possible. No one, not even her uncle, stopped her when she turned around and headed towards the gates. All of the guests simply watched her disappear into the night air.

It wasn't safe to Apparate to the woods surrounding the Shrieking Shack. She had known that since the first time Greyback cornered her and pushed her up against the tree. Thoughts of Voldemort accosting her flashed into her mind too. There was a time in her life when she felt peace in the woods. She used to enjoy strolling through the trees to enjoy the sounds of the wildlife. There were good memories there too. Not everything was overshadowed by the terrible encounters.

Hermione stood at the rundown fence surrounding the supposedly haunted shack. Its reputation might have scared others, but she knew the true history. Long ago it had lost its mystique. It was just another structure in her life filled with painful and pleasant reminders. She leaned against the top rail and allowed her mind to wander to thoughts better left undisturbed.

Her conversation with Silas in the study had been enlightening. She had completely misjudged him. He might be obnoxious and full of himself, but he wasn't a Death Eater. If he continued in his adamant refusal to not join the Dark Lord, he was as good as dead. Was it her fault? Would she have to carry the guilt of her actions around for the rest of her life? She tried to convince herself that he would be all right. He was a seemingly intelligent, resourceful man. Surely he could disappear until tensions wore down. Maybe he was alive and well in the future living in another country.

She couldn't keep doing this. Providing names to Voldemort was not a harmless activity. Every time she saw Augie, she felt sick in the pit of her stomach. Would he have become a Death Eater if she hadn't put him in the path of his new master? She knew he was looking forward to being a father in a few months. Had she taken away his future with his family because of her fear for her own life? Even if Voldemort followed through on his promise to reveal what he thought he knew about her past to her uncle, she knew that she had to stop. There was already a target on her back even without her refusal to provide him with new recruits.

"You know there are dangerous werewolves in these woods, right?"

The deep voice seemed to appear out of nowhere. Hermione jumped slightly and immediately hated herself for reacting at all. She answered without even turning to look over her shoulder. There was no need. She knew who she would see if she did.

"It's not the full moon yet."

"No, but werewolves don't have to be transformed to cause harm."

"I'm well aware of that fact."

Kingsley stepped closer to stand next to her at the railing. The feel of his sleeve brushing against Hermione's bare arm caused her skin to erupt into goosebumps. His appearance in the woods was unexpected, but clearly, her body was relishing in his close proximity. She squeezed the rail at the top of the fence until her knuckles turned white. Neither of them spoke for what felt like several minutes.

"What are you doing out here, Hermione?"

She shrugged her shoulders, unsure what to say. Or rather, she had a great deal she _wanted_ to say, but very little she _could_ say. Kingsley didn't deserve to carry her burdens with her no matter how much she wanted to tell him the full truth. He had done nothing wrong.

"I just left my uncle's home."

"Ahh, well, that makes sense. I'm glad you're not crying this time. I hate when you cry."

There was nothing but sincerity in his voice. Hermione turned to face him for the first time with the hint of a smile. It felt like it had been an eternity since the last time they were alone. Her thoughts never travelled far from the only night they were together when he was close.

He seemed _tired_. She couldn't think of any other way describe him. The war was escalating all around them every day and as an auror, he was right in the thick of it at times. She wondered how many hours he was working and when the last time he'd had a decent night's sleep was.

"No, no crying tonight. Why are you out here anyway? Don't you live in London now with the Prewetts?"

"Yes, but I just got off a double shift. Wanted to go home and sleep for six days. Fabian wasn't there and Gid was alone with Caradoc. Definitely didn't want to be stuck in the flat with the two of them in the next room."

She couldn't help but laugh. And she also couldn't blame him for wanting to avoid the happy couple.

"Granny doesn't mind when I come to stay with her sometimes. It's quieter there and she doesn't make me weed the garden like Mum does."

"You didn't have somewhere else you could stay instead?"

Hermione wanted to come right out and ask him why he wasn't staying with Emmeline instead of his grandmother. It seemed logical that he would sleep over at his girlfriend's home. Kingsley was an intelligent man. He understood what she was getting at without needing the actual words. His laughter rang through the otherwise quiet night.

"Are you asking me why I'm not spending the night at my girlfriend's?"

She hated that she was so obvious, but nodded her head to his continued amusement.

"Emmeline is no longer my girlfriend."

His admission was so matter of fact that Hermione had trouble believing what she was hearing at first. There was little emotion behind his statement. She found that curious. They'd been together for a long time and from outside appearances, they seemed happy.

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"Are you really?"

There was teasing in his voice. Hermione fought the urge to lean up and kiss him. It wouldn't do to be too eager. He had hurt her and he needed to prove that he wasn't going to do it again any time soon. Rushing into anything with him might be fun, but it wasn't wise.

"Honestly? No, I'm not sorry."

Hermione pushed back from the fence to get a better look at Kingsley laughing. The night that had started off so terribly was getting better. There no longer seemed to be any reason to stand in the shadow of the Shrieking Shack sulking. Following her lead, Kingsley trailed behind her back to the path that led to the village.

It was a beautifully clear night. Both enjoyed simply being in the other's presence as they walked home. They didn't feel the need to speak again until they were outside of The Hog's Head. At the front door, Kingsley smirked.

"Want to sneak me back into your bedroom again?"

 _Yes_ , she thought, but it was a terrible idea.

"Will you be at my cousin's wedding?"

"I wouldn't miss it for anything."

Hermione opened the door, the sound of the boisterous patrons spilling out. There was still plenty of time for them. Perhaps they would finally get that kiss in the gardens they'd missed out on two years earlier. She smiled at the wizard a final time before stepping inside.

"I'll save you a dance," she promised.

* * *

September 2, 1998

 **8:01 am**

There was a large part of Kingsley that felt like he'd spent most of his life waiting. From the moment he first saw a fifteen year old Hermione Granger on the staircase at Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, he'd been waiting for the day that she returned to his life. If he allowed himself a moment to even contemplate the possibility that she wouldn't return, he wasn't sure he would be able to pull himself out of bed each morning. His granny would be the first one to tell him that his life shouldn't revolve around another person, but he couldn't help it.

That particular morning, he was waiting impatiently for the arrival of Mafalda Hopkirk to his office. Due to his position as the Minister, he was able to pull some strings and throw around some political clout that allowed him the chance to bring a civilian to the prison for a visit. Though there was a great deal of reform happening on the island, Azkaban was not to the point yet where prisoners were allowed visitors. Kingsley had to tell a tiny white lie about Mafalda's true purpose. They'd planned the visit the week before. She wanted to wait until her son was safely tucked away in Hogwarts Castle before she visited his father. Only a minute past the hour, he looked up to see her cross the threshold into his office.

"Are you ready?" he asked, his three simple words holding a great deal of meaning.

Mafalda sighed and nodded her head.

"As I'll ever be."

Kingsley led her over to his desk where a portkey was waiting for their touch. Knowing that she was about to have one of the more difficult and intense meetings of her entire life, he had nothing but respect for the confident manner in which she carried herself across the office. Her hand trembled only slightly before grasping the dented tin.

The guard on duty wasted no time ushering them towards the interview room that Kingsley had had several visits with prisoners in over the previous several weeks. When they stopped just outside the door to wait for the guard to unlock the door, the Minister could feel the anxiety rolling off Mafalda in waves. He placed his hand on her shoulder to give it a reassuring squeeze. She gave him a nervous half-smile.

They were ushered in rather quickly by the guard. It seemed imperative that he get the door shut behind them as quickly as possible. Likely the guard didn't want to linger too closely to the dangerous prisoner.

Rodolphus didn't even look up until the sound of the door clanged shut. Every time Kingsley saw him he seemed to grow even more solemn and depressed. He felt a surge of determination to get the wizard out of there sooner rather than later. It was clear he wouldn't last much longer in those conditions.

"Mafalda? What are…"

His light green eyes widened at the sight of his former mistress standing only feet away. Already tears were rolling down Mafalda's cheeks. It had to have been a shock to see the once strapping, healthy wizard reduced to a mere shadow of his former self. She stepped hesitantly toward him, but stopped when she spied the heavy chains keeping him in his chair.

"Fuck it," Kingsley muttered. Despite knowing it was entirely against the rules, he pointed his wand at the constraints. "Make it quick."

Mafalda was in Rodolphus' unchained arms in seconds. Few times in life had Kingsley felt more like an intruder. He wanted nothing more than to avert his eyes from the couple, but seeing as how he'd already unrestrained the prisoner, he felt a responsibility to keep watch on the wizard's movements. Even if those movements included kissing the witch soundly and running his hands all over her body as if he was still trying to convince himself that she was really there and not just some demented figment of his imagination.

"I've never wanted you to see me like this, my darling, but now that you're actually here, I don't care anymore."

"Roddy!"

Mafalda threw her arms around his neck and wept on his shoulder. Somehow witnessing Rodolphus attempt to soothe the distraught woman down with soft words and tender touches felt even more intimate. Kingsley dropped his eyes to the stone floor. They needed a moment entirely to themselves and that was the closest he could offer. If there was ever a man alive who understood the bittersweet joy that could come from a reunion of lovers…

Kingsley cleared his throat. With a great deal of reluctance, Rodolphus and Mafalda broke apart, but even as they all say down at the table, their hands never unclasped. Each of them was drawing strength from the other. The simple change in the manner in which Rodolphus held himself up was remarkable. For the first time in many years, Kingsley was seeing a hint of the man he once was again. He couldn't hide the pleased grin even if he tried.

"Mafalda and I wanted to personally bring you an update to your case," Kingsley explained.

Rodolphus turned his full attention to the witch seated next to him.

"You have been working on my case? Why?"

"Because you don't bloody belong in here, Roddy! You are an innocent man."

Her passionate words struck a chord. Rodolphus released her hand and moved both of his clenched fists to his lap. Neither of his visitors knew what to expect next. When he finally spoke, his voice was slow enough that they had to strain to hear each syllable.

"I don't know where you get off believing I'm an innocent man, Mafalda, but I'm very sorry to disappoint you with the truth."

"Stop right there, Rodolphus Lestrange. I've never allowed you to give in to self-pity around me and I'm not going to let you now."

Kingsley's eyebrows rose at the unexpected harshness of her tone. In the many years that he'd known the witch through the Ministry, he'd never once heard her raise her voice. This was a different woman entirely to the shy, quiet witch with the wispy hair that never seemed to stay in place. He could see the fire in her that had been diminished since the end of the first war. What Rodolphus found attractive about her suddenly made a great deal of sense. And he _still_ found it attractive if the amused grin that appeared on his whiskered face was any indication.

"I'm reminded of the night in the library right before our Potions NEWT. You wouldn't allow me to call myself stupid." Rodolphus lowered his voice. "And as I recall, you had a very _inventive_ idea to get me to calm down."

"Yes, well, I'd be willing to try something like that again if we didn't have an audience," she responded in an equally quiet voice.

Of course, neither of them spoke softly enough that Kingsley didn't hear. He wanted nothing more than to leave the two of them alone. It was uncomfortable feeling like the voyeuristic outsider, and it certainly didn't help that he had his own salacious memories about the Hogwarts library.

"I wanted to see you more than just once during the war, but it didn't seem safe."

"No, I understand, Roddy. You're right. It wasn't safe at all."

Rodolphus sighed. Seeming all at once to remember that there was a third person in the room, he turned a sheepish grin of apology to Kingsley. It only made the Minister laugh and long for Hermione's presence so profoundly that he almost couldn't breathe. She would've loved to see her cousin happy.

"I learned my lesson years ago to not argue with this woman, Kingsley. I'm doomed to lose every single time."

"Witches we love tend to have that effect on us."

"Yes, they do."

Mafalda's cheeks flushed red at the smile Rodolphus gave her. Kingsley hated that he was an interloper in what should have been a private meeting. There was so much that the two of them needed to discuss that he knew a single visit wouldn't be enough. Knowing that they needed to move the topic further along, Kingsley cleared his throat again. Truly it was beginning to become an obnoxious habit he couldn't control.

"I had a meeting with Augusta and Neville Longbottom yesterday," Kingsley declared to Rodolphus' shock. "They have offered their full and public support to get you exonerated for the crimes against the Longbottoms."

His statement was met with complete silence. Mafalda already knew. She stared at Rodolphus, almost as if willing him to say _something_. The prisoner blinked his eyes hard several times but did not say a word. Taking pity on the man clearly in shock, Kingsley continued on without a reply.

"We have enough evidence to prove that you weren't checked for the Imperius Curse and there are eyewitness accounts that you weren't behaving like yourself when you were arrested. It's possible that once we turn our findings over to the Wizengamot there won't be any opposition to your pardon for being a Death Eater."

"But, I did terrible things under orders. I deserve to be here."

"No, you don't!"

The sound of Mafalda's sudden shout startled both men. She was furious. Angrier than Kingsley had ever seen her before. Part of him wondered if he wasn't about to witness her strike the prisoner in her frustration with his words.

"You were under the Imperius Curse. You had no choice. Lesser men than you who were _not_ under the curse were set free after the war. I saw you that day. I stood feet away and you didn't even recognize me." Mafalda's voice softened with the influx of emotion she was no doubt experiencing from the recollection of such a painful moment in her past. "I tried to fight for you, Roddy, but no one would listen to me. And then that woman threatened me…"

"Who threatened you?"

Rodolphus was angry at the thought that anyone would come after the witch. He reached for Mafalda's hand and forced her to look him in the eye. Tears streamed down her face. Kingsley wanted to run. He knew this was about to be the moment when she confessed her biggest secret, and he didn't deserve to be there when it happened. This was private.

"Umbridge," she whispered. "She threatened to tell everyone that you and I had an affair if I didn't drop the whole thing."

"That horrid cow." Rodolphus' teeth were clenched so hard, Kingsley feared they might break. "It all comes back to her, doesn't it? I'm sorry that she threatened you, darling. I know it would've been difficult for you if anyone else knew about our relationship."

"It's not just that, Roddy."

He narrowed his eyes in confusion when Mafalda looked away again. She reached into the pocket of her robes to pull out a photograph. Laying it out on the table in front of Rodolphus, she spoke again. The wizard stared at the table but did not reach for the picture of the smiling Hufflepuff standing next to the Hogwarts Express with his mother.

"It wasn't myself that I feared for. It was… it was your _son_ I couldn't bear for her to hurt."


	66. Chapter 66

_Author's Note: So I'm beginning to think that my goal to finish this by the end of this month is a little bit ambitious. I'm still trying, but I think it's probably not going to happen. Oh well. : )_

* * *

Chapter Sixty-Six

June 7, 1976

 **8:50 pm**

Three days after the 'Welcome Home' dinner at the Lestrange Manor, Hermione wasn't surprised to look up from the bar at the sound of the bell tinkling above the front door of her father's pub to see Silas Selwyn enter. In fact, she'd been expecting him to visit much sooner than he had. She had actually been surprised that he did not rush after her that night to force her to answer his questions about his brother's behavior over dinner. He would have been disappointed by her reluctance to speak.

Silas smirked when their eyes met. He scanned the almost empty room for a free table. Finding one in a dark corner, Hermione rolled her eyes and smiled. If he was trying not to make it obvious that he was finding a private place to have a serious conversation, he was failing spectacularly. Aberforth spotted the new arrival and not recognizing him, began to demand his order in a gruff tone. Hermione stopped her father with a hand to his arm.

"I'll take care of him, Dad. He's here to see me."

"Another suitor?"

Aberforth's blue eyes narrowed slightly at the very idea that this wizard was there to bother his daughter. His opinion on who Hermione should end up with was firmly set on Kingsley Shacklebolt. She had lost count the number of times he'd brought the wizard up in conversation to ask what was happening between the two of them. Silas, as innocent as his visit was likely to be, was just another impediment to his daughter's happiness in Aberforth's view. For a wizard who was as secretive and private as his elder brother, he struggled to hide his true feelings when his daughter was the subject.

"No. Just a friend."

Though he didn't seem convinced by her assurance, Aberforth didn't stop her as she crossed the main room of the pub to Silas' table. She felt his eyes on her back the entire time she walked away. It was slightly more comforting than it was annoying. He really could be a bit overbearing at times, but it never ceased to warm her heart.

"Good evening, Goldie."

"Silas, how are you?"

He gestured to the empty chair across the small table. Only when she was seated did he finally answer her question.

"I have been better. Just had an interesting meeting with an acquaintance of yours actually."

"Who?"

"Perhaps it is better that he not be named in public."

Hermione didn't need any further hints to know that Silas had just spoken with Voldemort. Knowing that they would both need a little encouragement to get through what was likely to be an uncomfortable conversation, she pointed her wand towards the bar. One simple summoning spell brought a bottle of fire whiskey zooming across the room. Two clean glasses followed soon after. Once they each had their own glass in their hands, Silas seemed a bit calmer than when he first entered. Hermione sipped at her glass, not wishing to drink too much.

"Did you refuse him again?" she asked, though it didn't seem like she needed to hear the answer. It was clear just by the worried expression on his face.

"Of course I did. My feelings have not changed."

"Was he angry?"

"He wasn't pleased, that's for certain."

Silas knocked back the entire glass in one swallow. His hands were shaking too much for him to grasp the bottle. Hermione took it from him before he made a mess. Clearly, his meeting with the Dark Lord had been upsetting.

"You need to leave, Silas. Run away. Go to another country and just wait this all out. I can give you money if you need it."

The confident smile that he usually had wasn't fooling Hermione in the slightest. She could see the fear behind his blue eyes even if he was trying desperately to hide it.

"And miss my baby sister's wedding? I don't think she'd ever forgive me."

"I think she would forgive you for missing it if it kept you alive."

Silas closed his eyes and sighed. It was obvious that he had been trying to keep a positive mood since the moment he walked through the door. Hermione's blunt words were making continuing to behave as if he wasn't in as much trouble as he was that much more difficult. A tiny sliver of guilt cropped up in her that was quickly beat back down. She refused to feel guilty for speaking the truth.

"I don't even want to know what he said to you, Silas. It's not important. What _is_ important, however, is that it's no longer safe for you to be here. You need to leave."

"You think I should be a coward and be forced from the only home I've ever known?"

The bitterness in his tone was so unlike anything she had ever heard come out of his mouth before that Hermione almost didn't recognize him. She understood, theoretically, what she was asking him to do and she knew it couldn't be easy to turn one's back on their entire family for the sake of their own safety. Years earlier when she was alive in another time she put her parents' safety first. That was the only reason why she was able to walk away from them. Remaining behind would've meant their lives were forfeit. Being responsible for her parents' deaths was something she would have never been able to forgive herself for.

But could she honestly say that she would have made the same decision if it was only her life at stake? She _chose_ to follow Harry every single step of the way because she believed in him and wanted to do whatever she was capable of to help him in his task to defeat Voldemort. There had been no question in her mind what she needed to do at the time. Would it have been different if the only person she had to worry about had been herself? She was no coward.

"I think you should do whatever it takes to keep yourself safe."

"And what about you, Goldie?"

"What _about_ me?"

Silas' hands were a bit steadier than when he first arrived. The fire whiskey was already affecting him by allowing him to seem calmer. Hermione wasn't fooled by his more self-confident demeanor. He was terrified. As he poured himself a third glass from the bottle, he actually laughed at her question.

"You're not safe either, are you? The people you've chosen to surround yourself with aren't exactly friendly. I know part of it is because you aren't going to go against what your family does, but I don't understand _why_ you would associate with…"

Hermione cut him off with her raised hand before he said something hurtful. She knew to expect his line of inquiry. It wasn't unreasonable to want to know why she was so quick to encourage him to flee the country, but she was a frequent guest to the social circles inhabited by the Dark Lord and his followers. She knew she seemed like a hypocrite. Hadn't she worked hard at pretending that she was one of them when she was really wishing she could run in the opposite direction? And Silas knew that she had something of a history with Voldemort. She couldn't really explain that without telling him the entire truth.

"My reasons are _complicated_ , but trust me when I say I would run away too if I could."

"I have nowhere to run. No reason to leave home."

"Your life isn't important enough?"

It seemed strange even to her ears the level of passion in her tone. Her feelings for Silas had changed in unexpected ways over the previous several months. No, she wasn't interested in forming any kind of relationship with him, romantic or otherwise. He still got on her nerves when he spoke, but from the moment she realized that she had inadvertently put him in the path of the evil Lord Voldemort because of her interference, she felt a responsibility to the wizard. She owed it to him to save his life.

"Goldie, even if I am bloody terrified about what's going to happen to me, I still have my pride."

"Oh, fuck your pride. Do you know what happens to prideful people in times of war? They _die_. I should know. I've seen enough of it to last…"

Hermione snapped her mouth shut mid-sentence, but it was already too late. She'd said too much. Silas' curiosity at her impassioned statement was clear. How could she possibly explain to him what she meant without telling him more than he needed to know? She tried to think up a plausible lie, something that would satisfy his need for answers. When nothing suitable came to mind, she sighed. To her great annoyance, Silas smirked and chuckled softly.

"Let it never be said of Hermione Dumbledore that she isn't a lovely creature with a history full of fascinating secrets."

"Silas, before I came here…"

It was his turn to stop her rambling with only a gesture of his hand. Hermione was grateful for the respite. She wasn't certain what she had been planning to say. Likely something that she would've regretted the moment the words dribbled off her tongue.

"You keep your secrets. I don't need them or want them. Me knowing them might put you in even more danger than you already are."

He polished off his fourth full glass of fire whiskey in a couple of admirably large gulps. When the sound of the glass hitting the top of the table reverberated throughout the room, Silas rose to his feet. Hermione wasn't sure if it was because of their conversation, the amount of alcohol he'd just consumed, or a combination of the two, but he appeared a different man than the one who first entered. He reached into his pocket to fish out enough coin to pay for his drinks.

"Have a good evening, Goldie. I'm looking forward to seeing you on Saturday."

Without another word, Silas spun around and headed for the exit. He might have seemed confident and like he no longer had a care in the world, but Hermione couldn't shake the unnerving feeling that he was a man with an expiration date stamped on his back. It was all her fault.

Several minutes passed of her staring at the empty chair across from the table without her moving. She didn't have a good plan on how to remedy her mistake. If Silas wouldn't go into hiding, there seemed very little that she could do. An idea that she hated came to mind. Though she tried to talk herself out of it, she didn't know if she had any other option. Maybe if the words came from someone else's mouth he might listen. A summoning spell brought parchment and a quill flying to her table. She scribbled a simple note and rushed out the door towards the Hogsmeade Post Office. It was late, but there was always a spare owl or two available for emergency deliveries.

 _It is very important that I speak to you as soon as possible. Can we meet? – H. Dumbledore_

* * *

 **10:05 pm**

Even though it was early June, there was still a chill in the air as Hermione waited impatiently only steps from the Shrieking Shack. Or perhaps it was the location that was unnerving her enough to cause her body to be covered in goosebumps and tremble slightly. She didn't like being out in the woods alone at night. Every single second that passed while she waited in the darkness enabled her fear to grow in leaps. It had been a stupid idea to rush into a meeting, but she was running out of ideas. When the owl returned to the pub with the simple response of " _Shrieking Shack,10pm_ ", she didn't allow herself to overanalyze how much potential danger she could be in.

He was late. Hermione wasn't sure if it was a simple accident or an orchestrated reaction on his part. Maybe he wanted to make her feel like he had the upper hand. She thought it was unnecessary. If she was going to _him_ for help, clearly she was anxious enough to not be prideful. Every sound in the active forest seemed magnified as she waited. If the goal was to have her left feeling vulnerable and intimidated by the time he deigned to show up, he was successful. Only sheer desperation kept her feet firmly rooted to the ground. This wasn't just about her any longer.

"I apologize for keeping you waiting."

Hermione spun around at the sound of the familiar voice behind her. Even though she had been expecting him, Albus Dumbledore's sudden appearance from the shadows was startling. How the wizard could manage to make himself appear invisible was beyond her understanding. He'd proven it time and time again that he was a man comfortable skulking in the darkness. It was a trait she later came to understand more clearly about him the more she learned just what kind of man he was.

"We are growing closer to the end of term and final exams are approaching. Sneaking away from the castle in the middle of the night to rendezvous with a pretty, young witch isn't as easy as it seems."

She had to resist the urge to roll her eyes at the joke her faux uncle was trying to make. Wasn't it bad enough that she was ignoring every warning that was screaming through her head to not trust the Headmaster? Did she really have to listen to his pitiful attempts at humor as well?

"Thank you for meeting me, Uncle Albus."

Hermione stepped away from the fence she'd been leaning on to approach the wizard. Although her natural instinct was always to rush away from the devious man when she had an opportunity, it seemed safer to close the distance between them to have the conversation they needed to have.

"I confess that I was quite surprised to get your message, Hermione. I know that your feelings about me aren't exactly a well-kept secret, especially after that rather memorable tea we had in my office."

"I wasn't sure who else I could talk to."

"And you trusted me? How flattering."

His tone might have sounded sincere, but she was no naïve, little fool. Albus Dumbledore was every bit as skeptical and suspicious of her as she was of him. The only difference was that she had actual reasons to not like the man. His only problems with her stemmed from purportedly being the fruit of his hated brother's loins and for her refusal to spy on Voldemort on his behalf. It hadn't been difficult for him to exit the castle. Most likely, he'd been standing in the woods examining her for a long time before he made his presence known. If he had been there long before she arrived, Hermione would not have been surprised.

"Let's not waste time, Uncle. I have a friend who is in need. He is in trouble."

"Considering the kinds of people that you choose to surround yourself with, I'm not surprised."

"It's Silas Selwyn. He's an innocent in all of this. I judged him unfairly, but I was completely wrong about him."

Albus stood there silently looming over her as he seemed to consider her words carefully. In truth, Hermione didn't really know what she was expecting or hoping from the man. She just knew that he was _supposed_ to help good people. He created an entire resistance organization to combat Voldemort. There were whispers about it that she'd accidentally picked up a few times when certain guests at her uncle's dinner parties hadn't lowered their voices enough.

"Voldemort is going to kill him. I've tried to convince him to run away, but he won't go. Doesn't see a reason to."

"Then I don't see how I can possibly be of help."

"You have to know people who can hide him. Just until this is all over and it's safe again."

"Hermione, I'm not sure what you've heard…"

She rolled her eyes and groaned loudly.

"… but I simply do not have the resources to protect your friend."

"I can give you money. I have lots of it. Whatever you need."

The panic in her voice could no longer be disguised. If Silas was killed because of his refusal to join Voldemort, she may as well have been the one to wield the wand. It was _her_ fault. She wasn't prepared to just walk away without some kind of solution. Albus placed his hand on the her shoulder. The uncharacteristic physical touch startled her enough that she stopped rambling.

"I'm sorry, Hermione, but I can't help you or Mr. Selwyn."

"Is it because I refused to be your spy?"

Her uncle's demeanor shifted slightly to remind her of just how old he actually was. Though his wizarding genes would allow him to live comfortably for several more decades, the war that was escalating around him was already taking a lot of his strength from him. He sighed softly and squeezed her shoulder.

"No, it's not because of that. Money is not the resource I'm lacking. There just simply aren't enough people who are willing to fight for what's right. I'm sorry."

Hermione had had enough. Nothing else the wizard said would make it better. She didn't speak another word to him. Simply shrugged his hand off of her shoulder and spun around in place. Forgetting to be afraid of being caught alone in the darkest parts of the path through the woods to Hogsmeade, she took off running towards home without a second thought.

* * *

June 11, 1976

 **7:30 pm**

Rabastan Lestrange's wedding to Solveig Selwyn was not quite as grand as his elder brother's wedding had been just a few years earlier, but in everyone's opinion, it was much sweeter. The couple stood underneath the bonding spells with smiles brighter than the candles and lanterns floating around them. There was an excitement in the air that hadn't been present before. Rodolphus and Bellatrix married because it was their duty and it had been painfully obvious. Though their marriage was technically arranged by their parents, the newest married couple had years of correspondence and stolen moments in darkened corners at parties to make them look forward to a life together.

Hermione wished them nothing but happiness. It was difficult to sit through the ceremony with the rest of the Lestranges without her mind travelling into the future where she knew their family would be ripped apart in just a few short years. She wasn't sure if she was relieved by the fact that she would not be around for the worst part of it or not. Her future was every bit as uncertain as theirs. Was it any wonder that she was anxious to carve out some little piece of happiness for herself as she could in the limited time she knew she had left?

Kingsley arrived with his elder brother and parents shortly before the ceremony began. Hermione greeted the Shacklebolts at the front gates with her uncle, Rodolphus, and Bellatrix. Try as hard as she could, she couldn't hide how pleased she was to see the young auror arrive without a date. She didn't know the details of his failed relationship with Emmeline Vance and to be perfectly honest, she didn't care. With a whispered promise that she would have a hard time getting rid of him at the reception, Hermione couldn't wipe the grin off of her face. Her uncle and cousin both noticed but didn't say a word.

There were a number of traditional aspects of the wedding ceremony and dinner following that had to be trudged through before the fun of the reception could be started. Hermione dutifully sat with her family with a practiced content smile on her face as the time seemed to linger on and on. Only when the last of the dinner plates were removed from the tables and the last of the formal toasts were made to the happy couple did she begin to relax. She stood off to the side of the dancefloor underneath the same massive white tent that had been set up in the gardens to celebrate so many happy, and not-so-happy, occasions in the Lestrange family to watch the first dance.

She never ceased to find the differences and the similarities between Pureblood and Muggle wedding ceremonies fascinating. Aspects of the celebration that she would have once sworn were completely foreign to the wizarding society were prominent. Of course, there were parts that she could not have even imagined when she was just a simple girl with two Muggle dentists for parents unsure why she could make items move with her mind. With Bellatrix situated firmly as the female family member with the highest rank, Hermione hadn't been called upon to do as much for Rabastan's wedding as she had for Rodolphus'. It surprised her to discover she missed it. There was a beauty in the traditions she once called archaic and barbaric to her uncle's flushed and agitated face after they'd spent three uncomfortable hours in his study practicing bonding spells for his eldest son's wedding.

"I know I once told you that I preferred you in red, Little Witch, but I could get used to you in this dark green too. Even if you do look a little too Slytherin for my tastes."

Hermione snorted at the awkward attempt to compliment her gown. She turned her head to look over her shoulder where a smirking Kingsley stood. It hadn't been her choice to wear the emerald frock, but the bride requested that all members of the families wear clothing to honor their Slytherin pride. As an honorary sister of the groom, Hermione had been included in the fashion mandate. She considered arguing against it as the only non-Slytherin affected. In the end, however, she liked Solveig too much to not honor her wishes.

"And here I thought that you preferred when I wore nothing at all."

Her words were spoken softly enough that he was the only one who could actually hear them. Kingsley's eyes widened for a few moments before he burst out into the loud, booming laughter that Hermione loved so much. It was a sound she could no longer remember _not_ hearing. The wizard stepped closer to her back, removing all distance between their bodies, and leaned down to whisper directly into her ear.

"If I had my choice, you would be naked and underneath me right now."

She could feel her face flush at his heated words. Thoughts of the night they spent in her bedroom in the back of the Hog's Head flew to the forefront of her mind. She hoped that no one present was proficient in mind reading because her memories were definitely not appropriate. Determined to get some semblance of control over her traitorous mind and body, Hermione spun around to lightly slap Kingsley's arm.

"You are exceedingly naughty tonight. You should be ashamed of yourself."

There was no heat behind her words and she didn't mean them. Kingsley wasn't fooled. He chuckled again. His wink only made her cheeks feel even warmer. She was about to make her excuses to walk away to get some fresh air when the first dance was suddenly over. Couples all over the tent began to stream onto the dancefloor to really get the evening started. Before she could even formulate a thought of protest, Kingsley grasped Hermione's hand to pull her out onto the dancefloor.

It felt exhilarating to be back in his arms again. Even if it was for a formal dance. Kingsley knew his mother and her overprotective male relatives were watching. He wouldn't dream of putting a single hand out of place when they were in public. In private behind closed doors, however, he wasn't known for being a perfect gentleman. Hermione liked him best when he was relaxed. She thought it was a side of him that very few people ever got to see.

Conversation was kept light between the two at first. There had been little opportunity for them to speak in recent weeks. Hermione's work schedule remained exactly the same as it ever was, but Kingsley was frequently busy. His role as an auror in the Ministry was a busy one at present. Violence was escalating all over the country. He often found himself right in the thick of it. She would've worried more about his safety if she didn't know that he would survive _both_ wizarding wars.

There were many questions she wanted to ask. Many serious topics that she wanted to breach. For the first time in a very long time, they both were unattached. Was this finally going to be it? She wasn't naïve enough to believe that they wouldn't eventually have problems. All relationships did. But was this when they finally were going to share their lives? She hoped so. Waiting around had been a true test of character that she wasn't entirely certain she would survive again.

"How long have you and Emmeline been broken up?"

She didn't expect to be so blunt in her question. The words just tumbled out against her will. Though she was curious, she hadn't wanted to ruin what was shaping up to be a very lovely evening with questions about the past. Kingsley didn't appear offended.

"I broke up with her a few weeks ago."

"Thomas was suspiciously quiet about that fact."

"Yes, well, I don't share _everything_ with Tommy. Unlike you."

His wink was intended to soften the sting of his words. It helped slightly. Hermione knew there were some hurt feelings about the closeness of her friendship with his older brother. She hoped one day that she would be able to explain everything in depth. At some point, if she was able to make it back to the future, she wanted to tell Kingsley everything she'd ever told Thomas.

"Kingsley…"

"It's all right, Hermione. I like that you're friends with my brother. Hopefully, he puts in good words for his little brother."

Deciding that they were already in the middle of an awkward discussion whether she liked it or not, she asked another impertinent question.

"Why did you break up with her?"

They were twirling around the dance floor in perfect rhythm. She could see he was weighing his words carefully in his head. As each second passed, she grew more nervous. What could possibly have been so bad that he couldn't tell her the truth?

"Emmeline is a wonderful woman. She's beautiful, hilarious, very smart, and probably one of the kindest people I've ever met in my entire life. She's amazing."

"None of those sound like good reasons to break up with a person. Seems to me if she's that great, you should still be with her."

"No, those are all valid reasons why I _shouldn't_ still be with her. She deserves nothing but happiness. She deserves to find a wizard who is madly in love with her. That's not me. It's not fair of me to keep her when she's not the witch I want."

Kingsley's words affected Hermione profoundly. She didn't need him to elaborate on _what_ witch he wanted. Just the way his eyes settled on hers was the only answer she really needed. It truly felt that there was a shifting in the atmosphere. They were entering a new part of life. Neither of them were children anymore. In the years that she had been stuck in the past, Hermione had grown up every bit as much as Kingsley had. Though she wasn't convinced that they would ever stop growing up entirely, she could see more of the Kingsley from the future in the wizard across from her than she could see of the boy he once was. It was encouraging. Her patience in waiting for this moment only made it all the sweeter.

A gentle tap on Kingsley's shoulder ended the serious moment. Not expecting the touch, Kingsley jumped slightly, making Hermione both chuckle and worry about his nerves when he was out in the field. Hopefully he wasn't so jumpy when he was working.

"Do you mind if I cut in to dance with the young lady, Mr. Shacklebolt?"

Hermione could tell that Kingsley was looking for some excuse to say 'no' to her Uncle Regnault, but nothing was forthcoming. Finally deciding that he was better off relinquishing his partner for a few spins around the floor, Kingsley bowed to Hermione and stepped back.

"To be perfectly honest, Mr. Lestrange, if it was _any_ other wizard asking, I would tell them to bugger off."

Regnault was caught off guard with the younger wizard's honest answer. A sharp chuckle that was suspiciously close to being a snort came out of the proper Pureblood's mouth. He wasn't offended in the slightest. His eyes revealed his amusement long after he removed the grin from his face.

"I respect that, Mr. Shacklebolt, and I promise you that I will not keep my niece very long."

The men nodded to each other once more before Kingsley walked off the dancefloor. Hermione caught him mouthing the word 'garden' as he left. She smiled, looking forward to having a few minutes alone with him. If it was up to her, they would finally get to have the kiss they both missed out on at Rodolphus' wedding.

"I hope you don't mind me cutting in, Hermione."

She _did_ mind, but wasn't foolish enough to actually admit it. The more time passed, the stronger her relationship with her uncle had grown. They still could get on each other's nerves faster than any other person alive, but they were much closer. A mutual respect and admiration had been found. Hermione assured Regnault that she wasn't bothered by him running off her dancing partner. It took a few twirls around the floor before either of them spoke again.

"Beautiful wedding, Uncle. You must be very proud."

"Thank you. I _am_ very proud. Both of my boys are now settled down with respectable marriages. I can stop worrying about them. All that leaves me now is you."

Hermione didn't want to ruin a lovely evening by having another argument about her marriage prospects. Based on the expression on Regnault's face, neither did he. So why bring it up at all? She tried to keep her eyes from rolling and almost succeeded.

"You and the younger Shacklebolt seem very natural around each other. Have you mended whatever it was that happened between the two of you?"

Even though she knew she _shouldn't_ be surprised that her uncle was aware there was a history with Kingsley, Hermione was. He made it is his business to know everything he could about all of the members of his family. It was his duty to figure out who she was dating and what she was spending her time doing. At times, it was positively unbearable. Others, she found him endearing.

"Kingsley and I both hurt each other, but I think we can move on. Honestly, I'm curious to see what happens next."

"Are you not going to, what is the saying? Make him 'work for it'?"

Her laughter was involuntary. She wasn't expecting her uncle to ask her such an odd question. In truth, she'd wondered a few times what she would do when they were both single again. It seemed wrong to waste any more precious time just for the sake of injured pride that had long ago healed itself.

"No, I'm not. Why should I punish him for something I forgave him for a long time ago?"

"That's admirable. Many people in your position would be petty. I am glad to see that you aren't. I've noticed the way he looks at you for years. It hasn't changed as he's grown older. If anything, it's only become clearer that the young wizard is in love with you."

Their conversation was surprising. Few times in the previous five years could she remember Regnault speaking to her in such a tender, concerned tone. He sounded almost like the day they had lunch together when he spoke against wizards being violent towards their witches. Regnault Lestrange was a difficult man. He wasn't always very kind or modern, but in that moment, Hermione could feel how much he loved her. She was almost like the daughter he lost. Knowing that there was real love behind his words and actions, she could forgive him for hurting her in the past. He was learning to navigate a relationship with her just as much as she was.

"And when you look at him, Hermione, even those poor sods without eyes can tell you love him too."

"Uncle, he…"

"No, no, you don't have to explain anything to me, my dear. I only want you to be happy. Maybe I have been unable to show that to you over the years, but it's the truth. In my generation, in my way of thinking, it's inconceivable to imagine a witch being unmarried and happy. That's not how it's been done, but I'm learning, Hermione. I really am _trying_."

The last measures of the song faded away as the dancers stopped. Hermione leaned up to kiss her uncle's cheek. She understood that his confession had not been an easy one to make. It meant everything to her that he tried.

"Now please go run off to the garden to find your wizard. Don't keep him waiting too long."

Regnault kissed both of her cheeks before gently pushing her towards the exit of the tent. She didn't really need the encouragement. Her feet seemed to have a mind of their own as she rushed out to the sprawling formal gardens. If she knew Kingsley, and she was certain she did, he would be waiting for in the same place they almost kissed. The topiary garden was a bit of a hike from the tent, but she didn't care. They would have privacy at least.

Only steps from the tent she felt a hand grip her arm and pull her into a dark corner of the garden with a hideous weeping woman statue her uncle was rather fond of. Thinking at first that it was Kingsley trying to be spontaneous, Hermione tried not to worry when she was pushed against the cold marble with more force than she thought was really necessary. Everything happened in moments. It wasn't until the frighteningly handsome visage of Tom Riddle loomed over her that she got nervous.

"Forgive me for being so rude, Miss Dumbledore, but it seems like we haven't had the opportunity for a good chat in quite a while."

Hermione forgot to breathe at first. It wasn't as if she wasn't aware that the Dark Lord was an honored guest at the wedding. He had been seated on the same row as the Lestrange family, after all. There had been only the briefest of nods in each other's direction before the ceremony. She was used to being at parties and events with the terrifying wizard. Usually, he left her alone. To seek her out in the privacy of the gardens unnerved her to a startling degree. What could he possibly want?

"Yes, I suppose it has been awhile, my Lord. Are you enjoying the wedding?"

"Let's skip the pleasantries. You and I both know they're unnecessary. You have been avoiding me lately."

"My Lord? I'm not sure what…"

He cut her off before she could speak with a firm grasp of her arm. His face was only inches from hers. If anyone walked up on them at that moment, they would be mistaken for yet another happy couple seeking privacy out in the vast gardens. The thought of anything happening with the monster again made Hermione's stomach twist and clench. She would rather die.

"Don't lie to me. You have ignored all attempts I've made to _encourage_ you to join me. Why is that?"

"My Lord, my reasons have not changed. I still don't believe that I can be of any use to you. I'm nothing special."

It was an old argument she was tired of having. Why couldn't he just leave her alone? Or kill her and get it over with? She didn't understand why he was so obsessed with getting her to join him. His fascination with her didn't make any sense. Even if he just wanted her as a big 'fuck you' to her uncle Albus, it didn't explain his desire.

"You have displeased me."

"I am very sorry, my Lord. That was never my intention."

"First, you give me a worthless name of a traitor who refuses me at every turn…" She wanted to beg and plead for him to spare Silas, but she knew that would be a sign of weakness. The Dark Lord did not respond well to weakness. He might make Silas' death even worse if she begged for mercy. "… and you refuse to join me. Why?"

"I just wish to live a simple, quiet life, my Lord."

Unlike the two wizards she loved who had both laughed earlier in the evening, Voldemort's laughter did not warm her heart or make her smile. It only made her even more sick to her stomach. He was becoming every bit the monster she remembered him being as time went on. It wouldn't be much longer before there was no humanity left in him to speak of. How many horcruxes had he already made? She couldn't be positive.

"Lies. If you wanted nothing but a quiet life, you would've been married long ago. You can't fool me. I've seen inside your mind. I've been inside your body. You will never be content with mediocrity. Never be happy with just sitting in the background while all of the action goes on around you."

"I'm sorry, but I don't think I can be of any help to you."

Part of her wanted him to strike her down with an Avada where she stood. It would be over quickly and painlessly. Giving in to her fear and going along with his wishes would never be an option. How could she possibly return to the future, if that was even a possibility, to bare her arm marked with his disgusting symbol to her best friend? The thought was unconscionable. She had to be strong, even if it meant she wouldn't survive.

"As you wish, Miss Dumbledore. If you will not help me, if you will not join me, then I will remove you from under my protection."

A shiver she could not control went through her entire body at angry statement. She didn't understand what he meant about his protection, and she was too terrified to ask. Voldemort stepped back away from the statue. Just as he turned to head back towards the tent, he smiled at her. Hermione thought she was going to be sick.

"Do be careful tonight. It's a full moon. I would _hate_ to hear that anything happened to you."

She gripped Igor's locket as she watched the evil wizard walk away.

* * *

September 2, 1998

 **8:30 am**

"My… my _son_?"

Rodolphus continued to stare down at the picture without touching it. His confusion was clear. Though he knew there really wasn't a great way to tell the man that he had a son he didn't know anything about for sixteen years, Kingsley thought that it might have been handled a little bit better than _that_. Based on the horrified expression on Mafalda's face, it was clear that she hadn't been expecting to blurt out her greatest secret like that either.

"Oh, Roddy… I'm so sorry. I… I had this plan on how I was going to tell you."

"I hope it was better than that."

The amusement in the prisoner's tone caught both of his visitors off-guard. Instead of being horrified or angry by the news that he had a son, Rodolphus seemed to find the whole situation funny. He finally picked up the picture to get a better look. When he began to chuckle moments later, Kingsley worried that he had finally gone round the bend. Maybe he'd spent too many years locked up in that godforsaken prison.

"He does look a bit like me, doesn't he?" He stopped laughing but the pleased smile did not leave his face. Years fell off of his appearance. He almost looked like the man he used to be years earlier before they all experienced so much tragedy and pain. "What's his name?"

"I call him Jack, after my father. He just started sixth year."

Kingsley wanted to leave the room. This was not a moment for an outsider. He stood up from the table and crossed the room to get as far away from them as possible without opening the door. With his back towards the couple, he tried and failed not to eavesdrop on their conversation.

"I found out about him a week after your trial. I didn't tell you when I saw you during the war because… well, I didn't want…"

"You didn't want Bellatrix to find out about him." Kingsley saw Mafalda nod out of the corner of his eye. "Good thinking. She would've hurt him and hurt you. I just hate that you were alone all this time."

"I wasn't alone."

An uncomfortable silence fell over the room. The Minister didn't want to admit to himself that his curiosity was getting the better of him, but he turned around to witness what was happening. Rodolphus sat back in his chair and wouldn't look at Mafalda. There was a change to his countenance that was concerning. He seemed angry and hurt.

"Of course, it was foolish of me to expect you to not move on with your life after what happened to me. How could you even know that there might be a chance I would get out one day? Did you marry? Is he kind to our son?"

"Oh, you silly, jealous man!" Mafalda reached into the pocket of her robes to pull out more pictures. She seemed to find his question about her nonexistent husband to be entertaining instead of infuriating. "I'm talking about your father. He knew about Jack from the very beginning. See, here's one of him holding Jack the day he was born."

Several minutes passed of Mafalda explaining each of the pictures she brought with her. Rodolphus would ask a few questions, but mostly he listened and stared at the moving treasures with wide, misty eyes.

"Regnault insisted that I move into the Dower House on the estate the same day we found out I was pregnant. It took me a few days to agree, but I finally did. Jack and I have been living there ever since."

"I'm sorry, but that doesn't make any sense. After we broke out of Azkaban, I was _at_ the estate. The Dower House was in ruins. Rosie said that it was falling down and unsafe to enter."

Mafalda chuckled.

"Rosie was afraid that your… that _she_ would find out we were there, so she tapped into that remarkable house-elf magic we know nothing about to make the house _seem_ to be in ruins. Of course, when you and your brother were living there, Jack and I stayed with my father. It was safer that way."

"I'm sorry, I just am having a hard time processing all of this. It's… remarkable. And Father really was there with you?"

"Yes, for as long as he could." Her eyes filled with tears and her voice grew heavy. "I was with him when he passed. For months, I begged him to go see a Healer, but he never would. When he finally did, it was too late. There wasn't anything they could do for him but make him comfortable. He seemed ready though. Ready to see his little sister again. Kept talking about how he hoped he'd finally get to find out what happened to his Hermione too. I held his hand until the end. Gave him what strength I could."

Rodolphus enveloped the crying witch in his arms. They held each other for a long time without speaking. As time ticked on, Kingsley hated that he was going to have to be the bad guy and break up the tearful reunion. When they had been in the room for almost an hour and he was certain the guard would return at any moment, he cleared his throat. Understanding what was happening, Mafalda and Rodolphus kissed one final time. He helped her gather up the pictures of their son before Kingsley charmed him back into his chains.

"I have called a special session of the Wizengamot for later this week, Rodolphus. I hope that the next time I see you, it will be as a free man."


	67. Chapter 67

Chapter Sixty-Seven

June 11, 1976

 **8:45 pm**

Hermione allowed herself only a few seconds to panic as she watched Lord Voldemort disappear back into the tent. Though part of her wanted to crumple in a ball on the ground and give in to her fear, she knew she had to be stronger. This was always something that was a risk. There was always the possibility that she wouldn't be able to keep to the shadows like she wanted. Simply coasting through the past waiting for the moment when she was supposed to disappear was never going to be easy.

Once the initial ten or fifteen seconds passed, she released her hold on the locket and took a deep, calming breath. She would worry about the implications of his statement that she was no longer under his protection later when she was alone. If she permitted the thoughts and worries to consume her in that moment, she wouldn't be able to make it through the rest of the evening's festivities. The last thing she needed was for any of the Lestranges or the Shacklebolts to see her afraid. She had already survived more than any single person should in a lifetime. There was no question that she was capable of taking care of herself if the need arose. She'd been doing that since she was eleven.

Knowing that Kingsley would either be hurt if she didn't seek him or he would come searching, Hermione forced her feet to move towards the topiary garden. Every step in the direction she knew he would be waiting for her in felt lighter. She sped up, not wishing to run into any other potential distraction. There were a number of people present at the party that she didn't want to see when she was alone in the dark. Voldemort's warning about the full moon didn't faze her. She knew there was no way that Greyback would be able to break through the protective wards around the estate. He also hadn't survived as long as he had by being dumb. A large gathering of witches and wizards from the most powerful families would be the worst place to attempt an attack in his werewolf form. He would be struck down with very little effort.

Her thoughts moved back in time two years to when she was last in the garden with Kingsley. When she dragged him out of the tent, it was only to keep his raucous laughter at Antonin's misfortune from being a nuisance to the other guests. She had not intended for them to get close enough that he was only half a breath away from kissing her for the first time. Often she thought of that night and wanted to curse Antonin all over again. _Why_ did he have to choose that moment to seek her out? One minute later and he wouldn't have blocked the kiss.

She shook her head of all thoughts of her ex-boyfriend. It hadn't escaped her notice that his eyes sought her out multiple times that night. Even though he had another pretty witch hanging on his arm and his every word, his focus had been entirely on her. It was unnerving and unwelcome. He was a part of her past that she desperately wished would just stay there. Dwelling on their history would do nothing but make moving on even harder.

Only steps from the same large topiary she hid behind with Kingsley at Rodolphus' wedding reception, another pair of hands reached out to grab her with a confident force. Hermione was initially rattled by the movement. It was eerily similar to how Voldemort grabbed her only minutes earlier that for the first second, she was afraid he'd somehow managed to sneak back when she wasn't looking.

The fear disappeared the moment a pair of lips pressed hungrily against hers. Kingsley kissed her breath away. He wasn't gentle. He didn't seek out her permission first. But Hermione couldn't be arsed enough to care about the possible improprieties of his actions. She wanted his mouth against hers and his hands all over her body just as much as he did.

It seemed strangely comforting that though they had had only one night together eighteen months earlier, there were no awkward hesitations in either of their movements. Every kiss, every touch felt familiar and yet still exhilarating at the same time. All of the fear that consumed Hermione earlier in the garden was soon forgotten. What could she possibly have to fear with such a strong wizard entirely on her side? He would help keep her protected from those that meant her harm.

They were the only two people in their bubble of contentment. A crowd could have gathered to watch them and Hermione wouldn't have noticed or cared. She missed him at times so much she could not keep the hated tears out of her eyes. It wasn't only the younger version she had grown to know and love in the past, but the future Kingsley she missed too. As she had grown colder and tougher as the seventies ticked on, she hadn't been overcome often by her emotions. The world she lived in was making her hard.

Her experiences and fears were shaping her into a person she didn't always recognize. Was this what it meant to grow up? It was a painful process. Where she had in the past snuck off into a hidden corner of the castle to cry when Ron was being unbearable and Harry clueless, she learned how to choke down her true emotions instead of letting them spill out to consume her. Life had proven to her time and time again that it was better to ignore what she was really feeling because no one actually cared. It had been a bitter lesson.

With Kingsley, however, she struggled to hold on to the false façade she showed to the rest of the world. Every second their passionate encounter continued, the more vulnerable she felt. But to her immense surprise, Hermione wasn't afraid of the feeling. She _wanted_ him to see the person she rarely exhibited.

"You left me waiting out here by myself for a long time," he declared when they both paused to catch their breath. "I was afraid you'd been stopped by Dolohov or someone almost as repugnant."

And just like that, Kingsley's words broke the spell they were under. Though he liked to blame Antonin for his ability to ruin moments, he was just as capable of doing it himself. Hermione unwrapped her arms from around the wizard's neck and took a step backwards. His hands around her waist kept her from moving too far away, but her displeasure at her ex-boyfriend's name being brought up in such a private moment was clear. Kingsley sighed. He knew he'd made a mistake.

"Shit, Hermione, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said anything."

She didn't want to argue with him when they were alone for the first time in what felt like a lifetime, so she kept her mouth shut. Every possible response she had to his statement was likely to start a row they wouldn't easily be able to stop. Not for the first time, she wished she had never encouraged Antonin's feelings. Though she had learned a lot about herself in the twists and turns of their fucked up relationship, she hated there were still ramifications years later. Would he always be a sore subject in her relationship with Kingsley? It seemed likely.

Kingsley placed two fingers under chin to force her eyes to meet his. His worry and concern were clear. Either he hadn't learned to hide his emotions yet or he simply couldn't with Hermione. Another depressing thought threatened to ruin their rendezvous in the garden. How much would _her_ Kingsley change when she disappeared? She could feel her eyes grow hot with unshed tears.

"Please don't cry, love."

He pressed gentle kisses all over her face. There was panic and anger in his voice. It helped calm her slightly.

"I was watching you walk over here. Your head was down and you looked upset. I thought someone must have stopped you. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have brought him up."

Hermione rose on her tiptoes to brush her lips against his. After a chaste kiss, she dropped back down to her feet, all worry about getting overly emotional again gone. She decided to tell him the truth of why she was delayed. Or at least as much of the truth as she was willing to share at that point. He didn't need to know _everything_. Maybe one day she would tell him, but that certainly wasn't it. She wanted to enjoy at least a short time with him where he wasn't disgusted with her past.

"I'm sorry I left you out here so long. After I danced with my uncle, I came straight out to the garden, but one of the guests stopped me. It wasn't Antonin. It was that horrible wizard my uncle keeps inviting. You know the one I'm talking about."

He nodded his head. Though Lord Voldemort hadn't yet become a name that everyone in the country knew and was afraid to say, he was known well enough in certain circles. As an auror, Kingsley was well aware of the kind of monster he was. Or at least he was beginning to get a rather good idea like the rest of the Ministry. Clearly concerned for her well-being, he wrapped his arms around her back to pull her up against his chest. Hermione took another deep breath, reveling in his spicy cinnamon scent.

"Are you all right? Did he say something upsetting?"

"I shouldn't tell you."

That was the wrong thing to say. Kingsley gently pushed her away from his chest so they could meet eye to eye again. He was bothered by her statement. Before he could launch into a tirade about keeping secrets, she sighed and continued.

"He is trying to recruit me."

It took him a moment to understand the gravity of her words. Confusion warred with anger across his face. Though she knew there was no way to keep Voldemort's intentions when it came to her entirely a secret, she wished she had not had to say anything.

"Why you, Hermione? I don't understand. I can't imagine you ever wanting to be involved with people like him."

"He hates my Uncle Albus. I think he believes that having me as one of his followers would infuriate my uncle. It's a game. And, you know the kind of people the other side of my family associates with. Roddy's wife is practically in love with the wizard and would do anything he asked. As much as I love Rabastan, he's going to make some poor choices in his life."

"But you _aren't_ your family."

"I know that. The people who _really_ know me know that too. It's just…"

She didn't know what else she wanted to say about the subject. When she was a young witch just entering into the wizarding world, she was often discriminated against because of the so-called filth of her blood. Her status within the society was hardly much of a step up from a Squib. That was why she always worked so hard to make the best marks. To prove herself worthy of the title of 'witch'. As an assumed member of the Lestrange family, she hadn't had to prove that she belonged, but she did have to deal with some of the less pleasant aspects of being associated with such a powerful name. Assumptions were made about her character and her beliefs. Even as an illegitimate Halfblood member, she was still lumped in with all of the Pureblood ideology that permeated their ranks. It was assumed that even though she had the famous Albus Dumbledore as an uncle, she was destined to follow in the footsteps of the others who had thrown their lot in with Voldemort.

Kingsley recognized that their discussion was growing more serious than he ever intended. Instead of insisting that she keep explaining herself, he simply pulled her back against his chest. The steady pounding of his heart in Hermione's ear was comforting. They stood in the garden not speaking for several, long minutes. Neither of them were in a rush to break the embrace. Sounds of the party not too far away wafted over to their hiding place, but no one disturbed them.

"I've missed you."

The gentle shake of his chest as he softly chuckled made Hermione smile. She wasn't sure _why_ he was so amused by her statement, but it didn't matter. It was a big difference in reaction to the last time she uttered the simple sentence to another wizard. When she said it to Igor, he certainly hadn't laughed. Maybe that was the biggest difference between the two men. One seemed to only laugh when it suited his purposes or it was socially acceptable to do so; the other didn't care.

"I've missed you too, Little Witch."

"Certainly doesn't seem like it if you are laughing at me."

There was no heat or malice to her words. He didn't take any offense. Simply leaned down to kiss her again. More of the tension that had plagued them since their discussion about Antonin and Voldemort began dissipated. Though it wasn't nearly as passionate as the first kiss of the night, Hermione remembered all over again why she liked kissing him in the first place. He made her brain go all fuzzy in the most delicious ways.

"I'm glad we finally got our kiss in the garden," he declared when they stopped. Kingsley didn't relinquish his hold on her person. Just wrapped his arms around her waist and held her close enough that they were touching. "Too bad it took two years to finally happen."

"I believe, Mr. Shacklebolt, that I've kissed you a few times since that night."

"Yes, but not nearly often enough."

He furthered his point by kissing her again. Hermione was certain she would never grow tired of his soft touches and affectionate gestures. It all felt like a dream. Like it was happening to someone else. She'd known it was supposed to happen for five years, but it still didn't feel real. She wondered if it ever would.

"We should probably go back to the tent before a search party is sent out looking for us."

"No need. My uncle was the one who told me to not keep you waiting too long in the garden. He's an intelligent man. He knows what it happening out here."

"Maybe I should have made my meaning clearer. We should go back to the tent where there are witnesses because every second that I spend out here alone with you, the more difficult it's becoming to not rip that Slytherin dress of yours to shreds."

His words woke up the flame from earlier that had almost burnt out. All sorts of inappropriate fantasies ran through her mind. A few well-placed spells were all that was needed to ensure they had complete privacy. With an impish grin, she stared into his darkened eyes.

"I can think of a lot worse ways to spend our evening."

The low growl in the back of his throat surprised them both. Kingsley removed one of his hands from Hermione's body. She didn't have time to ask him what he was doing before his wand moved swiftly behind his back and his lips muttered the very charms she had just been thinking. Only when he was satisfied that there were enough silencing and repelling spells over the immediate area did the wizard use his own body to press Hermione up against the large topiary they were hiding behind.

His kiss was every bit as heated as it had been when he mauled her on arrival. Something about the man intoxicated Hermione with an intensity an entire bottle of fire whiskey couldn't replicate. She allowed the invasion of his skilled tongue inside her mouth to make her forget what they were doing was certainly not how the niece of the host of the extravagant wedding was supposed to behave. Being proper was much less fun than whatever it was that Kingsley had planned.

While his lips moved from her mouth to her jaw to her neck and back again more times than she could count, his hands slid down her arse to the flowing skirt of her gown. Deftly, nimbly, he pulled the delicate fabric up her legs, past her knees, and to her thighs. Whether it was the cool air hitting her bare skin or the anticipation of what was going to happen next making Hermione tremble, she couldn't be sure. Kingsley's warm hands grasped the back of her upper thighs in a confident and gentle touch. When he slid them up a few inches, Hermione could feel him smile against her lips.

"Miss Dumbledore, I think you forgot your knickers this evening."

"I. Didn't. Forget. Anything."

She punctuated each word with a kiss to his jaw and neck. Another low growl was elicited by her tongue lavishing the wizard's sensitive pulse point. He returned his mouth to hers with a punishing ferocity she was certain she was going to have to hide with a glamour or two before they were done. Assuming what they were up to was one thing. Seeing evidence of her dalliance in the gardens was another. She didn't want what she was hoping would be the beginning of her _official_ relationship with Kingsley marred by an offended and angry Regnault.

Her attention was so focused on what his mouth was doing that she didn't even notice one of his hands slip between her thighs until one brush drew out full-body shivers. Emboldened by her response, Kingsley quickly proved he was one of those mythical men adept at multi-tasking. His touch was gentle at first. Never hesitant. He remembered even after so long exactly what worked to make her moan into his hungry mouth. Unable to focus on anything other than his hand when he increased his pressure and slipped first one and then a second finger inside her body, Hermione wrapped one hand around his neck and laid her head against his chest. He made quick work of pulling an intense climax from the witch. One strong arm around her back kept her from collapsing on legs that no longer seemed to work as he continued his motions until the last of the crashing waves slowed.

Not wishing for the moment to end so soon, Hermione's hands seemed to move of their own accord to the front of Kingsley's strained trousers. They were shaking, making the job more difficult than it should have been. Always one to come to the aid of a damsel in distress, the consummate Gryffindor helped her with the buttons. Free of the confines of his robes, she slid her hand up and down him with a pleading expression on her face. He didn't need any further encouragement to move both of his hands to the underside of her thighs. Her legs were around his waist as he entered her roughly.

Their mutual gasped moans were heard only by their ears thanks to the thick silencing spells Kingsley placed around them. If someone heard their cries, neither of them was exactly in a position to care. They met each other's motions in a gentle pace as they reacquainted themselves with the feel of the other. His tender thrusts did not last long. Hermione gripped his shoulders, ignoring the scratching of the hedge behind her on the back of her neck. The hedge could have been made of sharp knives at that point and she wouldn't have noticed. Words weren't necessary or wanted. Lost completely to the flow of time, they continued until the intensity ripped a scream from Hermione and Kingsley followed her seconds later.

"Come home with me," he begged when they were breathing normally enough to speak again. "When this is over. Stay with me."

Hermione smoothed her gown down and patted at her hair with a smile. As if there was any question that she would accept his invitation. Now that they were both single, it was going to take a great deal to keep her out of the wizard's bed. He was already cemented firmly in her heart after all. Taking her smile as confirmation, Kingsley kissed her again.

"We should go back to the tent," she finally stated. "At least make an appearance."

They took turns making certain that the other was presentable before Kingsley released all of his spells. Though she wasn't really in a rush to get back to the reception, Hermione entwined her fingers with his and began walking back. There were plenty of other guests milling about the formal gardens. Imagining a situation where they were caught by a horrified elderly witch admiring the statuary in Regnault's famous topiary garden, a giggle came bursting out of her mouth before she could stop it. Both of them were shaking with quiet laughter by the time they reached the inside of the tent.

"I'm in dire need of some cake right now, Little Witch. For some odd reason, I'm starving."

His wink made her snort.

"Don't take too long."

Another wink and a public kiss was his promise. Hermione could feel her cheeks warm and her lips split into a wide grin. She watched him walk away towards the cake table without worrying about the onlookers. In the corner of her eye she caught a figure moving quickly towards her. Spinning around, she could see murderous rage in Antonin's eyes. Knowing that she was about to be faced with her furious ex, clearly unhappy with the spectacle she just made, Hermione could feel some of the joy she found in the gardens begin to slip away.

A hand slipped into hers. She felt her body be tugged towards the dancefloor and away from Antonin. Confused by the gesture, Hermione looked up to meet the gaze of a smirking Silas. He seemed an almost completely different man from the one she sat across the table from just a few days prior. Either he no longer feared for his life or he was a man who was playing a part fabulously.

"We haven't had a dance yet this evening. I thought I'd take this opportunity to keep you occupied and _away_ from Dolohov while your wizard is busy."

Hermione was touched by his thoughtfulness.

"A murder in the middle of my baby sister's wedding reception would certainly ruin it."

She laughed at his attempt to make his actions seem selfish when she knew they weren't. How sad that she had been an acquaintance of his for years and didn't really take the time to get to know him.

"Keep your feet off of my dress this time, please."

"I wouldn't dream of bringing any harm to this lovely dress. I have more respect for my House colors than that."

Dancing with Silas was always interesting. She never quite knew what to expect from him. He had a way with words that surprised her. Even though she wanted to beg him again to run away, she knew that wasn't the time or place. Maybe in the coming days she would be able to convince him when he didn't have the fear of disappointing his youngest sister hanging over his head. Instead of a lecture, she focused on her dancing and tried to keep as brave a face on as Silas was.

"Do you think the auror will make you happy?"

"I think I will be happy _with_ him. Relying on someone else to _make_ me happy has never ended well."

"Fair point, Goldie. You seem to have had an exciting evening."

His hand left her waist long enough to pluck something out of her hair. Realizing it was a small twig from the hedge she was pushed up against only minutes earlier, she blushed. Silas laughed at her discomfort. It wasn't malicious, however.

"He seems like a good sort. Definitely better than your ex."

"Kingsley is a good man."

"Good. I'm glad. I feel better knowing that you aren't alone."

The song ended just as he made his last remark. She hadn't realized that he'd led them right to the edge of the dancefloor where Kingsley was waiting. Silas bowed to Hermione and kissed her cheek.

"Promise me you'll be careful, Goldie."

A rush of emotion that she couldn't explain prevented her from answering him beyond a nod of her head. Satisfied, Silas turned his attention to Kingsley. He offered his hand which Kingsley readily accepted. When the handshake was done, Silas clapped him on the back.

"Take care of her, Shacklebolt. She's one of the good ones."

He retreated to the back of the tent before another word could be spoken.

"Did the cake help?" she asked in an attempt to lighten the mood that had grown heavy.

"Yes, it did. Now would you care to dance again?"

"Only if you promise to be a perfect gentleman and watch your hands."

"I make no promises I can't be certain I'll keep."

The rest of the reception passed in a whirl of dancing, drinking, and laughter. It might not have been as fancy and large a wedding as Rodolphus' had been, but Hermione enjoyed it much more. Having Kingsley a continuous presence by her side helped. She worried a few times that Antonin would try to make a nuisance of himself again. There was no need. More than a few times that night she saw Silas standing with Antonin in deep conversation. While she couldn't be certain that Silas was keeping him occupied on purpose, she still appreciated the wizard.

Long after the dancing died down and the fireworks Rabastan requested were gone, Hermione made her way to the main gates with Kingsley's hand held firmly in hers. Even if Kingsley hadn't felt the need to repeat his offer to have her come over to his flat more than a dozen times over the course of the evening, she hadn't forgotten. She kissed her amused uncle's cheek and waited for Kingsley to shake his hand. Regnault might have been a stoic man usually, but the combination of free-flowing fire whiskey and the usual joy that permeated the wedding of a couple in love made hiding his happiness harder than usual. Hermione caught his eye a final time before she allowed Kingsley to Apparate them to London. A smile that he rarely bestowed on anyone else was spread across her uncle's face.

The flat was silent when they climbed the last of the stairs. She'd heard it described several times before by Caradoc. It was definitely a place inhabited by three young wizards. She was never more thankful to be a witch than when she was in less than hygienic places looking for a toilet. Kingsley pushed open the door carefully. All of the lights were out and the doors to the twins' bedrooms were closed.

"Gid is the lightest sleeper. A mouse could fart in the attic and he'd wake up ready to curse it dead," Kingsley explained in a whisper. "My room is over here."

She allowed him to lead her to his bedroom in the dark by the hand. It was well after three in the morning. As excited as she was to finally be alone with Kingsley, she was beginning to wonder if they shouldn't just crawl under his blankets and call it a night. He seemed to be of a similar opinion when he started digging through his dresser for something she could wear.

"You're not disappointed that we're just going to sleep?"

Kingsley chuckled at her question. Once it was determined that neither of them were sober enough or awake enough to continue their exertions they started in the garden, he'd helped her out of her gown and into one of his old Quidditch jerseys that hung to her knees. They'd crawled into bed together and kissed until they each yawned large enough to make the other laugh. He settled under the covers and spooned his larger body up behind hers.

"Maybe a little," he admitted. "But now that I have you in my bed, Little Witch, I'm not going to let you go."

"Good. Because if you try to leave me again, Kingsley, I'm coming after you."

They were asleep within moments.

* * *

June 12, 1976

 **11:15 am**

There was no rush to wake up the next morning. Neither of them really wanted to get up to face the world outside of the protective cocoon of Kingsley's bedroom. They spent most of the morning hours alternating between catching up on their sleep and making unhurried love. Hermione was sure she could get used to spending all of her lazy Sundays with him.

Just a little after eleven they had to finally listen to the sounds of starvation their stomachs were making. Hermione dug out some suitable clothes from the bottom of her beaded bag. She was tempted to just walk out into the flat dressed only in Kingsley's jersey, but thought his flatmates probably wouldn't appreciate it if she did.

Fabian was seated at the kitchen table reading the newspaper and sipping at a steaming cup of tea when they entered. His eyes shot from Hermione to Kingsley back to Hermione. She fought the urge to sigh. There was a valid concern that her wizard's best mate was never going to like her. Determined not to let his sour mood spoil hers, Hermione smiled brightly at the redhead.

"Good morning, Fabian. How are you?"

"Fine."

Kingsley seemed not to notice the chill in Fabian's voice. He crossed the kitchen to brew a fresh pot of tea and see what they could eat for a late breakfast. Hermione took the seat at the table as far from Fabian as possible.

"Anything interesting in the news this morning?"

He didn't answer her question. Just folded the newspaper and tossed it across the table. Fabian rose from his chair, emptied his teacup, and exited the room without saying a single word. Hermione picked up the Daily Prophet to keep her hands occupied. What she _really_ wanted to do was pick up her wand and hex the Prewett arsehole.

"So clearly Fabian is not a morning person. I think that he…"

Hermione gasped mid-sentence. Staring back at her from the front page of the paper was a familiar smile. She could feel her throat tighten as she read the hateful headline splashed across the top of the page.

 _Heir to the Selwyn Family Found Dead in Knockturn Alley Only Hours After Sister's Wedding_

* * *

September 4, 1998

 **10:15 am**

The sounds coming from the assembled esteemed members of the Wizengamot drifted through the cracked open door to the courtroom. Kingsley had been outside that very door more times than he could count in his nearly thirty years with the Ministry. Not once could he remember being so nervous.

"Yes, well, you've never been in danger of being hexed out of the courtroom and removed as Minister," he muttered to himself.

His initial plan had been to wait a little while longer for the emotions following the war to die down before he presented Rodolphus' case. Too much too soon would be a disaster. Political suicide even. Though he was not in danger any longer of being remembered in the history books as the Minister with the shortest term, he hoped that he might last just a _little_ bit longer than four months. If he was laughed out of the room, he might never recover the reputation he worked so hard to maintain.

Once he saw Rodolphus' memories and then visited with him several times after that for more information related to that night and to his role as a Death Eater, Kingsley grew more determined to get him out of prison as soon as possible. Each subsequent visit showed a man who was steadily breaking under the strain and pressure of his sentence. The moment he watched Rodolphus hold Mafalda Hopkirk in his arms, he grew even more determined. If there was anyone he knew that deserved to carve out just a sliver of happiness in their otherwise miserable existence, it was that wizard. Nothing had been easy in his life. If Kingsley could help him become a free man again free from worries of his past creeping on him again, he knew Hermione would be pleased. He clung to the hope that she would pop back into existence later that year. However, if he was wrong, at least he could honor her memory.

"Are you nervous?" Andromeda asked. She'd been at his side all morning offering whatever support and encouragement she could. Kingsley had been immensely grateful for her presence. "Do you want some tea before you go in? Or something a bit stronger?"

Andromeda began digging around in her purse without even giving him a chance to respond. Based on the faint clinking of glass bottles, he knew that the woman had come prepared for every eventuality. It made him smile. She was so like Hermione in many ways. Just knowing that he had the tenacious Andromeda Tonks on his side was a balm to his troubled soul. Their outcome _had_ to be favorable. Andy wouldn't allow anything else.

"I don't think the Minister for Magic entering the room with fire whiskey on his breath would set the right tone."

"You may be right, but I have some in case you change your mind."

Privately, Kingsley wanted to take a big swig from the bottle to steady his nerves. There hadn't yet been a day in his entire career of Minister that he was so unsure of how the rest of the hours before him would go. Nothing had been so indefinite. He was a wizard of action. The standing around and worrying was doing nothing for his blood pressure. An enemy he could fight in a duel would've been preferable.

When he could no longer delay his entrance, and moments after one of the Wizengamot clerks informed him that all members had arrived, Kingsley took a deep breath and stepped inside. Andromeda wouldn't be able to follow him into a closed session. What they were going to discuss was not for anyone's ears except for those in the chamber. He hated that his friend who had been such a constant support during the entire investigation was going to be forced to wait in the corridor for the outcome.

All eyes were on him as he crossed to the highest seat in the chamber. Though he had never been afraid or bothered by so much attention, the understanding that he was holding the life of an innocent man in his hands was sobering. What if he didn't succeed? What if the Wizengamot couldn't look past his last name and the Dark Mark on his arm? Rodolphus didn't belong in Azkaban. Every single day he was wasting away into nothingness. Kingsley could _not_ just stand by and watch it happen.

There was a bit of tradition and ceremony to ever single gathering of the Wizarding governing body. Kingsley would've liked to have gone straight into the purpose of his calling for a special session to just get it all over with, but he couldn't. Instead, he said the proper words of greeting to begin. There was a set agenda that had to be followed. He went through the steps wishing that it was all over.

"Finally, the main reason why I called this special session is because I would like to in my capacity of Minister for Magic announce my intention to pardon Rodolphus Lestrange for all of his past crimes related to being a convicted Death Eater."

For the first few moments after he made his proclamation, there was nothing but silence in the room. No one spoke. It was almost as if everyone present had temporarily forgotten how to make any noise at all. Kingsley knew there would be many who would be shocked by the pardon, but he didn't expect to have rendered them all mute. The room was full of some of the most outspoken and opinionated people the Minister had ever met. Their silence was disconcerting.

"You can't possibly be serious!"

"That is the most ridiculous notion I've ever heard of."

"Should someone check the Minister for the Imperius Curse?"

The room erupted into a cacophonous chorus of horrified and confused exclamations. Everyone had an opinion about his announcement. They just needed a few moments to process what he was saying before they expressed it. Kingsley tried and failed to get the crowd back under control immediately. He had to finally resort to casting loud cannon fire-like sounds from the end of his wand to get the room to quiet down.

"I understand that many of you find this quite shocking. You can believe me when I say that when I was first presented with the notion that Mr. Lestrange was innocent of many of the crimes that he committed, I was reluctant to believe the truth as well."

His assurances did not remove the doubt from the minds and faces of many of the members assembled. There was a legitimate concern that he would be forced to resort to more dramatic measures to bring the courtroom back into order. Whatever he said next would have to be said very carefully. Before he could even formulate the proper words, a figure seated in the middle of the esteemed members stood to her feet.

"I will stand with Minister Shacklebolt one hundred percent in his decision."

Augusta Longbottom did not even have to resort to screaming to get all of the attention focused on her. She ignored the shocked witches and wizards seated around her to meet Kingsley's eyes with a fierce determination. He would never forget how strong and able to witch was during the final battle at Hogwarts. Mrs. Longbottom was _not_ someone to dismiss. Though he already knew that he had her quiet backing, he was grateful to have her public support. How could anyone argue with the mother of one of Rodolphus' alleged victims?

"I recently had the opportunity to view memories from the night my son and his wife were tortured many years ago," she announced. All whispers in the chamber ended. No one wanted to miss what she had to say. "Not only was Mr. Rodolphus Lestrange _not_ an active participant in the act, he put his own life in danger to protect my grandson Neville from certain death. He also was the one who alerted the Ministry of what was happening even though it meant he was arrested right along with the ones _actually_ responsible.

"My grandson is outside in the corridor right now alive and healthy _only_ because of the sacrifice of the wizard rotting away in Azkaban right now. The Longbottoms will support Minister Shacklebolt in his decision to pardon him."

With a nod in Kingsley's direction, Augusta sat back down in her seat. Feeling buoyed by her public declaration, he could sense a lot of the nerves he had been feeling melt away. Maybe there was even a chance that he would be able to end the day without a horrible headache. He was confident in his ability to persuade the Wizengamot to free Rodolphus, but he knew it wasn't going to be easy. Augusta Longbottom may have paved a smoother path to victory. Taking a deep breath to center himself, Kingsley continued his statement.

"In the center of the courtroom, there is a table with a pensieve. I would like to encourage each and every esteemed member to view the same memories that Madam Longbottom spoke of. Once everyone has had a chance to review the evidence, I will be calling a few witnesses to provide further testimony that will prove we need to remedy the wrong made years ago by the Ministry."


	68. Chapter 68

_Author's Note: So this chapter majorly got away from me. I always have a set beginning and end I want in my chapters. Sometimes the middle gets out of hand. Characters don't always do what you expect them to do when you're writing. And I didn't even finish it where I planned on! That's why it took me so long to get this finished. I also may not be able to update for a little while. I'll be taking a mini-vacation and may not have access to adequate wifi and/or be forced to interact with family instead of hide behind my laptop._

 _And yeah, I'm definitely NOT meeting my goal to finish this in time for the one year anniversary of the beginning of this story. Oh well._

* * *

Chapter Sixty-Eight

June 12, 1976

 **11:20 am**

Her hands shook as she tried to make sense of the words spelled out in front of her. It had to all be a bad dream. She had _just_ spoken with the wizard only hours earlier. Shared a dance. How could this be possible? When she feared for his life, she never imagined it would come to an end so soon. She thought naively that there had been plenty of time to convince him to run.

Details were scarce. Clearly the Daily Prophet was in a rush to get the news printed before their morning editions went out. All they knew so far was some time in the early hours of the morning after Silas left the reception, he was involved in a violent altercation only a few steps inside Knockturn Alley. Cause of death was still under investigation.

Hearing her gasp and seeing the horror on her face, Kingsley dropped the teapot back onto the counter. In seconds, he was behind her chair, reading over her shoulder. A deep sigh and his hands squeezing her arms in support proved he was upset too.

"I need to go see my uncle," she announced as she stood up from the chair. "Maybe he'll know more. Rabby and Solveig were supposed to leave on their honeymoon this morning."

Thinking about Silas' sister dealing with this measure of grief when she was supposed to be having the best time of her young life brought the first of many tears. How could the poor girl ever look back on her wedding and the start of her married life without being reminded of the pain of the next day? Hermione hardly registered Kingsley's embrace. He kissed the top of her head and ran his hands up and down her back as the torrent of emotion moved through her entire body.

It was all _her_ fault. Silas was dead because of her mistake. How could she ever forgive herself? Kingsley held her long after the tears dried up and her tired eyes began to burn. Knowing that she could no longer hide in the innocent safety of Kingsley's flat, Hermione pushed back from his chest.

"He was a friend. Practically family really. I need to go see my uncle and see if there's something I need to do."

"Of course. I'm going in to the Ministry. Maybe I can find out more of what happened."

His offer of help warmed Hermione's heart considerably. Though there was certainly jealousy between them in the past, she appreciated that he was putting any of his personal concerns about what her relationship with Silas really was aside. Not that it mattered any longer just what they once were, but knowing her ex, Antonin would've been jealous of Silas long after he was dead and buried. Kingsley's willingness to help put her mind at rest proved the strength of his character.

"Go to your uncle's. I'll go in to work. It might be late when I leave. Will you be at your dad's?"

She nodded that she would. Most Sunday evenings were spent behind the bar giving her dad a break. Usually though, he couldn't stand sitting back in the private part of the pub relaxing. Aberforth made it about twenty minutes on average before he was back behind the bar with her. Hermione knew that he loved the nights they worked together. She did too.

"I'm sorry that we can't spend the rest of the day together."

Kingsley kissed her outside in front of the building several minutes later when it was time to say their goodbyes. She didn't want to leave. There was no way for her to know what the rest of her day would be like. Too many variables. Focusing on the unpredictability of the coming hours made her stomach twist and clench with worry and a healthy bit of fear. Though she'd been comforted by Kingsley in the initial few minutes after learning about Silas' murder, she knew that the big breakdown that was going to happen was something she had to look forward to. Maybe when she was alone in the comfort of her bed in the pub she would allow herself to think about the role she played in his demise. Until then, however, she set her shoulders in determination. She would be strong.

His building was in the middle of a Muggle neighborhood to Hermione's surprise. They had to Disapparate from a dark and smelly alley. Her auror watched her spin in place. Having his full attention was comforting as she made her way back to the very spot she'd been in the night before.

Rosie and her army of house-elves must have forgone sleep to clean up the mess the wedding and reception created on the estate. It wasn't even noon yet, but all evidence that there had been hundreds of people milling about on the grounds in various stages of frivolity were gone. A heaviness seemed to hang over the area as she made her way up the familiar path to the front door. Maybe it was just her imagination, a manifestation of the dread she was feeling.

She knocked softly on the door once. Usually a house-elf was there to open the door as she approached. Rarely was the door still closed when she arrived. Knowing that even house-elves needed a kip every now and again, Hermione pushed the door open herself when no one opened it after a solid minute.

The manor was silent except for the distinct cries of a woman in pain from the family's private living room. She didn't have to walk down the corridor to know that she was hearing grief from her cousin's new wife. Hermione had always been an only child. Though she had had a surrogate brother with Harry and she was certainly more like a sister than a cousin to the Lestrange brothers, she could not imagine what it was like to experience the loss of a beloved brother. Silas had been a bright spot in his youngest sister's life. The Selwyns were a close family. Their pain had to have been incredible.

"Hermione, what are you doing here?"

Regnault entered the entrance hall at a brisk pace. She assumed he was headed towards the sounds of the cries. As soon as he saw his niece standing in front of the ornate main staircase of the house looking bewildered and out of place, he stopped. He had a serious expression on his face. Definitely one that she'd witnessed multiple times in the past when he was trying to keep his true feelings a secret to all of those around him. Needing to feel the comfort of another's touch, Hermione rushed forward and wrapped her arms around her uncle's middle. Their affectionate gestures rarely graduated past kisses on the cheek. She felt him stiffen up at first and then only half a second later, Regnault was relaxing and his arms encircled her back.

"I came as soon as I heard," she explained, her voice somewhat muffled by her uncle's waistcoat.

He didn't immediately respond. Only tightened his arms around his niece. Hermione could feel the tears that she thought had all been shed in Kingsley's kitchen begin to prick at the corner of her eyes again. Knowing that her uncle was uncomfortable with any display of what he deemed 'weakness', she took a deep breath and willed them to go away. A folded handkerchief was pushed into her hands. She dabbed at her eyes not trusting herself to speak again just yet. When the sound of cries drifted down the corridor to their ears, she sniffled and wiped at her cheeks.

"Rabastan is trying to do what he can to calm her down, but as you can imagine, she is bereft. Poor girl. They've postponed their honeymoon, of course. She hasn't been up to traveling to her parents' home just yet."

Hermione released her hold on her uncle to stand up. There was a kindness in his eyes that she had only seen a few times before in the previous five years. It was enough that she almost cried again, but she stopped herself. Hadn't she cried enough over the years? Crying over the softening of the formidable man in front of her seemed silly. She'd learned a long time earlier that beneath his archaic, proper Pureblood façade, there was a simple man who loved her and only wanted what was best for her even if he had some strange ways of showing it.

"I was going to visit the Selwyns. Would you like to come with me? We all know how fond of Silas you were. There had been some hope that the two of you would… well, let's just say that his mother and I had some foolish hopes about your futures."

Not wishing to dwell on the thought of the two of them playing matchmaker between her and the endearingly obnoxious man she would never see again, Hermione stared down at her clothes. They were nice enough for a casual visit to family on a Sunday afternoon, but not nearly good enough to make such a formal visit to a grieving family. She pulled her beaded bag out to dig through to find something suitable to wear.

"I don't have anything to wear. And I just woke up. I haven't even showered yet."

"Go upstairs to your room. Take a shower and I'll have Rosie find something for you. Bellatrix is of a similar size. I'm sure she has something you can borrow."

Hermione's skin crawled at the thought of something Bellatrix wore touching her, but she knew better than to argue with Regnault. Sometimes it was enjoyable to engage in a bit of debate with him. This, however, was not the time or place. She dutifully headed up the stairs to prepare for a visit she knew would be far from enjoyable.

Even though she wished to delay the inevitable as much as possible, she didn't stay too long under the stream of the shower. She cleansed her entire body in only a matter of minutes. A dress was waiting for her on her bed when she exited. It only took a few more minutes to charm her hair into a messy bun that would just have to do. There wasn't enough time to slather half a bottle of Sleakeazy's into it.

Regnault was not at the bottom of the stairs when she made her way back down. The sounds of crying could no longer be heard. Instead, they were replaced with the familiar cadence of her uncle's voice. Hermione didn't want to interrupt a moment, but she found herself standing in front of the open door to the private family room before she realized what was happening. The newest Mrs. Lestrange was seated on a sofa with her head resting on her husband's chest. Rabastan seemed beside himself with worry.

"Hermione and I will be heading over to your parents' home, my dear," Regnault said. "When you feel up to it, I'm certain your family would love to see you."

Solveig nodded her head slightly, but didn't say a word. Her father-in-law leaned down to kiss her cheek. Unsure what to say or do, Hermione kissed Rabastan's cheek and carefully brushed some of the hair off of the grieving woman's face.

"I'm so very sorry for your loss, Solveig."

Regnault gently tugged Hermione out of the room by her elbow. She certainly didn't mind. It was a relief to be out of the room. If that was how _one_ member of the Selwyn family was dealing with their grief, how would the entire family be taking the tragedy? She began to regret her agreement to accompany her uncle.

He didn't want to waste any more time. No doubt he was ready to get the formalities of the entire affair over with. She couldn't blame him. There was so much responsibility placed on his shoulders as head of their family. It had taken her years to understand why he could be a bit difficult. Their relationship was much improved and it would certainly never be perfect, but she could sympathize more with the man.

At the front gates to the estate, Regnault had Hermione grab hold of his arm tightly. She had never been to the Selwyn family home. Attempting to Apparate there blind was not a wise decision. He had been there on many occasions in the past. As the sickening feel of the squeezing lessened, Hermione opened her eyes to take in her first view of Silas' childhood home.

It was quite a bit smaller than what she expected. Much more modest than just about all of the homes belonging to Sacred Twenty-Eight families she'd been invited to. They seemed to live more along the lines of the Shacklebolts in their cozy, but ultimately unremarkable London home. A bright, friendly garden in the front of the home made the place feel welcoming and inviting. That feeling did not extend into the interior of the home when they were let in by the pale and emotionless Sybille.

Hermione had nothing against the older of the two sisters. They had actually shared many interesting conversations the nights the two families were pressed together. She wouldn't have called Sybille a friend. Just a _friendly_ acquaintance. When she offered the younger witch her condolences on the loss of her brother, some of the marble of her expression began to chip away. This was a woman who was using all of her limited strength to keep up the proper appearances when it was clear, to Hermione at least, that she was only moments from breaking down entirely.

"Did Sollie not come with you?" asked Sybille. Her voice was heavy with unexpressed emotion, only proving Hermione's theory correct that she wasn't going to keep up her façade much longer.

"No. I'm sorry, Miss Selwyn. She's still at home with my son. She has been understandably very emotional this morning. She will be by later."

"Of course. They were always each other's favorites. I'm not surprised she's so upset."

Sybille Selwyn wasn't very good at hiding the bitterness in her tone. Was she expressing some sort of jealousy that she had about her siblings' relationship? Hermione found it sad. This didn't seem the time to hold on to old grudges.

"Mother and Father are in the kitchen. If you wish to wait in the lounge, I'll let them know that you are here."

She didn't give them much of a choice to protest. Once they were inside the cluttered room where their family had spent many happy evenings together, Sybille rushed through a closed door. Sounds of talking and clinking of china drifted through the opening. Neither of the guests took a seat while they waited. It felt strange to be inside the house. There was a heavy aura that felt very pressing and discomforting.

Mrs. Selwyn did not leave them waiting long. Her face was streaked with tears and she looked as if she'd aged twenty years overnight. At her insistence once the necessary greetings were made, they all sat down. Sybille brought a tea tray in moments later. If it wasn't for the emotions and the tears, it might have been another normal visit.

Hermione didn't learn anything new from any of the Selwyns. St John wandered in shortly after they poured tea. He'd been at the Ministry since Silas' broken body was found. Salazar was nowhere to be found to Hermione's great relief. She'd managed to avoid him at every turn the night before. It was her plan to keep on doing that whenever possible.

"We're not sure _why_ he was attacked," St John explained. "It doesn't appear to be a robbery. He still had all of his money and his wand. He was wearing a pair of goblin made silver cufflinks that have been in our family for generations. Those weren't touched."

The announcement that his death was a shock made the women of the Selwyn family start to silently weep. Each of them wiped at their faces with handkerchiefs while the patriarch explained what he'd been through since he received the frantic owl in the middle of the night. Hermione could barely focus on the words coming out of his mouth. The question of 'why' was repeated multiple times. When she heard that word, she felt like she was going to be sick. She knew the truth. It was _her_ fault.

"Miss Dumbledore, you look a bit pale. Are you all right?" Mrs. Selwyn asked, concern clear in her voice.

"I'm just still in a bit of shock, I think."

Mrs. Selwyn gave her a sympathetic smile. She reached across the arm of the chair she was sitting in to give her hand a pat.

"I know how fond you and Silas were of each other. He used to speak about you often."

Hermione tried to give a smile in return, but her lips were trembling too much. She wanted to get out of the room. Even for just a few minutes. Sitting there listening to the family of the man she was responsible for getting killed talk about how much they loved him was too much.

"Maybe a bit of cold water on your face would help, dearie. Just pop up the stairs. Third door on your right."

She didn't feel like she could argue with the woman. Not that she really wanted to. Slipping away was exactly what she wanted. Why did she think it was a good idea to come with her Uncle Regnault? She should've gone to the manor, spoke with him briefly, and then gone home to the pub to wait for more answers. Sipping tea with the dead man's relatives was a terrible idea.

"Thank you, Mrs. Selwyn. I think I will do just that."

Setting her teacup down on a side table, Hermione rose to her feet. She found the bathroom upstairs easily. Some of the heaviness she was feeling on her shoulders disappeared when she was alone. Taking her time calming down in the tiny room, she wasn't sure how long she was actually in there. Several minutes at least. Hiding there for much longer wasn't a viable option. After one last look in the mirror over the sink proved that she was presentable, Hermione stepped back out into the corridor.

Her mind was focused on what she was going to say when she got back downstairs. Was there anything she could possibly say to help ease the pain of the loved ones of the man she was responsible for killing? She didn't think so. Only three steps out of the bathroom, one of the closed bedroom doors opened abruptly and she crashed into the solid form of Salazar Selwyn. Instantly, she felt all of her fear from the night before when she was alone with Voldemort return.

"I was hoping that was your voice I was hearing from downstairs."

Salazar pushed Hermione into his bedroom. By the time she got over the initial shock of what was happening to reach into her pocket for her wand, he'd already closed the door and grabbed her wand arm. His bruising grip prevented her from getting anywhere close to the only weapon she had. She considered screaming out for help. The house wasn't very large and she knew that her uncle would eviscerate any wizard he caught trying to harm his niece. Before a sound came out of her mouth, Salazar's free hand crushed her throat. He slammed her head against the wall of his bedroom.

"If you try to scream, you'll be dead before anyone makes it up the stairs."

There was a manic glint in his eyes that told Hermione that he was telling the truth. His face was only inches from hers. Unable to focus on his cruel features, her eyes darted around the room. She had no idea why he had her trapped. Silas' warning to make sure she was never alone with him played over and over again in her mind. What was he doing? When her gaze caught sight of one of the two beds in the room, she inhaled sharply. Salazar did not miss the fear in her eyes. He found it amusing and began to laugh.

"You do _not_ have to worry, Dumbledore. I wouldn't fuck your cunt with another wizard's cock."

His words brought relief for only a fraction of a second. If he wasn't planning to rape her, there was still a lot he could do to cause her harm. The squeezing of her throat made it impossible for her to ask his true intentions. Salazar brought his face even closer to hers.

"While I'm sure the Dark Lord had his reasons for fucking you, I can't possibly fathom what they were. Besides being a filthy Halfblood, I'd be afraid my cock would rot off if I stuck it in the leavings of a werewolf."

She wasn't surprised by his harsh and disgusting language. He had already made it clear what he thought about her heritage when they were seated at the dinner table. What bothered her was the fact that he brought up Greyback. How could he possibly know about that? Either her face was entirely too expressive or Salazar was a Legilimens and she wasn't keeping her shields up because he began to laugh again.

"Everyone knows about that. Your little boyfriend asked the Dark Lord for permission to kill the werewolf."

Hermione closed her eyes to keep from looking at the gleeful expression of the wizard still exerting pressure on her neck. He seemed too pleased with himself that he had the chance to divulge the fact that he knew all about the worst night of her entire life. Salazar released his hold on her neck, but didn't let go of her arm. She couldn't reach for her wand if she wanted to.

"Of course, the Dark Lord told Dolohov 'no'. Said that he was too valuable an ally to get rid of. He did reassure him though that you were under his special protection."

Salazar's hand didn't even need to be back on her throat to silence Hermione. She didn't know what to say to his announcement that Antonin tried to get permission to get rid of Greyback. Mostly she was bothered by the reminder that Lord Voldemort withdrew his protection the night before because of her refusal to join his ranks of Death Eaters. Now she was fair game to the monster that sought to ruin her life. If Greyback was able to figure out a way to get Igor's locket off of her neck, he would. Determined she did not want to let this cretin win, Hermione she stood up taller and attempted to show no more fear.

"What do you want, Selwyn?" She was surprised by how strong and unemotional her voice sounded when it came out of her mouth. "Did you just pull me in here to remind me I was scum again? Or did you have something important to discuss?"

"Are you the reason my brother is dead?"

"Excuse me?"

She was startled by his question. It caught her off guard.

"Silas and I had a long talk when I got back last week. He told me that the Dark Lord offered him several opportunities and each time, Silas turned him down. _Your_ name kept coming up in the conversation. Did you tell him not to say 'yes'?"

"Your brother made his own decisions. I had nothing to do with his death."

Salazar did not seem satisfied by her answer. Not that she could blame him. It was a complete lie. Hermione got the impression that if he ever discovered that his brother was dead specifically because of her actions, she would be dead. The brothers might have had their issues, but they were still family. She knew that no matter what happened as time passed, she would need to be very careful around the newest Heir of the family. He seemed to be looking for a reason to hurt her.

"If I find out anything different, I will make sure your death is more horrific than what happened to my brother."

He released her arm with a smile that made her stomach clench.

"You should go back downstairs before someone comes looking for you."

Hermione was out of his bedroom in seconds. Another minute in Salazar's presence and she was certain she was going to lose her mind. Her guilt was eating away at her, and she knew it was only going to get worse. She hoped Regnault didn't want to linger much longer.

Everyone looked up when she reentered the rom. The sudden increase in her heartrate and desire to flee the immediate area was explained by the feel of Salazar's body right behind hers. It was a vulnerable position she wanted to get out of immediately. Thankfully, Mrs. Selwyn was a perceptive woman who seemed to care about her guests' well-being.

"Regnault, I think Miss Dumbledore needs to lie down. We so appreciate your visit, but I fear the shock of everything has affected your niece just as profoundly as the rest of my family."

Elizabeth Selwyn turned her full attention on Hermione. Every square centimeter of the witch's face was etched with sadness and concern. Her kind eyes met Hermione's and the younger of the two witches felt marginally better and yet even more remorseful all at once. Silas' mother was the heart of their family and it was broken. She stood up from her chair and crossed the room to where Hermione was standing. Lowering her voice so only Hermione and Salazar could hear, Elizabeth pulled her into a tight embrace.

"Thank you for coming, dear. I will always regret that my Silas couldn't persuade you to be more than just his friend. I hoped you two would be able to make each other very happy."

Arguing with a grieving mother was a pointless endeavor. Not trusting herself to speak, Hermione nodded her head. When Mrs. Selwyn released her from the hug, she saw her uncle rise to his feet. It only took a few more minutes to offer the formal condolences again to each member of the family. Hermione even managed to sound sincere when speaking to Salazar.

In a move similar to when they Apparated to the Selwyn home, Regnault made Hermione take his arm to Side-Along her back to the manor. They didn't speak until their feet landed on the ground outside the gates of the estate. She knew to expect him to ask uncomfortable questions and he didn't surprise her.

"You were upstairs for a while. Was everything all right?"

A weariness she couldn't describe descended on her shoulders. To satisfy her uncle's curiosity, she knew that she was going to have to tell him a series of convincing lies. The thought made her want to turn around and disappear. How much longer would she be able to keep up living a life filled with lies? It was exhausting.

"I didn't mean to be up there as long as I was. When I was walking back down, I passed by Salazar as he was leaving his bedroom. We stood upstairs talking for a few minutes."

"Just talking?"

There was a hint of disbelief in his tone. Hermione was offended at the assumption that her uncle was making about her character. Not only was he just a breath away from accusing her of lying, she was almost certain that he was about to ask her if there was something happening between her and Salazar. Even if she didn't have Kingsley in her life officially as her wizard, she would rather die than allow that monster to touch her. He was foul. Almost as foul as Voldemort himself.

" _Just_ talking."

Regnault brushed the back of two fingers across Hermione's neck. The simple touch made her wince. She'd almost forgotten about Salazar slamming her up against the bedroom wall by her throat. Based on the furious expression on her uncle's face, there was evidence left behind of the act.

"I didn't notice the redness on your neck until we stepped outside. The lighting was too low inside the house. Would you care to explain to me _why_ it looks like there is a red print of similar size and shape to Salazar Selwyn's hand across your neck?"

He was angrier than she had seen him in a long time. Her uncle had very strong ideas about violence against witches committed by wizards. They'd had more than one discussion about it since the first time he brought it up over lunch. Hermione worried that if she told him the truth, he would rush back over to the Selwyns' home to exact revenge for the wizard's unforgivable behavior. As much as she hated Salazar and would have loved to see her uncle knock him down, that was not the time. Their family was in the beginning stages of unimaginable grief. For the sake of Silas' parents and sisters, she didn't want Regnault to get involved.

"Please forget about it, Uncle."

"The fuck I will, Hermione!"

Even in his most intoxicated and angriest mood over the years, she could not remember a time when he resorted to using profanity. It was a mark of his true anger. She wasn't going to be able to pacify him with reassurances that she was all right and no lasting harm was done. He looked like a man prepared to do murder on her behalf. She would've felt encouraged and loved by his anger if she wasn't afraid of what he was capable of.

"He laid his hand on my niece. I cannot forget that. _Why_ would he do that? Did he try to force himself on you?"

"No! It wasn't anything like that."

"Then tell me _why_ would he would hurt you?"

"He thinks I had something to do with his brother's death."

She was tired of lying. If she could tell the truth at least once, Hermione was certain she would feel better. Maybe her uncle would even understand what he was supporting each time he invited Lord Voldemort into his home. Regnault's confusion was clear.

"How could the imbecile even think that there was a possibility that you were responsible for his brother's death?"

"Because I am."

He balked at the confession. Regnault's light green eyes blinked several times in utter disbelief. Not wanting to meet his eyes, Hermione stared down at the green grass beneath their feet. Since arriving, they'd only managed to make it a few feet inside the estate gates. It was for the best. This was not a discussion she wanted to have anywhere near the house. The other inhabitants didn't need to hear the truth.

"Please start making sense, Hermione. I watched you leave last night on Kingsley Shacklebolt's arm and I am not a naïve man living underneath a large rock. Unless your next words are to tell me that you and Mr. Shacklebolt _both_ were responsible for Silas Selwyn's murder, I won't believe it. Once you left last night, you didn't go anywhere near the man."

"No, I didn't physically kill the man, but it's my fault he was."

Hermione sighed. She'd gone too far to not continue her tale. Regnault was not the type of person to just drop the subject. He would be relentless in his pursuit for answers if she didn't continue.

"Lord… well, You-Know-Who, forced me into giving him names of potential recruits for his little army." Once the words were out of her mouth, she felt a lightening on her shoulders. Confession was supposedly good for the soul. Maybe she would discover that if she continued. "He wanted me as one of his followers, but I told him that I didn't think I would be much of an asset. There's nothing special about me to interest him."

Regnault clenched his jaw and rolled his eyes. Apparently, they had a difference of opinion.

"I accidentally introduced him to Antonin. He was pleased. Wanted me to give him more names of potential recruits. I didn't want to do it. It didn't seem fair that I was putting people that I know and care about in his sights. Despite what you may believe, Uncle, he is _not_ a good man. He blackmailed me into giving him names. Silas was an accident. I truly thought that he would be one who would end up following the Dark Lord on his own. I tried to only give him names of people I thought would do it without my help.

"Silas turned him down at least three times. It might have been more, I don't know. When I realized I'd made a mistake about him, I tried to convince him to run away. But he was too stubborn. He's dead because I misjudged him."

He didn't speak for a couple of tense minutes. Frightened of what she might see when she looked up, Hermione took a deep breath and lifted her eyes. Regnault's brow was furrowed and his eyes narrowed. There was a wealth of questions running through his mind. She could tell just by looking at him.

"All right. Assuming that you are somehow responsible for his death, _how_ exactly were you blackmailed?"

"That's a long story."

"I have all the time in the world."

He wasn't going to give up until she shared everything. Hermione took another deep breath. It wasn't going to be easy. After this conversation, Regnault very well might never speak to her again. She found it interesting that the thought of not seeing him again made her very sad. How far they had come!

"I'm going to tell you everything, Uncle, and I must ask you not to interrupt me until I'm finished. I'm sure you will have a lot of questions."

Once she had his reassurance that he was amenable to the conditions, she began. The truth peppered with a bit of lies that had become second nature to her over time rolled off her tongue with relative ease.

"When I first arrived five years ago, Lord… well, the Dark Lord could tell that I was hiding something. A pretty big secret. Mum taught me Occlumency when I was younger. Told me that I should never trust wizards. The night of the party when we danced, he could tell I was shielding my true thoughts from him. I _intrigued_ him."

It was easier to speak the longer her story grew. Regnault listened patiently. Hermione was curious what was going through his head, but she was also a bit scared. He would have to be told how and _why_ Lord Voldemort was able to blackmail her so thoroughly.

"I practice Occlumency whenever I could. It became like second nature to me. The night Roddy's betrothal, the Dark Lord dragged me into your study in the middle of the party. He wanted to know what I was hiding, why I always kept myself so shielded in his presence.

"His curiosity just kept getting stronger. Months after the wedding, when you were interested in me becoming his mistress…"

Regnault's cheeks flushed the faintest pink at her statement. At least he had enough sense to be somewhat ashamed by his past actions.

"… he got a little _creative_ in his endeavors."

"What do you mean by ' _creative'_?"

"He cast a disgusting sex magic spell on me that could only be broken by me having sex with him. He wanted to tear my shields down without ripping apart my mind."

He closed his eyes and sighed. Over the years, Hermione had gotten to know her uncle well enough to know when he was upset. It might have felt strange to admit the violation she was subjected to because of the horrible wizard, but she _needed_ Regnault to understand. Even if he never wanted to speak to her again, at least he wouldn't be completely ignorant of Voldemort's tactics. Maybe she could even save him from making a terrible choice he could never recover from.

"He's been blackmailing me with what he learned. I thought at first that he would be satisfied with me simply pushing those in front of him that I thought would be interested in joining him already. Seemed to work for a while, but then he wasn't happy with just that anymore. I misjudged Silas. After he rejected the Dark Lord the first time, he was very angry with me. Tried to get me to join him myself.

"Last night after our dance when I was going out in the garden to meet Kingsley, he asked me again. Cornered me in the garden and practically demanded I pledge my loyalty to him. I told him no. He said that I was no longer under his protection."

"His protection? What is he keeping you safe from?"

She wasn't ready to tell him about Greyback. That was something she wasn't sure she would ever be ready to admit to him. Even if he knew that _something_ happened to her one night years earlier, she didn't want him to know the details.

"I'm not sure. Probably nothing, to be honest. He may have just been trying to scare me in an attempt to get me to change my mind. I have no doubt whatsoever that he is behind what happened to Silas last night. Maybe it was a way to remind me how dangerous he was."

"He's not a man to cross."

"I know that. Probably better than most, but Silas is dead because of me."

Regnault placed his arm around Hermione's shoulder in an unexpected gesture of support. It felt good to be able to be somewhat honest with the man. The only person who knew absolutely everything there was to know about her past and what happened with Voldemort was Thomas. With the exception of that horrible New Year's night, Thomas knew it all.

"You can't blame yourself, Hermione. Knowing what family he's from, it's likely that he would've been approached anyway without your interference."

She couldn't argue with the truth. So far, her uncle had taken everything she told him surprisingly well. Hermione didn't want to continue their discussion, but it seemed that she was better off getting it out. Better to hear the 'truth' from her than from Voldemort. Regnault wouldn't appreciate being left out.

"I don't think he is done trying to hurt me, Uncle. I need you to know what he was blackmailing me with. It may be that he will use it to try to put a wedge between us."

"I can't imagine there would be anything that would do that. We are family. Whatever it is you think he can hold over your head, I'm sure it's not that dire."

"My mother didn't raise me abroad. We lived just outside of London for my entire life and… and she was married to a Muggle. I didn't know I had any living family until after she and my stepfather died in a Muggle automobile accident."

Blurting it all out at once was much easier than being gentle with the news. It seemed to take a moment for Regnault to register what she was saying. When he did, an angry scowl replaced the confusion still present. He dropped his arm from around her shoulder almost as quickly as if she had been on fire. His reaction wasn't surprising, but it still hurt. Hermione forced the traitorous tears to remain in her eyes. He would not appreciate her crying in that moment.

"You and your mother were living in London all of those years?"

The question was spat out between his clenched teeth. It had been a long time since Hermione could remember him being so angry. She hated that she was lying. The poor man would never forgive his late sister for something she never actually did. More than a few times she had had the conversation with Thomas about what would happen if Regnault ever found out the altered truth that she'd managed to convince Voldemort with. They were both of the opinion that it didn't matter what the dead thought. Their worries were over. If it could help keep Hermione alive long enough to figure out some way to get back to her own time, it was a risk she needed to be willing to take.

"Yes." Her answer was hardly a whisper. She was losing her nerve. If the discussion lasted much longer, she wasn't certain she would be able to continue.

"And she never told you that you had living relatives only a short distance away?"

"No."

"And she was actually _married_ to a Muggle?"

"Yes."

Regnault narrowed his eyes once more. His entire face was bright red. Hermione feared that he was in danger of having a heart attack or stroke. The news of his sister's betrayal was not easy to take. Finally, after several uncomfortable moments, Regnault spun on his heel and headed back to the gates.

"Go home to your father, Hermione. _Now_."

He Disapparated seconds later. She didn't know where he ran off to or why. His order for her to leave lingered in the air long after he was gone. Her uncle behaved much as she expected him to once he learned the lie she had practiced so thoroughly. Whether or not they would ever get back to the point where their relationship was before the visit to the Selwyn home remained to be seen. She tried not to dwell too much on it. If he never wanted to see her again, that would be his decision.

* * *

 **7:15 pm**

Once Regnault disappeared to wherever it was he went, Hermione did not stay long. She did as he said and returned home. Aberforth was pleased to see her enter the front door. Though he didn't come out and admit so, he was worried about her. When she saw the Daily Prophet on the bar open to the article with Silas' face splashed across the front, she sighed. Even at home she wasn't going to escape from it entirely.

Her dad insisted that she take a long nap once he practically poured a cup of tea down her throat and asked her what her morning had consisted of. He had been sympathetic. When her eyes began to droop at the table, she cursed him audibly. Just like the young wizard he hoped would make his daughter happy, Aberforth had not been above tipping a small amount of sleeping potion in her tea.

She wasn't angry when she woke up early in the evening. A long nap had been just what she needed. There had been no disturbing thoughts to make her sick to her stomach or her heart race. Waking up only brought the crushing reality of the previous twenty-four hours back to her mind. How sad that it had been less than a day since she met Kingsley in the gardens. So much had happened.

Wanting to find some way to occupy her mind, Hermione dressed and joined Aberforth behind the bar. There were only a few patrons scattered around the room. Once she was satisfied that they all had enough to drink, she started looking for other tasks to keep her hands busy. Her attention was so focused on cleaning inside the fireplace that she didn't notice Kingsley until he was right behind her.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to startle you. I was calling your name."

Hermione stepped back from the bricks and turned around to see his exhausted face. Not caring that her father was paying attention, she leaned up to kiss the wizard. His arms wrapped around her waist and he smiled.

"It's been the longest day. I wish we didn't have to get out of bed this morning."

"So do I. Sit down and I'll bring you a drink."

She assumed that he was going to pick a table where they could speak privately. When he followed her to the bar, she was surprised. He shook Aberforth's hand across the bar and took a seat. Her dad didn't hide his smirk. Hermione rolled her eyes and poured them all a glass of fire whiskey. She knew that whatever Kingsley had been able to discover from the Ministry wasn't going to be easy to hear.

"Did you find anything out?" she asked, unsure if she really wanted to know the answer.

"None of it is good, Hermione. Are you sure you want to know?"

"Yes, Kingsley. Please. I need to know."

He took a deep gulp of his drink before answering. Aberforth didn't hesitate to top his glass off.

"It was bad, I'm afraid. Brutal."

"Do you think he suffered a lot?"

"Honestly? Yes."

She swallowed all of her fire whiskey. Of course it had been too much to hope for a painless Avada. No, this was a clear message to her and all those who resisted Voldemort's 'benevolent' offers. It was a warning to Hermione that when it was finally her turn, he would not show mercy. She knew she would regret asking later, but she _had_ to know the truth. Kingsley seemed to want to shield her from the worst of the bad news. She wasn't a child or some delicate flower.

"How? How was he murdered?"

"Best we can figure, he was beaten to death."

Striking an enemy down with a clinical killing curse was one thing. Resorting to bloodying one's hands in such a violent, primitive manner was another. Someone wanted Silas to suffer. Not caring that she had been making a real effort to stop drinking so much, Hermione reached for the bottle with shaking hands. This was not a sip-on-one-glass sort of conversation. She wanted to be numb.

"His face was… are you _sure_ you want to hear this, love?"

"Yes!"

Kingsley and Aberforth exchanged a silent look of concern that made her want to curse them both. How dare they try to protect her from something awful that was entirely her fault!

"His face was so mangled and bloodied that the wizard who found him had to search his pockets to find out his name."

Her throat tightened but she refused to scream or cry in the presence of the two men who were already concerned for her tenuous grasp on sanity. One tiny indication that she was incapable of hearing the details without falling apart and Kingsley would stop giving them.

"Mr. Selwyn had to identify him by the clothes he was wearing and a ring with the Selwyn crest. His wand was snapped in half. We didn't find that until this afternoon. It was chucked in a gutter."

"I wish I had seen him."

"No, Hermione, you _don't_. I saw him and he's certainly not the first dead body I've seen, but I'll never forget it either. Someone beat his face so hard with their fists that there was nothing left."

Silas, even in his most obnoxious state, had always been handsome. Part of what made him so unbearable was that he knew how attractive he was. It was no wonder his attacker chose to take the brunt of their violence out on his face. It was barbaric and cruel. She hated the world she was living in.

"Kingsley, You-Know-Who was trying to recruit Silas. He told me just the other day."

Fear like she'd never seen from the auror filled his dark brown eyes. Hermione couldn't remember ever seeing Kingsley frightened. Even when he stood across from Voldemort in the final battle locked in a violent duel, there had been a fierce determination in his expression. Never fear. He understood the point she was trying to make without actually uttering the words. Silas' fate could just as easily be her fate.

Not giving it a slightest care that Aberforth was watching them both so intently from only inches away, Kingsley wrapped his arms around Hermione and pulled her against his broad and firm chest. She was grateful for the comfort and the reminder that even though it felt like it at times, she wasn't actually alone in a big, scary world.

"Lass, did you even eat anything today?"

Aberforth wasn't bothered by the embrace she was sharing with Kingsley. His focus was on her swaying frame. Only when he mentioned food did Hermione even think about the fact that no, she hadn't eaten anything that day. Coupled with the alcohol and the traces of sleeping potion still in her system, it was a wonder she was still on her feet. She started to lie and say that she was feeling just fine, but her dad cut her off.

"I thought so. You're about to pass out. You need sleep. Kingsley, do you mind taking her to her bedroom?"

Kingsley smirked.

"Do I _mind_ escorting a pretty witch to her bedroom? Of course not."

Hermione rolled her eyes and Aberforth actually snorted. The young wizard's attempt to lighten the heavy mood was more than a little successful.

"Take her in there and then _you_ leave immediately."

Both wizards chuckled softly. It made Hermione happy to know that the two men she loved the most got along so well. Kingsley placed his arm around her waist to walk her to the back of the pub. When she was stretched out on her bed a couple of minutes later, he started to leave. Hermione reached out to stop him with a touch of his arm.

"Please don't go. You're just as exhausted as I am. Stay."

"Little Witch, do you honestly think your dad wouldn't come in and drag me out?"

She pointed her wand at her window. It sprung open silently with a nonverbal spell.

"Walk out, close the door behind you, say goodbye to my dad, and climb in the window."

Kingsley kissed her forehead and wished her a good night before leaving through her bedroom door. Minutes later just as she was drifting off to sleep, she felt the bed dip down behind her and his strong arms encircle her entire body. It was a feeling she was certain she could get used to.

* * *

September 4, 1998

 **11:00 am**

Very few eyes belonging to the esteemed members of the Wizengamot were dry when they exited the pensieve. No one present in the room who hadn't already seen the memories before resisted the chance to see the Minister's compelling evidence to pardon Rodolphus Lestrange. Kingsley felt confident just by seeing the pale and flushed faces of so many that he would be able to get twenty-six members to agree with him without fear. But he didn't want to just scrape by with the minimum. He wanted Rodolphus' name to be vindicated. Once the pardon was announced, each member would be free to speak to the press about the proceedings. He wanted the overwhelming voice to the public to be that they had made the right decision.

The pensieve was only large enough to allow at most ten people to view the contents at once. It had taken the better part of half an hour for everyone to witness that horrific night. Even as the ones who had already seen the memories returned to their seats, no one spoke. A hushed whisper here and there could be heard, but for the most part, they were stunned into silence. Kingsley chose to remain confident by that reaction. When the last of the members returned to their seats dabbing at their eyes with handkerchiefs and the sleeves of their robes, the Minister addressed the gathering once more.

"I would like to call three different witnesses to speak to us about their experiences of that night and the day following. Each of them will provide their own special perspective. When we are finished, I will formally announce and sign Mr. Lestrange's pardon. Those who are in agreement with my action will be asked to affirm their support by signing the document with me. We require at _least_ twenty-six esteemed members to pardon him without an objection."

There was nods of understanding all over the room. Satisfied that they were all ready to take the proceedings seriously, Kingsley called for the first witness to be escorted inside. Mafalda walked proudly with her head up to the witness stand. He knew she had to have been nervous on the inside, but she didn't let on. She focused her gaze entirely on him in an effort to remain calm.

"Miss Hopkirk, you provided a formal statement only days after the initial arrest stating that you believed a mistake had been made in the investigation. Would you mind reading a copy of your statement to the Wizengamot?"

After Mafalda read her statement and answered more than a dozen questions from both Kingsley and other members, she was thanked for her testimony and allowed to leave the chamber. The Minister felt even more confident in his future success when she finished. Mafalda was a respected Ministry official known to almost every member present. Though she didn't give up the private details of her years-long affair with the prisoner or the fact that she was the mother of his child, she presented compelling evidence to further their case. Several of the members were whispering to each other throughout her testimony and as she left.

"My next witness will be considered a bit controversial by some of you, I'm afraid, but I have been given his permission to allow the use of Veritaserum in his testimony. I would also like to remind the esteemed members that our witness is not on trial and has requested absolutely no clemency for his own crimes."

Rabastan Lestrange was escorted into the room in chains by two of the largest aurors the Ministry employed. A few gasps from the audience only made him grin. He wasn't bothered by the attention. With a great big smile on his face, Rabastan allowed the aurors to chain him to the witness stand and administer the truth serum. Kingsley kept his questions simple and to the point. There was no need for embellishment. Everyone present knew that Rabastan was guilty just from watching the memories. His impassioned pleas to spare his older brother the indignity of serving a life sentence for a crime that he didn't even commit plucked at the heartstrings of more than a few gathered.

He repeated several times in his testimony that he wasn't trying to get anything out of testifying for himself. His crimes were known and valid. Rabastan's sole concern was righting the wrong that should have been taken care of years earlier. Kingsley thanked him for his participation. The prisoner left the room with a bright smile on his face and his shoulders lighter.

"My final witness will be one that is familiar to every single one of us. A great injustice was done that night back in 1981 and the fault rests firmly with this former Ministry official. Her memories were in the pensieve that everyone viewed earlier. I've asked her to come today to confirm under oath and Veritaserum, also with her cooperation, that the memories were unaltered and true. She will also read her formal statement as to _why_ she did not offer Mr. Lestrange the chance to clear his name and keep his freedom."

Dolores Umbridge was also brought into the courtroom in chains. There were whispers around the room at her appearance. Though she was dressed in the drab robes marking a prisoner of Azkaban, she held herself up just as she had those years she strolled through the Ministry wreaking havoc into other people's lives. She was undeterred by the unwelcome reception. She was even less bothered by the horrified hisses and jeers that filled the air when she admitted to purposefully _not_ checking Rodolphus for the Imperius Curse simply because he'd once insulted her family heritage. Umbridge was a witch that could hold a grudge.

Kingsley fought the urge to hex her simpering smile off of her ugly face when she was finished with her testimony. As he watched her be taken back out of the room by two aurors, he fantasized what it would feel like to curse her in the back as she walked away. He'd never cared for the witch. She had been a nuisance in his younger days and a menace in his older.

When the door slammed shut behind Umbridge and the aurors, Kingsley took a deep breath. All of the hard work that he, Andromeda, Iain, and Mafalda had done over the previous weeks came down to a single moment. It all seemed to happen so fast. He expected the fight to continue longer than it had. All three witnesses had been seen and heard from in less than two hours.

He recited the contents of his formal pardon to the room in the loud, booming voice he'd inherited from his father. Only a half second passed from the time he finished until the time he began to sign his name to the official magical document with a flourish. He stared at his signature as it dried, suddenly nervous that he was about to fail.

With his back to the rest of the room, Kingsley closed his eyes and took another deep breath. There was a genuine fear within him that he would never see Hermione again. That was something he lived with constantly every single second of the day. Freeing her cousin from an imprisonment that should never have happened was something he needed to do for her. Even if she would never get to see it happen. After a moment gathering himself, he stood to his full height and addressed the crowd.

"To pardon Rodolphus Rosier Lestrange for his crimes as a Death Eater, at least twenty-six esteemed members are required to provide their consent. All those in favor of releasing the wizard, please raise your wand arms."

Kingsley stopped counting when he got to thirty-two raised arms.


	69. Chapter 69

_**Author's Note: Some of you may have been following me on Tumblr. At this time, I've decided to step away from that site. I had no idea it would be such a cesspool of ridiculous HATRED when I started an account there. It used to be a fun place to interact, but I don't know. Maybe I'm too old to put up with some of the bullshit that I've been seeing on there lately. And receiving anonymous Asks calling me a bitch and telling me to kill myself are never fun. So, for the foreseeable future, I will not be anywhere near that site. I can always be found on this site and in The Death Eater Express on Facebook. There are a few other groups I'm a part of as well, but I may be about to clear all of them out except for DEE and the Shrieking Shack Society. Just FYI. Some fandom groups can become toxic and stressful. Makes me sad. This is all supposed to be fun! Yep, I'm definitely getting too old for that shit. Just call me Murtagh.**_

 _ **Anyway, sorry for the delay. Life has been a real bitch for me lately. I hope to be getting back into the groove very soon.**_

* * *

Chapter Sixty-Nine

June 18, 1976

 **10:30 am**

Rabastan and Solveig Lestrange marked their first week of marriage with a solemn funeral. The guests that gathered in the formal wizarding cemetery to pay their respects to the young bride's eldest brother Silas were almost the exact same people that a short time earlier had been celebrating the occasion of their marriage. The stark difference in the two events in just the few days that passed was remarkable. One had been filled with joyful laughter, the other echoed with grievous cries.

It had been an unusual week for Hermione. Once she woke up the morning after she drank too much fire whiskey on an empty stomach and Kingsley snuck into her bedroom window, she was saddened to find the pillow next to her was unoccupied. Hoping that he had just slipped into the bathroom, she sighed when she discovered his entire side of the bed was cold. And likely had been for a while. She was half-tempted to send him a scathing message through the use of either her patronus or one of the village owls when she saw the folded sheet of parchment lying where his head had been most of the night.

Kingsley apologized for running out on her before she woke up. A combination of an early shift at the Ministry and the fear that Aberforth would be in to check on her kept him from staying as long as he wanted. There had been a promise scrawled in his familiar handwriting that he would try his very hardest to get to the pub that evening after he was done with work. Knowing that he hadn't just disappeared in the night made her feel more at ease. They had had enough difficulties and complications getting their relationship off of the ground that she was certain it would take some time before she was fully confident that they were in fact _officially_ together.

Every single night that week, her wizard made at least a short appearance at her father's pub. Three of those nights he'd been easily convinced to sneak back in through the window. To Hermione's delight, none of his subsequent visits had been innocent in the slightest. Something about being alone in her bedroom protected by silencing charms and a locked door brought out a side of Kingsley that she never expected. As they grew more comfortable with each other, they uncovered new heights of passion that left them constantly craving for me.

He had been a wonderful distraction for her troubled mind. When Kingsley wasn't around, Hermione often found her mind wandering to depressing thoughts of Silas and her responsibility in his demise. She was certain she would never be able to forgive herself. Keeping busy at the pub, the shop, and in her bedroom with her wizard was all that was keeping her mind from running away from itself and never returning.

On the Thursday morning after her emotional confession to Regnault, she did not receive her customary owl from her uncle reminding her of their scheduled lunch at noon. She could not remember the last time they missed a week. Hoping that the owl had been confused or intercepted, she showed up at the restaurant at the usual time. There had been no sign of her uncle. She tried and failed not to read too much into his unusual absence. Clearly, her fake revelation at the gates of the Lestrange Estate had been even more poorly received than she initially believed. It made her sad to even imagine the possibility that they would never be able to recover their relationship.

She had been nervous to attend Silas' funeral. Not only was it sure to be the place where she would see Regnault for the first time since their explosive meeting, she worried that her guilt would make her do something foolish and damning. Like jump on top of the coffin in hysterics announcing her role in his murder. She didn't understand how anyone could just casually commit murder. Her conscience was making her life miserable and she hadn't even been physically responsible!

Kingsley wasn't able to make it to the cemetery for the service. When he announced the night before that he was expected at work and Moody would not budge, she had been even more worried about how she was going to make it through the day. Her heart almost exploded with gratitude when she opened her bedroom door to find Thomas sitting on the sofa in their private parlor dressed in his finest dress robes. Kingsley made certain that she wasn't going to be alone.

"Are you all right?" Thomas asked in a quiet whisper when they entered the ornate gates of the cemetery. Hermione had clenched his hand even tighter when she saw the mahogany coffin covered in pristine white lilies. "Do you need some water? Or something _stronger_?"

He discreetly patted the inside chest pocket of his robes. Leave it to Thomas to come prepared for any eventuality. His thoughtfulness and generous offer brought a small smile to her face as she shook her head. There would be no need for liquor to make it through the day. She had seen firsthand how dangerous dependence on alcohol could be. There was enough already wrong in her life that an addiction didn't need to be one of them.

Thomas knew why she was feeling guilty. He had been something like a confessor to her ever since the day she told him everything. Or at least, _almost_ everything. Every time he asked questions about the future of his best friend since childhood, she resolutely refused to tell him. Though she knew his mind was likely travelling to the worst conclusions possible, she didn't have the heart to describe to him what kind of monster Antonin would become. He would try to do everything he could to stop that future from happening and he would fail. She wanted to protect Thomas' gentle heart from the agony of a future he could not control.

There was already a large crowd gathered for Silas' service. Many familiar faces in varying degrees of grief dotted the cemetery. Hermione's eyes sought out the Selwyn family. Though she would've preferred going the rest of her life without ever seeing Salazar Selwyn again, staying away from the family would be an unconscionable social mistake she could not afford to make. They had almost all been pleasant to her. Certainly, the sisters and the mother had always been nothing but kind.

Salazar was the first of the family to spot her across the cemetery. She could feel his gaze on her long before their eyes met. The newest heir to the family was not even attempting to hide the fact that he was staring at her. If it was an attempt to intimidate her, Hermione hated to admit even to herself that he was succeeding. He was acting the devoted son and grieving brother, but Hermione wasn't fooled by the chilly gleam in his eye. It was all an elaborate display put on for the masses.

She wished she had taken the time to ask Silas more questions about his brother. Their relationship seemed strained and forced. It all appeared entirely too tidy that Silas was dead within two weeks of his younger brother's arrival. The biblical story of Cain and Abel came to mind. Despite several key differences in the two sets of brothers, it wasn't far-fetched to believe Salazar's fingerprints were all over the crime. Voldemort didn't care to usually dirty his own hands and Silas' murder had been _personal_.

Hermione forced her feet towards the Selwyn family. The newest member of their family, Rabastan, was the first to greet her with a kiss on the cheek. A sniffling but still quite stunning Solveig threw her arms around Hermione's neck and thanked her for coming. The poor girl seemed just as overwrought as the day she learned of her brother's death. Hermione's heart hurt for the poor witch. She should've been travelling across Europe with her handsome new husband without a care in the world.

"Thank you for coming. Your presence is appreciated."

Sybille Selwyn was as emotionless as it was possible to be. She dutifully greeted both Hermione and Thomas with the same rehearsed, automated statement. Everyone was dealing with their sorrow in their own way. She might not have been as demonstrative as her younger sister, but Hermione could still see her pain.

Mrs. Selwyn enveloped Hermione in a tight hug when she saw her. The mother of the departed seemed to be doing much better than she had days earlier. Perhaps her new reality was finally sinking in. Or, perhaps more likely, she was an accomplished actress. Mr. Selwyn thanked her for coming with little emotion.

"I'm certain it would mean a great deal to my brother to know that you came today, Miss Dumbledore."

She worried for a brief moment that she was in danger of slapping the horrible wizard when he leaned down to place a chaste kiss on her cheek. The urge to rush home and scrub her face clean until she bled was quite strong. Only the feel of Thomas at her back kept Hermione from completely losing her composure. Salazar was attempting to elicit a reaction from her, she was certain. What exactly he wanted her to do was beyond her comprehension however. He was one mystery she had no desire to solve.

"I am sorry for your loss, Mr. Selwyn."

Hermione didn't even wait for Thomas to finish giving his condolences to the family before she rushed away. As she moved away, she looked up to see Rodolphus standing on the opposite end of the cemetery by himself. Grateful for a reason to leave, she moved quickly to her cousin.

"Are you all right?" Rodolphus asked after he kissed her cheek in greeting. "I know you and Silas had something of a friendship."

"Yes, thank you. Where's Uncle Regnault?"

Prolonging a conversation about Silas, though expected at his funeral, was not something she was in the right mood to do. The end of the service could not come fast enough for Hermione. She'd taken a moment to survey all of the newest arrivals. Bellatrix wasn't there with her husband, but that wasn't exactly a surprise. She had had something of a contentious relationship with him every time he came to the manor. Silas liked to rile Bellatrix up. It was amusing to watch. At least when he did that, her future torturer's attention was on someone else.

Regnault's absence was a surprise. She expected him to be one of the first people at the cemetery. When Antonin's mother died, he had made his appearance very early and he didn't even respect the deceased. For someone he had actually had hopes that his niece would settle down with, it was odd that he wasn't already there.

Rodolphus sighed when she asked her question. It was clear that he wasn't eager to answer it. Surely he wasn't going to miss the service simply because he was still angry with her for what she told him. He was the kind of person that strove to never make a misstep in society. Even if he didn't speak a single word to his niece, he would make certain that he was in attendance.

"Father is running a little late this morning."

"That doesn't sound like him at all. Is everything all right?"

He sighed again. His light green eyes begged her silently to drop the issue, but Rodolphus should have known her better than that. When he didn't act as if he was going to budge, Hermione stepped closer to her cousin to speak to him in a whisper.

"We had a very _tense_ discussion the day we went to visit the Selwyns. It did not end well. I'm worried, Roddy. Worried that he's not going to want to ever speak to me again."

"If you think for one second that you are _ever_ in danger of Father not wanting to speak to you again, you are clearly not as intelligent as I assumed you were."

"It was _bad_. He ordered me to go home and then he left."

"And I'm telling you, Hermione, that Father is more likely to stop talking to _me_ than he is to you. Everyone knows that you're his favorite."

A cemetery waiting for a funeral to begin was not the place to have that argument. Hermione didn't believe Rodolphus for a moment that she was the favored one of the Lestrange clan. If Regnault loved her more than his sons, which seemed utterly preposterous to begin with, then why was he always so strict with her? Why did they argue so much? Their relationship before the infamous argument almost a week earlier had been the best it had ever been, but she did not believe for a moment that she was his favorite. They could barely stand each other at times!

"Why is he running late? I thought he would be the first one here."

"Father only just returned home early this morning. None of us had heard from him since the two of you left to make your visit."

Rodolphus made his announcement so matter-of-fact that Hermione almost misunderstood. It was strange. In five years of knowing the man, he had never just disappeared without a word to anyone. She would have said that Regnault was behaving out of character, but she had just given him devastating news.

She hated lying to the wizard that a big part of her had grown to love despite his archaic manners and infuriating habits. The truth about where Roesia Lestrange disappeared to after running away from her home country wasn't widely known. Aberforth admitted only once when he had been a bit far into his cups and feeling a bit depressed that she would send him an owl once every few years from whatever country she was living in just to let him know that she was still alive and their daughter was thriving. When the last message came shortly after her death, Aberforth had gone to Sri Lanka in an attempt to encourage his _actual_ daughter to come home with him. Years of being poisoned against him by her mother resulted in the real Miss Dumbledore wanting nothing to do with her blood relative. Hermione could only imagine how devastating that must have been for Aberforth.

Telling Regnault that his sister had been in the same city that he had been in countless times over the years he thought she had run away must have been equally as devastating. It was one thing for him to imagine that his sister was thousands of miles away. Being easily within reach and still not wishing to be a part of her brother's life had to have been excruciating. Even though it was a complete lie, Hermione had to remind herself that she had certainly done worse to keep herself safe in the current timeline. Roesia Lestrange was the one who hurt her brother. She was certain that the witch had her reasons, but Hermione had to remain resolute in her deception.

"Where did he go?"

Rodolphus cleared his throat and stared down at his feet.

"I'm not the only Lestrange that has been known to spend days at our family's hunting lodge at the bottom of a bottle."

It was another startling revelation. Hermione had _never_ seen her uncle imbibe more than was socially acceptable. Perhaps, just like his son, Regnault knew how to keep the worst of his habits out of the public eye. He was a man who insisted that every member of his family keep a perfect public persona, but it was obvious that they all had their secrets.

"I didn't realize."

"Father has been going there for years. When Grandfather was alive, he used to spend a great deal of time there. Grandfather didn't like… well, he didn't care for Mrs. Malfoy to be in the manor, if you must know. Said that it was inappropriate no matter what kind of wizard her husband actually was."

"And he's always wondered why I've been so against arranged marriages…"

Hermione muttered her statement under her breath in an effort to keep it from Rodolphus' ears. It didn't work, however. Her cousin sighed again. She hated the pained expression that crossed his face. His marriage with Bellatrix was every bit as uncomfortable and miserable years in as it had been days in. Neither of them had any hope that it would get better.

"When Grandfather died, I thought he stopped going there completely, but I guess I was wrong. He must have limited his trips to when we were at school or away. I only learned that he started going back about a year ago when he dropped in rather unexpectedly. I was there one weekend with Mafal… _uhh_ , well, I was _there_ and he came bursting into the lounge half-drunk already. Caught us in a rather _delicate_ …"

"Merlin, Roddy!"

"… position. Quite embarrassing for all of us really."

The proud little smirk on his face threatened to pull a chuckle out of Hermione against her will. Her cousin already knew her opinion about his extramarital affair. Though she didn't want any details about who the lady was and what they got up to when they were alone, she was pleased that he was finding at least a small bit of happiness in his life. It was too depressing to imagine the years he had looming up ahead where he would have none at all.

"Unless you want me to tell you what Igor and I used to do when we were together or what Kingsley and I did last night after he snuck into my bedroom window, please, _please_ do _not_ give me any more details."

Rodolphus chuckled softly. She was grateful for the presence of her cousin in that moment. Something about him always put her at ease in even the most uncomfortable of situations. The clenching of her heart that she'd felt since crossing into the cemetery began to subside slightly. At the very least, her fear that she was not going to make it through the end of the ceremony when it finally started seemed irrational. With Thomas and Rodolphus beside her, she could make it through anything. Both men had proven their willingness to share their strength on numerous occasions.

"Speaking of your idiot, are you two _finally_ together?"

"Kingsley is not an idiot, Roddy."

"Yes, he is, but love has a way of making us ignore even their worst flaws."

She playfully swatted at her cousin's arm to his delight. He always loved to tease her even if the setting wasn't entirely appropriate. Silas' service was set to begin shortly, but the line of mourners there to pay their respects to the family just kept growing. It would likely begin late.

"And yes, we are _finally_ together. Officially. No complications or exes in our way."

"Well, as long as he makes you happy, I'm glad to hear that."

Thomas chose that moment to approach them. Once he offered his condolences to the family, he had been sidetracked by his Uncle Masud and his wife. His aunt was a cousin of some sort to the Selwyn family. Or perhaps, she was a cousin to Mrs. Selwyn. Thomas wasn't positive. Attempting to figure out exact familial connections in a room full of Purebloods could give anyone a headache. He greeted Rodolphus with a handshake.

"We were just talking about your brother being an idiot," Rodolphus declared.

Far from being offended, Thomas snorted. Hermione rolled her eyes, only making both wizards laugh softly.

"You're not wrong, I'm afraid," Thomas agreed. "But I was glad to find out that the two of them have _finally_ decided to make it work."

"Can everyone please stop putting such an emphasis on the word 'finally'?"

Both wizards smiled again at her annoyed tone. Just as Thomas was about to respond, Hermione felt someone walk up behind her. An almost overwhelming presence at her back made her nervous. Usually when someone came up from behind, it wasn't a pleasant experience. Rodolphus' smile vanished almost immediately when he caught sight of the person behind his cousin. Thomas cleared his throat and kept up a positive countenance, but it was clear he was ill at ease too.

"May I have a few minutes alone with Hermione?"

The sound of Regnault's familiar cadence dispelled the initial worry she had. At least she did not have to worry that he was going to hurt her like she might if he had been Salazar or Voldemort. Both Thomas and Rodolphus nodded their heads.

"Looks like Tony just arrived, Rodolphus. Let's go say 'hello'."

Only when they stepped away did Hermione force herself to turn around to face her uncle. He looked as he always did, perfectly regal and polished. Just the slight shimmer of a glamour under his eyes gave him away. Most would never have seen his attempt to hide his imperfections, but she wasn't just anyone. She had been forced to utilize the same sorts of enchantments many times over the years. A glamour had been the only thing that kept her from having to tell both her dad and Kingsley the truth about Salazar's handprint on her throat until she could brew an effective bruise salve in secret.

"Good morning, Uncle. How are you?"

"Good morning, Hermione. I am doing well."

Neither of them seemed to know what to say to extend the conversation. It was awkward to say the least. Ordinarily, Regnault was a man confident in his words. Perhaps, even a bit _too_ confident. It was certainly unusual that neither of them rushed to speak. Finally, Hermione broke the tense silence.

"I wish to apologize to you for the other day, Uncle. It was inappropriate of me to spring such a revelation on you without proper warning. I know that it was shocking and upsetting. Perhaps if I had used more caution…"

Regnault reached out to place a gentle hand on Hermione's cheek to stop her rambling. It worked in an instant. She hesitated before looking up to meet his sad eyes. There wasn't even the slightest hint of anger in them anymore. Only deep, deep sadness and pain. She resisted the urge to wrap her arms around his middle. Though he seemed like he needed the human touch, he would not have appreciated such a display in a public setting.

"You have nothing to apologize for, my dear. You only told me the truth before someone else had the opportunity to hurt me with it."

His tone was much softer than it normally was. Part of it she was sure was because he didn't want to be overheard, but most of it was because of the gentle manner of his speech. He wanted her to know that he was not angry with her. It meant a great deal to Hermione.

"Based on that _horrible_ story you told me about… well, _you know_ , I think it's obvious that I have been mistaken about his true intentions. If he was willing to go to such deplorable lengths to hurt you, it's not a farfetched idea to assume he would come after me as well. You did nothing but prepare me for that very likely eventuality."

"But you were so upset. I didn't mean…"

His softly shushed her and patted her cheek.

"Yes, I was very upset, but never with you, Hermione. My issues are and have always been with your mother. You had no choice or control in the decisions she made. I wish desperately that we could have resolved it all before she passed, but there is little reason to live in the past. I can only be thankful for the years I _do_ have with you, and not the ones I missed."

She tried to ignore the crushing reminder that in a few years, she would disappear from his life and he would never understand why. Regnault Lestrange's future was a mystery to her, but Hermione didn't have a very good feeling about it. His name was not one she had even heard before she arrived in the past. Surely if he was still alive in the nineties, she would've heard about him. It seemed that no one was going to be immune from pain.

"I was worried that you would never want to speak to me again, Uncle. When you told me to go home and you rushed away, I thought it was because you didn't want to see me."

"No, not at all, Hermione. I wanted you to go home because I knew I was at risk of exploding, _literally_. I left because I needed to blow something up to get rid of the rage I was feeling and I didn't want to harm my niece or the gardens I've spent years of my life cultivating."

"Where did you go?"

Rodolphus told her that he often went to the hunting lodge, but he didn't know for certain. She was worried that in his anger, Regnault may have gone off to confront one of the two wizards she'd just admitted had caused her pain. He had been angry enough at seeing the redness on her neck that she was half-convinced Silas' funeral was going to be a double ceremony with his younger brother in the casket next to his.

"To my father's hunting cabin. Quite a few of the trees in the vicinity were reduced to just splinters. It made me feel better. I stayed there until this morning. I needed some time to think."

"Understandable, of course."

Whatever else they might have needed to say to the other in that moment was cut off by the service beginning. Rodolphus and Thomas returned to where they had been standing. Though she didn't look over to confirm her suspicions, Hermione was fairly certain that Antonin was standing at the edge of their little group. They had not spoken since the wedding when Kingsley publicly kissed her in front of everyone. Every time it seemed that he was going to approach her, he was stopped by either Silas or one of her cousins.

There was nothing that needed to be said to Antonin. Each time she saw him he looked even more like the crazed lunatic he would be in the future. Hermione didn't want to know how close he was to becoming the stranger that tried to kill her. It was too heartbreaking. In hindsight, she would've been safer, at least in her emotions, if she had stayed away from every single person she knew would one day become a Death Eater. Getting to know the monsters before they became monsters only made it harder to hate them. Everyone was living within a shade a grey.

She hardly listened to what was being said about Silas during the service. Her heart couldn't really bear it with the guilt pressing down upon it. Several people who had been close to the departed stepped up to speak glowing words about the wizard. It was over before she was prepared for the end. As she watched the coffin holding the remains of the man she helped to kill be lowered into the ground, she worried that she would be sick.

To keep her eyes anywhere but at the casket, Hermione looked away towards Thomas. It was only for a moment before he looked away, but she found herself staring into Antonin's eyes. He must have been watching her for the expression she made during the pivotal and poignant moment. Was he jealous of what her relationship had been with Silas? Or was it something else?

Antonin stood perfectly still with his eyes focused on the ground and his hands in the pockets of his robes. Something about his stance caught Hermione's attention. Very rarely did he ever stand with his hands in his pockets. It was a ridiculous observation, she knew. Only someone who had spent a great deal of time with another person would even notice something so slight. He just seemed _off_. Uncomfortable. Out of sorts. Definitely not the wizard she had once loved.

"I must pay my respects to St John and Elizabeth since I was late," Regnault stated when many of the mourners started to leave the cemetery. "I would love to have you come to the manor for dinner tonight, Hermione."

"I'm sure that will not be a problem."

Regnault kissed both of her cheeks and squeezed her shoulders. She watched him shake Thomas' hand and exchange a few words of pleasantries. Her uncle might have liked to turn around and head directly to the family at that point, but his social graces prevented him from ignoring the presence of another person. Antonin hesitated for a brief moment when Regnault extended his hand.

It was impossible not to see the stark white bandage on Antonin's hand. She narrowed her eyes as she watched the two men shake hands. Antonin had never been very good at Healing spells. She wasn't sure what it was about wizards, but it seemed that very few of them ever had the knack. Perhaps it was too much coddling by their overly attentive mothers and wives. Several times in the past she'd been forced to cast a spell to clear up one of his injuries he'd incurred at work. Antonin might have been an intelligent and powerful wizard, but not even Voldemort was proficient in all kinds of magic.

She wanted to ask him what he'd done to hurt himself, but decided against it. Better that she not know. There was simply no way to ignore the fact that he probably received his injury in the course of performing some arduous and likely illegal task for his master. She didn't want to know. Ready to leave the cemetery completely, Hermione announced to the three men still standing around her that she was going.

Once outside the gates of the cemetery, she felt a tap on her shoulder. Unsure who to expect, she turned around cautiously. There were still plenty of witnesses milling around to keep Salazar from physically assaulting her again, but he was still an unpredictable variable. Coming face to face with Antonin wasn't exactly a surprise. She didn't even try to hide the sigh that escaped her mouth.

"Is there something I can help you with, Antonin?"

Her tone was snippy and she didn't care. A long nap sounded like the best possible use of her afternoon. Her ex was keeping her from her bed.

"We never had a chance to talk the other night at your cousin's wedding."

"What could we possibly have to talk about?"

He balked at her sharp question.

"You and Baby Shacklebolt were…"

"That's _none_ of your business. You're not my boyfriend anymore. What I do and with whom is none of your concern."

"Is it serious?"

"Still none of your business."

Antonin sighed and ran his left hand through his hair. It was a familiar mannerism of his when he was frustrated. Hermione was surprised to see that both of his hands were bandaged. What could he have possibly done to injure _both_ of his hands? He was entirely too clumsy at times especially when he…

A sinking realization formed in the pit of Hermione's stomach. She remembered how much her hand ached and hurt after she hit Draco Malfoy in third year. Without warning or asking for permission, she grabbed Antonin's hand. He didn't even have time to react before she ripped off the bandage to reveal that every single one of his knuckles were scabbed over. At some point, a healing spell had been performed, but it wasn't enough to get rid of the evidence entirely.

"Am I right to assume that you have the same kinds of injuries on your other hand?"

"Hermione…"

Silas' murder had been personal. That had been the word that Kingsley mentioned over and over again in the days following the attack. Someone _wanted_ him to feel excruciating pain in his final moments. Magic hadn't been used to bring about the wizard's death. He had been punched in the face until nothing but blood and bits of bone and tissue remained. No one could inflict those kinds of injuries on a person and not also be injured.

"You've always been bloody useless at healing spells. The least you could've done after you murdered someone was to have someone competent heal your fucking hands before you attended their funeral."

Her words were spoken in a low hiss, but Antonin heard every single syllable. His dark brown eyes widened at her accusation. She dropped his hand as if it was on fire. Just touching the man made her skin crawl. She spun around to exit the area immediately.

"Hermione, wait."

"Don't ever speak to me again, Antonin. I want nothing to do with you."

He didn't have an argument for her. Simply stood outside the gates of the cemetery with a dazed expression on his face. Before Hermione Disapparated home, she dug into her beaded bag until her hand closed around a familiar glass bottle. She turned back around, looked Antonin straight in the eye again, and threw the bottle of Dittany at his head.

"Clean your fucking wounds."

She was headed back home before he could say another word.

* * *

September 4, 1998

 **12:55 pm**

Once he was certain that there would not be enough opposition to his pardon to prevent it from happening, Kingsley pushed the formal pardon into the hands of his Senior Undersecretary to get the requisite signatures. He didn't waste a moment before rushing out of the Wizengamot chambers before anyone else even stood up from their chair.

A bench just outside the door of the chambers contained the forms of two anxious witches waiting for news. Mafalda sat with her shaking hands in her lap. Andromeda's arm was wrapped around the other witch providing her with what comfort she could. At the sound of the door opening, both women looked up with pleading eyes. The second Kingsley's face split into a wide grin, both women sighed in relief.

"Rodolphus has been given a full, uncontested pardon."

"Did you hear that, Mafalda?" Andromeda asked in a soft, but excited whisper. "Roddy is coming home."

The older of the two witches burst into immediate tears. She covered her face with her hands and allowed the sobs that she had been holding in to come out. Andromeda threw both of her arms around Mafalda and pulled her close.

"Cry all of your tears now, darling, so he won't have to see anything but your happy, smiling face when you see him again."

Andromeda's words only made her cry harder. Undeterred, she continued with her soothing words. Kingsley wasn't sure what to do. He felt at a loss watching the scene in front of him. Finally, he cleared his throat. Both women looked up.

"I'm going to Azkaban right now to see him released. Once his pardon is sent to the papers, there are going to be a lot of people who will want to see him. It's probably not wise that he go back to his manor for the time being. I'll bring him to my house. When you are ready, please come."

Mafalda nodded without saying a word.

"Why don't we go to the canteen for some tea?" suggested Andromeda.

When he was convinced that both women were all right, Kingsley headed towards his private office. There was a special portkey that was always available to take him to the island fortress. For the first time in his entire career, he was looking forward to returning to the foreboding hunk of rock in the sea.

The guard who greeted the Minister wasn't surprised to see him. Not only had Kingsley been making frequent trips during his investigation, but a copy of the magical pardon was already lying on the guard's desk. As soon as the Minister signed the parchment, a copy had been sent out.

"Do you want me to bring the prisoner out, Minister?"

"No, thank you. I will go to him, but first, I have another prisoner to meet with first."

He wasn't stopped as he made his way towards the cells. His authority came in handy. Kingsley didn't waste a moment rushing to his destination.

"Minister Shacklebolt, what a pleasant surprise. I wasn't expecting a visit from you again quite so soon."

The urge to curse the woman in her toad face was quite strong, but he managed to resist. Kingsley turned a smile on Dolores Umbridge instead.

"I came to thank you personally for your testimony, Dolores. You helped secure a full pardon for Mr. Lestrange."

"How wonderful. It does feel good to right a wrong."

"Yes, a wrong that _you_ created."

Her sarcastic smile slipped.

"Are you here to discuss the reduction of my sentence?"

"Reduction, Dolores? Where ever would you get the idea that you would actually get a reduced sentence?"

Her face started to turn a concerning shade of puce. Kingsley had to exert all of his self-control to keep from laughing at her anger.

"You _promised_ me that if I cooperated in your investigation and testified at the hearing today that my sentence would be reduced."

"No, I believe what I said was that I _might_ be able to reduce your sentence. Unfortunately, it seems that that will not be possible."

She seemed in danger of imploding with the force of her anger. It was highly amusing.

"Truthfully, Dolores, and I think many in the Ministry and the Wizengamot will agree with me, it seems that it would only be fair that since _you_ were the one who made it so Rodolphus was thrown into prison for fifteen years, that we add _his_ fifteen years to the end of your sentence."

"But… you can't do that!"

"The hell I can't. And, I'm not sure if you know this, Dolores, but blackmail is also illegal. It seems that you used intimidation and blackmail to keep your vicious acts under wraps. Once I get Ms. Hopkirk's formal statement, I'm sure we can add at least a couple more years. Who knows? Maybe we can uncover some more crimes you committed. You might get a life sentence yet."


	70. Chapter 70

_Author's Note: Just a reminder that I can't respond to Guest Reviews, so please don't ask a question without signing in. Also, I have no set update schedule on this story. It just happens when it happens. I_ _try_ _to update it at least once a week when life is cooperative._

* * *

Chapter Seventy

November 6, 1976

 **7:50 pm**

Life was quiet for Hermione for months after Silas' funeral. _Too_ quiet. She had been left alone for entirely too long. Every single day she worried that it was finally going to be the day when she learned exactly what Voldemort meant when he told her that she was no longer under his protection. If he was attempting to drive her mad by ignoring her completely and making her constantly look over her shoulder for approaching danger, he was well on his way to success.

She wasn't looking forward to the moment when she final understood his warning, but it was frustrating to be in the dark. Sleeping was often difficult, especially on those nights she was alone. Part of her expected that at any second someone was going to break into her bedroom to show her how serious the Dark Lord's threat had been. The evil wizard had not been a guest to her Uncle Regnault's home since she admitted what he had done to uncover the secrets that he held over her head for so long. Regnault never confessed to his absence being a conscious decision, but she knew what he wasn't saying.

Unfortunately, Salazar Selwyn _had_ been a guest. Hermione spent every evening they were forced to be in the same room staying far away from the monster. She couldn't explain why he unnerved her so. In truth, beyond the warning his late brother gave her to stay away from him and the day he slammed her up against a wall by her throat, he had been nothing but the perfect example of a productive citizen. Beneath the surface of his charming smile and impeccable manners, she knew she would find pure evil. He never sought her out when they were at the same gathering, but she did feel his eyes on her more often than she was comfortable with. Always watching her and never even trying to hide that fact. Always a warning in his eyes that one false move and he'd make her life miserable.

On a rainy, miserable Saturday evening in the beginning of November, Hermione stood in the tiny kitchen of Kingsley's flat slapping his grasping hands away from the food she was trying to prepare. Despite his height and his respectable job as an auror, he was still little more than an overgrown child when it came time to eat. The reasons why his grandmother and mother were perpetually throwing him out of their kitchens when they were cooking became clear quite early on in their relationship. She would set food to chopping and he would eat it before she could finish.

"If you keep this up, there won't be any food to actually cook."

He smiled his happiest smile, showing off every single perfectly white tooth he possessed. It was difficult to be upset with him for too long. Kingsley popped another piece of sliced carrot in his mouth and winked. Hermione rolled her eyes and turned back to the task at hand with a chuckle.

"You are incorrigible. Absolutely incorrigible."

The almost five months that had passed since their memorable meeting in the gardens of her family's estate had been exhilarating. Their relationship was far from perfect, of course. It wasn't uncommon for the two strong personalities to clash over even the most mundane issues. Thankfully, they never remained upset with the other for long and there had been lots of enjoyable opportunities to make up.

She had spent a lot of time at Kingsley's London flat. Her boyfriend moaned and groaned each time he had to face the indignant task of climbing through her bedroom window when she stayed at home. Knowing that her father was a man of the world, Hermione felt certain that if she just _asked_ him if it was all right that Kingsley stayed over some night, he might grump and grumble, but in the end, he wouldn't tell her 'no'. Aberforth intimidated the younger wizard to the point that Kingsley would not even listen to the suggestion that she try to ask. It was easier that she just sleep over when she wanted.

He never asked why she was there every single Full Moon. Maybe he didn't realize. Hermione was not about to try to figure it out either. Kingsley never turned her away even when he had had a long, stressful day working as an auror. In fact, she got the distinct impression that her presence was a welcome distraction after he got home chasing Dark witches and wizards. As the war progressed in startling intensity, he was often in dangerous places. Sleeping with his arms around her each night the country's werewolves prowled for new victims was keeping her sane.

Thomas was of the rather vocal opinion that his baby brother deserved to know the truth about her history with Fenrir Greyback. He wasn't exactly wrong. Keeping such a massive secret from the man she was most definitely in love with could be a bit problematic at times. Each time she thought about broaching the subject and being honest about why she _never_ went outside when it was dark one night a month, she would lose her nerve.

Kingsley, despite being tasked with the job of hunting down the worst and most violent criminals in their society, was a pure soul. She might tease him by calling him her big, strong Hufflepuff in the privacy of their respective bedrooms, but there was a great deal of truth to the statement. He would have done well in the House that valued loyalty and goodness above other traits. Knowing how viciously Greyback injured her, in more ways than just physically, he might not have been able to rest until either he was dead or the werewolf was. At only twenty-two years old, he wasn't strong enough to face down the monster and win. Her biggest fear was something happening to the man that she loved. If keeping her secret silent kept his future secure, she would do it.

There would be plenty of bombshells to drop in the future. Each time memories of the night she was forced to entertain the _fucking_ Dark Lord in her bed floated up to the surface of her consciousness, she pushed them back down with all her strength. Maybe she was being selfish in keeping her secrets… No, she knew she was _definitely_ being selfish, but for the time being, she didn't care. They were living in a dangerous world. People they knew were disappearing and dying just about every single day it seemed. Kingsley often came home with watery eyes and held her tightly to his chest for several minutes until the erratic beating of his heart slowed down. Ruining the brief moments of serenity their relationship brought him seemed cruel.

She knew what kind of man he would grow up to be. Many nights she lay in bed staring at the sleeping form of the future Minister for Magic. Every bump and blemish and imperfection on his face was seared into her memory. Her thoughts would drift to the same face years in the future. There was a hardness and a bitterness that marred his handsome features when he was older. His innocence was gone. How much of that was due to her sudden disappearance and how much was due to the horrors he had seen in two wars and many years hunting the dregs of society was incalculable. Giving him even more to worry and fret about just did not feel right to Hermione. Kingsley's safety was more important than her peace of mind.

And perhaps most of all, she never wanted him to see her as less than she was. Salazar Selwyn's hateful words echoed through her troubled mind every time she thought about confessing. How would Kingsley feel about the 'leavings of a werewolf'? Would he find her as disgusting as she often found herself? She worried that his opinion of her would change if he knew all of the details of her past. Much of what happened to her was not her fault, but it didn't matter to the small voice in the back of her mind constantly whispering to her that he would leave her in a second if he knew about Greyback.

"Do we have the flat to ourselves?" she asked, in a vain attempt to distract her mind from troubling thoughts. "I didn't see Fabian and I know Gideon and Caradoc are spending the weekend in Dorset."

Emboldened by the reminder that there weren't any pesky flatmates to walk in on them, Kingsley slipped his arms around Hermione's waist and pressed his entire body up behind hers. When his lips attached to her sensitive neck, she smiled. The man had a voracious appetite for much more than food. She didn't usually mind. Almost all of their initial awkwardness in their intimate encounters had been addressed and corrected. They appeared to only be getting better with each sleepless night.

"I don't know where Fabian is, but we could take advantage of his absence. We haven't tried out the table yet."

Hermione snorted at the very idea of them moving their activities to more adventurous locations within the flat. He had no shame whatsoever when it came to her.

"And what do you think Fabian and Gideon would think to find out we've defiled the very table they enjoy their toast each morning?"

"We just can't tell them."

The clearing of a throat behind them startled the couple. Hermione almost dropped the wand she was using to direct all of the different preparations for their meal and she could feel Kingsley reach into his pocket for his. Realizing with a quick glance over their shoulders that it was only the missing Prewett twin, they immediately relaxed.

Or, at least, Kingsley relaxed. An entirely different form of tension plagued Hermione. Her relationship with the elder of the two twins had still not improved since she and his best friend began seeing each other in an official capacity. She wasn't holding out hope that that would ever change. Long before she was even considering Kingsley as a potential mate and she was back together with Antonin, Fabian made it perfectly clear while they stood in the owlet nursery in the back of the shop that he didn't think she was good enough for his friend. His opinion had not changed. If anything, he seemed to be even more against her than he had been.

"I didn't mean to interrupt," Fabian declared. "But I'm actually opposed to _anyone_ defiling my kitchen table."

"We'll just have to wait for a time when you are both out of the flat."

Hermione swatted at a smirking Kingsley. He did not seem bothered by his girlfriend's reaction or his friend's serious expression. Everything was potentially a joke in his mind. Not caring for how Fabian was staring at her, she spun back around to refocus her attention on dinner. Thanks to magic it wouldn't take very long to complete, but she welcomed the distraction while she could.

"Let me just grab something simple to eat and I'll be out of your hair."

Fabian rushed into the room to open one of the many cabinets. As three bachelors living together, there rarely was ever anything of any value to eat. If they weren't eating their meals in restaurants, they dropped in to their parents' homes to allow their mothers to feed them. The twins had the added benefit of being able to visit their older sister Molly whenever they wanted. She certainly never let anyone leave her home hungry.

"We have plenty. You could eat dinner with us."

It took a great deal of self-control for Hermione to make the offer. Kingsley instantly declared it a perfect solution even as Fabian struggled with figuring out a way to politely decline the invitation. He didn't want to be around Hermione any more than she wanted to be around him. Only Kingsley seemed to be clueless about the awkwardness hanging in the air. They both tried very hard to keep him ignorant about their true feelings for the other.

When it was obvious that Kingsley would not take 'no' for an answer, the two wizards began pulling plates out of the cabinet to set the small kitchen table. Wanting to get what was sure to be an uncomfortable meal over and done with as soon as she could, Hermione rushed to finish the meal. Thankfully, she had picked up several cooking tips from Katie and Marjorie since she'd arrived. Even before she was involved with Kingsley, she had been taking lessons from the women in his life.

"This looks delicious," declared Kingsley as she levitated the completed dishes over to the table when it was all completed.

The three of them were seated at the table and just about to tuck in when there was a tap on the nearest window. Fabian practically leapt up from the table to let the post owl in. Anything, it seemed, to get away from his mate's girl. A quick glance over the writing on the envelope proved it wasn't, to his clear disappointment, a letter he could use as an excuse to end his participation in the meal. Once the owl was fed a treat and soared off into the cold, rainy night, Fabian carried the missive over to Kingsley.

"Fuck!"

The single word coming out of the auror's mouth made Hermione's stomach twist. Nothing good could come out of such an expletive spoken in such a tone. Kingsley stood to his feet, only making her concern worse.

"I've been called in to work to help patrol for a dangerous werewolf causing problems near Hogsmeade. The Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures is shorthanded after that Welsh Green got loose this morning. Several are still in St. Mungo's."

"I thought the werewolf problem near Hogsmeade was cleared up months ago."

"We thought so too, Fabian. Guess not. Must have laid low for a time and decided to return."

Every single bite of food that Hermione placed in her mouth tasted of ashes. She didn't need an explanation why there was a dangerous werewolf on the loose near her home village again. She knew who it was and _why_ it was there. Greyback used to take a lot of glee in howling under her bedroom window when he was transformed. There were nights he did it even when he wasn't transformed and it wasn't the Full Moon. Just another sick reminder that he was around.

She had not seen a single coarse hair of his for months. Since long before Rabastan's wedding. Her knowledge of the history of the First Wizarding War taught her that Greyback would disappear for months at a time to gather and recruit other werewolves for Voldemort's cause. Remus Lupin would be thrust into his sick pack in a couple of years when he was out of Hogwarts. His time with the other werewolves would be the main reason why his friends would think he was Voldemort's spy. It was all too depressing to think about when she knew she could do nothing to change what was going to happen. What had already _happened_.

Knowing that he was back terrified her more than she wanted to admit. No longer being under Voldemort's protection could mean that he was finally free to employ whatever methods he wanted to remove Igor's locket from her throat. She reached for her glass of wine with a trembling hand she hoped no one saw.

"Hopefully we can catch it long before the sun comes up and I can come back home."

Kingsley shoveled several large bites into his mouth before standing. He valued his job and certainly followed orders, but he wasn't a stupid man. He'd eat as much as he could before he had to go back on duty. Understanding as he kissed the top of her head that she was about to be alone with Fabian, Hermione stood up from her chair too.

"I think I should go home. Dad might be worried about me if there's a werewolf on the loose."

"No, stay here." He all but pushed her back down into the chair. "You'll be safer here if you don't leave the flat and I won't be out too long. You and Fabian can finish dinner and keep each other company until I get back."

Neither of the people seated at the table had the heart to tell the enthusiastic man that they would've rather faced down the crazed werewolf than stay there together. At least Hermione knew what to do around a transformed werewolf. It was a valuable lesson she learned in third year. The fact that it was Greyback wasn't even a deterrence.

"I'll be home soon," Kingsley promised with another kiss. "If I'm too late, don't wait up for me."

Fabian and Hermione sat at the table without speaking for several minutes after the sound of the front door shutting echoed through the flat. They pushed the food around on their plates with their forks, neither of them seeming to possess any kind of appetite. She wasn't sure how many minutes passed before she grew sick of their silent exchange, but it seemed to be hours.

"So, I guess it's safe to say that even after all of this time, you still hate me."

The wizard sighed at her statement, but he made no move to dispute it either. If he had, Hermione was prepared to call him out as a liar. She knew the truth. It didn't take a genius to know that he would've liked her as far away from his best friend as it was physically possible to be. What she didn't understand was _why_. What had she done to earn such distrust?

"It's not a matter of whether or not I hate you. There are few people in this world that I could say I actually hated."

"But you don't want me anywhere near Kingsley."

"You're an intelligent witch, Dumbledore. I'm not going to lie to you. Yes. If it was up to me, I wouldn't want you anywhere near my friend. He deserves better than you."

She tried not to let the sting of his words hurt. Her efforts were futile. Even though she had gone through her life with people hating her for no other reason than the circumstance of her birth or for what House she was Sorted into, knowing that Fabian Prewett didn't think she was good enough for Kingsley was up there in the most hurtful statements she'd ever had directed at her. She couldn't even argue with the wizard. Hadn't she thought many times before that Kingsley deserved better than someone like her? At least when she was thinking about difficult parts of her past that she didn't want to ever share with him.

It seemed best that they went ahead and got this conversation over and done with as soon as possible. Perhaps their candor would help them both move on with whatever semi-hostile relationship they had with the other. No matter what Fabian said to her, Hermione wasn't going anywhere and she would never demand that Kingsley end a friendship simply because it made _her_ uncomfortable. His happiness meant more to her than any petty squabble she might have with Fabian.

"I'm sorry that you feel so strongly against me, Fabian. I care about Kingsley very much and…"

"If you truly cared so much about him, Dumbledore, you wouldn't have hurt him so many times."

She wanted to argue and deny that she hadn't done anything to hurt him before, but it was a lie. Thinking back over the disagreements they had had and the number of times they tried to start a relationship and it failed was rather discouraging. If she factored in all of the time that Kingsley was interested in her before she was interested in him, there had been plenty of opportunities to hurt the wizard. Knowing that she couldn't deny it, she chose a different tactic.

"Yes, I have hurt Kingsley in the past, and I'm very sorry about that. I can't even begin to tell you _how_ sorry I am that so much time was wasted. We could have been happy together a long time ago."

"Except you kept letting Dolohov get in the way. Even though you _knew_ how much being with him would hurt Kingsley."

"I can't change the past, Fabian. No matter how much I would like to, I can't. Antonin is a part of my _past_. Trust me when I say that I want nothing to do with him ever again."

Fabian scoffed at her statement. Clearly, he didn't believe her words. Hermione would've been offended at his lack of belief if his opinion meant anything to her. She could appreciate that he was worried about his friend. In fact, it was rather endearing. Even after the first time he confronted her about her intentions when it came to Kingsley years earlier, she respected the fact that he was willing to have an uncomfortable conversation with someone he barely knew just to make sure she understood that he didn't care for the manner in which he perceived she was treating his friend.

"Okay, so even if you _are_ telling the truth about Dolohov, what about all of your other friends?"

"What friends are you referring to?"

"You run in very dangerous circles. Don't even try to deny it. How many times has You-Know-Who been a guest at your uncle's home?"

"I have no idea. That is my _uncle's_ home. I have no control over who he invites."

It made sense that he wasn't happy with the people that she often had in her life. Whether she liked it or not, there were several of her loved ones who had made the foolish decision to throw their lot in with Voldemort. Was she expected to cut all ties with her family members and friends who supported the wizard?

Fabian and his twin brother were members of the first incarnation of the Order of the Phoenix. That had been common knowledge in the future when they were fighting the Second Wizarding War. Each of the Prewetts would give their lives in the cause. Was that another reason why Kingsley's best friend didn't like her? Did he think she was spending too much time with one uncle and not enough with her other? If that was the case, he would never see eye to eye with her as long as she was stuck in the past. There was nothing that would ever induce her to join the Order. Not only did she have very little respect for Albus Dumbledore after his part in having Harry raised like a lamb for slaughter, but she didn't want to be around the group of Resistance fighters that she knew would die.

Harry would probably never understand why she made the conscious decision to stay as far away from his parents and their friends as possible. If she was able to return to the future, he would have a number of questions for her. Likely, he would even assume that she made a point to socialize with all of the Marauders. He certainly would have given half a chance. Though she could understand his desire and definitely could not blame him for wanting to know his parents and other parent-like figures, Hermione knew that her heart could not bear the inevitable pain of forming any kind of attachment to people she knew from the future that she could not save.

Being unable to do anything but watch the events unfold around her was a special kind of torture. Was it not understandable that she would try to shield her heart from whatever pain she could? When she first began meeting the people in the past that had simply been names to her, she thought it would be easier to be around those that would make the wrong decision to become Death Eaters. They _chose_ to do evil. If they died, she believed that her conscience would allow her to feel like their death was justice. She never dreamed that she would eventually grow to love many of the formidable wizards who would become just horrible murderers in the future. No matter what decision she made, she was going to end up hurt. Or dead.

"There are rumors about you and You-Know-Who. Did you know that?"

Her mouth suddenly grew dry. How many people were aware that there had been something between her and the Dark Lord? It hadn't exactly been her choice. She only did what she had to do to keep surviving, but somehow she knew that that wouldn't matter to Fabian or many others who chose to follow her Uncle Albus.

"As far as I know, Kingsley doesn't know about them. I'd like to keep it that way," Fabian continued. "He's my best mate and I would _never_ want to hurt him. Telling him seems a little vindictive. Even if I think he should date just about anyone else other than you."

"I'm sorry to disappoint you, Fabian, but I'm not going _anywhere_. I'm with Kingsley know and you are just going to have to learn to deal with that fact. If you can't, that is your issue and not mine."

"All you do is stir up his emotions and wreck his life. He was happy with Amelia, but then she broke up with him because of you. He was happy with Roxanne, but he seemed to think he could do better with you. And then Emmeline… she was bloody _perfect_ and he just threw her away."

The anger in Fabian's eyes only increased when he spoke Emmeline's name. Truthfully, before he uttered Miss Vance's name, Hermione was half-convinced that Fabian was another Caradoc. In love with his best friend who would never be interested. Something about the way his entire expression changed at her mention made her rethink his position.

"If Emmeline is so perfect, why don't _you_ go after her, Fabian?"

Her suggestion was met with wide eyes and a half-opened mouth. It was almost like he had never even considered the possibility. Hermione rolled her eyes. She was ready for this discussion to be over. Her appetite had disappeared long before their argument began. Bed sounded like the best way to end the horrible evening that started off so promising.

"This isn't about me, Dumbledore. This is about Kingsley. I just want you to be aware of the fact that I will be here waiting for you to break his heart again. It's only a matter of time before you do it again."

Hermione had had enough. Without speaking another wasted word on the irate wizard, she rose from the table. If it had been any other night, she would've stormed out of the flat and Apparated home. Because it was the night of the Full Moon, she knew it wasn't safe to leave. Instead, she made her way to Kingsley's bedroom. She would wait for him to return there.

* * *

November 7, 1976

 **7:03 am**

Sleep had been difficult to find. As exhausted and drained as Hermione was following her tense argument with Fabian, she spent many hours tossing and turning in Kingsley's bed in a futile effort to find any rest. Every time she was about to fall asleep, she'd remember something hideous that he had said and her anger would make her heartrate speed up. He was an infuriating man.

Slivers of light were breaking through a crack in the curtains when she heard the door open. She must have dozed off at least once in the night, but there had been little rest to actually have. When she recognized the familiar sound of Kingsley's footsteps moving around the room, she rolled over to get a better look at what he was doing.

He was exhausted too. Every move he made seemed to take twice as long as it usually would. Several times he had to stop while he was taking off his clothes to yawn. He didn't even notice that she was watching him. When he carefully pulled back the blankets on his bed to slip in next to her, he saw her open eyes staring.

"I didn't wake you, did I?" he asked, muffling another yawn behind his hand.

"No. I've been awake for a while now. Couldn't sleep."

"I'm sorry."

Hermione snuggled up to his side. Placing her head on his chest, she felt safe again when his arm wrapped around her back. It was almost possible to forget the terrible accusations and tense words that had been spoken the night before over dinner. She didn't want to hate Fabian, but the wizard was making it very difficult not to.

"Did you catch the werewolf?"

She wasn't naïve enough to believe that Greyback was going to miraculously be captured by a group of aurors. He had not survived as long as he had by being careless. Much of his past was unknown, but she knew enough to know that he was crafty and far more intelligent than she had ever given him credit for in the past… or the future.

"No, I'm afraid not. Found a lot of his tracks though. Auror Savage thinks he might have gotten a glimpse of him not far from the Hog's Head. I didn't like how close it got to your home."

"That's frightening. I hope Dad was all right."

Kingsley's sharp bark of a laugh startled Hermione. She tilted her head to get a better view of the wide grin on his face.

"Your dad can take care of himself. He didn't like how close _Savage_ kept getting to the pub. Sent off several warning blasts from his wand when he thought he was getting too close. Almost hit him a couple of times. I'm certain that if the werewolf came up against your dad, he would regret that decision immediately. Ab is not one to mess with."

"That's true."

"Granny always says that your dad is just as powerful as his brother without all of the obnoxious need to show off."

Hermione smiled at the wise old woman's words. She wasn't wrong. Aberforth was often ignored or written off as simply Albus Dumbledore's eccentric brother. Most didn't take the time to get to know the truth about him. He was at fault for that too. It was primarily his choice to remain in the shadows.

"Why couldn't you sleep?"

"Too much on my mind."

She knew he was the kind of man to wheedle any information out of her that he wanted. Kingsley was far too direct at that stage in his life to allow a vague response to his question. Even though his older brother often teased him for his House placement, there was still a great deal of Ravenclaw traits in him too. He was always curious and sought out the truth. Deciding that it would be best in the long run for her to be honest, Hermione decided to tell him everything that happened after he left the flat the night before.

"He hates me," she declared at the end of her story. Kingsley hadn't said a word to interrupt her the entire time she spoke. "I don't believe that will ever change."

He tightened his grip on her to provide what comfort her could. It helped slightly.

"Fabian has always had very strong opinions, I'm afraid."

"About me?"

"Yes, Hermione. He hasn't kept what he thinks to himself either. Everything he told you last night is something that he's said to me before."

Remembering the part where Fabian brought up the rumors about her and Voldemort threatened to make her sick. Did Kingsley know about the vile, disgusting rumors that also happened to be entirely true? If he did, he had never told her his opinion. She hoped that he wouldn't believe them.

"He's been calling me an idiot ever since I broke up with Emmeline. Thinks that was the biggest mistake I've ever made. He just doesn't understand how I feel about you, Little Witch. If he did, he wouldn't say such horrible things to either of us."

"I think he's in love with Emmeline."

Kingsley chuckled, not surprised by her statement in the slightest.

"He is _definitely_ in love with Emmeline. Has been since we were all still in school. She was in Hufflepuff a year behind us. I think Fabian's had a bit of a crush on her for years."

"Then why doesn't he ask her out?"

"Because she used to be my girlfriend. I've told him several times that I have no problem with him asking her, but he won't. My guess is he doesn't want it to be awkward if he brings her home."

"You could always move out."

Hermione was surprised that she actually spoke the idea she had only been thinking. It had never been her intention to encourage Kingsley to move out of his flat. She never wanted to be seen as a wedge between him and his closest friends. Hoping that she hadn't offended him, she rushed to elaborate.

"I mean, you don't have to, but maybe it would be easier."

Kingsley dropped a kiss to the top of her head to show he wasn't upset with her suggestion. She felt better.

"I've already been looking. Probably won't happen until after the first of the year, but I have thought for a while now that it would be nice to have my own home. At least then we wouldn't have to worry about flatmates or your dad. I don't really _like_ climbing in your bedroom window."

They both chuckled. No, it definitely wasn't the most ideal of ways to spend a night together. Truthfully, they were both getting a little too old for sneaking around. She would love to have the freedom of privacy.

"Maybe I could even persuade you to move in with me."

His voice was softer than it usually was when he spoke. Almost as if he was nervous. Hermione could not resist a small smile.

"Now don't get ahead of yourself."

Kingsley laughed and in one swift movement Hermione wasn't expecting, rolled her over on her back. He hovered over her, still smiling.

"I'm in no hurry, Little Witch because I'm not going anywhere. I've been a little bit in love with you since the moment I first saw you. I can be as patient as you need me to be, but I need you to know that I'm not going anywhere."

She leaned up to brush her lips against his. Under normal circumstances, he would take any act of affection as an excuse to escalate his advances. Instead, he grew quite serious. Hermione laid her head back down on her pillow when she understood he wasn't going to continue. They stared into each other's eyes for several seconds before he spoke again.

"I love you, Hermione."

Tears filled her eyes at the honest confession. No man had ever told her that before. There might have been some exes in her past that felt that way about her, but they'd certainly never admitted it out loud. Not even Antonin. He was always too secretive and private. To have Kingsley proudly announce his true feelings made her more emotional than she expected. She kissed him again.

"I love you too."

He beamed. She meant every single word. Waiting for them to both grow up and to be available had not always been easy, but it was definitely worth it. She would do it all over again if it meant she could be back in that same moment. Kingsley kissed her firmly on the lips and laid back down. His arms brought her back to lay on his chest.

"If I hadn't been awake for over twenty-four hours, I'd do what I could to make this moment even more memorable. Maybe a short nap first?"

It wasn't long before each of them feel asleep in the safety and security of the other's arms.

* * *

 **1:15 pm**

After a nap that lasted a few hours, Kingsley made good on his suggestion to make the day more memorable for both of them. Hermione certainly wouldn't soon be able to forget the sensations that he was able to pull from her body. Their admission earlier in the morning, repeated over and over again when they woke up, made for a much more intense experience. She knew she could grow used to it.

As much as she would have preferred to spend the entire Sunday alternating between naps and other more pleasant activities in Kingsley's bed, she wanted to go home and check on her father. Aberforth was more than capable of defending himself against a werewolf. It didn't make his daughter worry about him any less. She wanted to see with her own eyes that he was all right.

"You fuss too much," Aberforth announced when she'd been home for only five minutes and had already annoyed him with too many questions about his night. "I'm ninety-two years old, lass. I can take care of myself."

Hermione knew him well enough at that point to know he needed his space. She left him to his meal. Knowing he usually stayed up very late on Saturday nights to begin with and had the additional concern of a werewolf in the immediate vicinity, she felt confident in her assumption that he hadn't been out to check on the girls yet. It was a chore that she never minded.

Agnes and Gladys were both growing quite old, but they still bleated excitedly every time they saw Hermione. They rushed over in greeting the moment she stepped into their pen. Once they were both happily devouring their late breakfast, she turned her attention to their water that was growing a bit low. A simple aguamenti spell was all that was required. Thinking about having to use Muggle means to care for livestock made her thankful that she was a witch.

The girls grew agitated long before she was finished filling up their water source. Hermione felt prickles of fear up and down her body. It had been foolish and naïve to assume that she would be able to go much longer between visits. Without even needing to look up to confirm with her eyes, she knew that Greyback was just on the other side of the fence.

"What do you want?"

She snapped her eyes up to meet his as she made her demand. Just as he did every other time she had seen him the day after a Full Moon, Greyback looked exhausted. Why he felt the need to seek her out when he should've been spending the day recovering from whatever he had done the night before was beyond her understanding. A quick glance at the creature's bare hands proved that at least he didn't seem to be there to touch her.

The werewolf grinned just as he always did when he was around the witch. Following a deep sniff of the air, the grin melted off his countenance to be replaced with a snarl. A low growl sounded in the back of his throat. Hermione was terrified by the sudden change in his demeanor.

"You smell foul and disgusting."

He'd never once insulted the way she smelled.

"Thankfully I'm not close enough to smell you, Greyback, but I'm sure I would be able to say the same about you if I was."

"You belong to _me_. You should smell of no one's seed but mine."

"I belong to no one, Greyback. Least of all you."

Another snarl threatened to ruin Hermione's composure. Standing up to the monster that haunted her nightmares was always a difficult task. When it lasted too long and she wasn't entirely prepared for it, she feared she would fail. She _never_ wanted to give him the satisfaction of knowing that she was still terrified.

"I'm back, little girl. And now, I don't have to worry about the Dark Lord. He's given me permission to make you mine."

Greyback stalked away leaving the promise of his threat hanging in the air.

* * *

September 4, 1998

 **1:30 pm**

The sounds of Umbridge's fury followed Kingsley through the prison. He didn't really care that he'd all but lied to the woman to ensure she cooperated. How many innocent Muggleborns had she thrown into prison for no other reason than the circumstances of their birth? No, he had zero sympathy for the witch. In fact, he was certain that night when he laid his head down on his pillow, he would sleep like the overgrown baby Hermione always accused him of being.

Her cries dwindled the closer he got to the part of the prison holding the wizards with life sentences. Considered to be highly dangerous and unpredictable, all of the convicted Death Eaters were crammed into the same area. Years had passed since he was last allowed to wander the cells. Ordinarily, the prisoner he needed to speak to was brought down to the interview room by one of the guards. The Minister was too impatient in his excitement to wait. Besides, he knew the brothers' cells were close to each other. It seemed only right that Rabastan learn about Rodolphus' pardon from the source. His testimony had been invaluable.

Kingsley had always been braver than common sense should allow. At least that was a common chastisement from his grandmother. Most wizards would have felt ill at ease walking amongst cells that held the scum of their society, but he wasn't. Many of the Death Eaters staring at him through the bars of their permanent home as he passed had already tried and failed to kill him several times in the past.

Thorfinn Rowle was asleep when he passed to Kingsley's relief. He was convinced the only time the massive cretin closed his mouth was when he was asleep. A brief memory of Hermione feeding a miniature version of the wizard a sweet that glued his mouth shut for the remainder of the horrible holiday party they were forced to endure many years earlier made him breathe out a soft chuckle. She never explained exactly _why_ she hated the obnoxious child, but he assumed later when he knew she was a time traveler that their paths crossed at some point in the future.

Augustus Rookwood nodded but did not smile. What did he have to smile about anyway? Kingsley had always liked the man. When he learned with the rest of the Ministry that the popular Unspeakable was actually a Death Eater, he didn't believe it at first. How many times had he and Hermione welcomed the Rookwoods into their home as treasured friends and honored guests? Too many to count for certain. There would be no pardon for him in the future. No beautiful wife and child waiting for him when he got out. The former Mrs. Rookwood disappeared with their two small children only days after his first arrest. Rumors put her somewhere in Canada, but no one was certain.

When he caught a glimpse of the wizard in the cell next to Augie's, Kingsley quickened his steps to get past it as quickly as he could. Something about Salazar Selwyn had always unnerved him. He spoke in riddles at times. Always seeming to know something more than he was willing to let on. Hermione hated him once upon a time. She had been suspicious that he was an integral part in the murder of his elder brother. Kingsley could understand why she felt that way.

"What's got the Minister for Magic in such a hurry today, I wonder?"

Kingsley bit back a groan at the hoarse tone he'd heard too often in the past. Selwyn leaned against the bars of his cell to smile the grin that had worked on loosening the trousers of a number of dimwitted souls in their youth. Never Kingsley though. Even if he hadn't had a beautiful witch warming his bed and heart, he would not have succumbed to the wiles of the persistent man. It wasn't Selwyn's sex that dissuaded any dalliance, though that certainly was a hindrance, but it was the manner in which the older wizard stared at the Minister as if he was a fly caught in his massive web just waiting to be devoured. He hadn't appreciated the look when he was twenty-two and he still didn't appreciate it when he was forty-four.

"No time to stop and chat with an old friend?"

The feel of Salazar's finger brushing the back of his arm through his sleeve sent a jolt of disgust reverberating through Kingsley's entire body. His wand was under the throat of the defenseless prisoner in half a second.

"I thought I made myself clear the last time you tried to take such liberties, Selwyn."

They had a history. One that started long before Hermione disappeared in darkened corners of fancy manor houses and opulent gardens. Every wedding or funeral or simple dinner party seemed to have at least one instance where the wretched wizard would find Kingsley alone for a minute or two. When the first war was over and Selwyn had _somehow_ managed to convince the Ministry he was yet another victim of the Imperius Curse, Kingsley had had years to learn how to avoid the man. It wasn't easy, especially after Selwyn managed to finagle his way into an important position within the Department of Magical Law Enforcement thanks to his best friend Corban Yaxley.

Hermione had Antonin Dolohov following her around for years despite her repeated rejections. Kingsley had Salazar Selwyn. He _almost_ would have rather had to deal with Dolohov instead.

"You know that's not the wand I've always been interested in."

"Shut your mouth, Selwyn."

Though he spoke through clenched teeth and pressed the point of his wand further into the wizard's throat, Salazar didn't have enough sense to be frightened. He never had. Simply smiled wider and moved even closer to the bars of his cell.

"You and I could have had many great times together, _Kingsie_. Too bad you were too obsessed with that cunt Dumbledore to ever take a chance. Or, rather, I suppose her real name is Granger, isn't it?"

"Do. _Not_. Speak. Her. Name."

Kingsley worried in that moment that he would be unable to control his urge to kill the wizard. How dare he mention Hermione in such a foul manner! He didn't deserve to speak her name or remember the way her eyes would light up when she smiled. Salazar was the lowest level of lifeform in existence. Someone should have dropped him the moment he was born. A lot lives would have been saved. Though infanticide was certainly high on the list of unforgivable crimes, the Minister thought he could've lived with the loss of the wizard before he had a chance to hurt so many people.

"I always wondered what happened to the bitch when she disappeared." He had no fear of what Kingsley was capable of. "Always assumed she died. Always _hoped_ she died screaming in agonizing pain."

"Shut your mouth!"

"Sal, give it a break, will you?"

Augie could hear every single word that was being spoken by the wizards next door to his cell. In the time that their altercation began, every single prisoner roused from their sleep or their incessant wall-staring to watch or listen depending on what their view from their cell was. Realizing there were a number of witnesses to the scene helped calm Kingsley down. It would not do for him to lose his composure and commit murder in the middle of Azkaban. He might very well find himself in a cell nearby. Selwyn wasn't worth the loss of his freedom.

"Fuck you, Selwyn."

"Any time you wish. I am at your complete mercy, Minister Shacklebolt."

Disgusted yet again, Kingsley turned on his heel to head back towards the corner of the prison where he knew he would be able to find the Lestrange brothers. Before he managed to get more than a few steps, the chuckling Selwyn spoke again. He wanted to ignore every word that came out of his diseased mouth, but he couldn't.

"Did you arseholes at the Ministry ever find the werewolf Greyback?"

Kingsley stopped in his tracks. He rotated his head only slight enough to be able to view the prisoner in the corner of his eye. Selwyn seemed pleased by the attention. Of course, he always had.

"Greyback isn't locked up in here with us. The papers never listed his name as a casualty. Think he's still out there? Waiting?"

"I have no fear of Greyback."

"No, _you_ don't. But… _she_ does."

He was done talking to the crazed wizard. Something had clearly made his addled brain even worse than it had been before. Kingsley resumed his steady pace away from his cell. Try as he might, however, Selwyn's words continued to echo through his mind. What did he mean? He tried to shake it off as yet another mindfuck. Selwyn was an expert at those. As he stepped closer and closer to his final destination, he couldn't ignore his concerns any longer.

Why would Greyback be waiting for Hermione? And why was she so afraid of him?


	71. Chapter 71

_Author's Note_ _:_ _ **THIS STORY IS NOT ABANDONED**_ _. Okay, now that I have everyone's attention, I just wanted to let everyone know that updates may not be as quick as you have come to expect. I am still writing, but life, you know? I have some life-altering decisions ahead of me that may make my writing take a little bit of a backseat. Please know that barring the loss of both of my hands and/or my untimely death, this story will be finished. I am so excited to get to the end, you don't even know. So, I ask that everyone please be patient with me and not start sending me passive-aggressive guest reviews asking me to update already because you've had to wait a few days. I love this story and it is an amazing way to keep my mind occupied off of other less pleasant aspects of life, but it is not my sole focus. I will update as I get a chance._

 _Thank you for all of the encouragement I've received in the last couple of chapters. It means a lot to me._

* * *

Chapter Seventy-One

December 25, 1976

 **8:30 am**

There was no rush to wake up early on Christmas morning. After a long night of pouring drinks at her father's pub for those poor souls who were already sick to tears of their family members or those who simply had nowhere else to go on Christmas Eve, Hermione took her time rousing from sleep. She had a full day ahead of herself. Most of it was sure to be fairly enjoyable, but there always seemed to be at least some small bit of unnecessary drama each time families gathered for the holidays. It seemed naïve and unreasonable to assume that _this_ year would be any different.

Waking up alone in her bed was quickly becoming an experience she didn't care for. Every man she had ever had the opportunity to share a bed with had been different. Ron took up more space than was really necessary, causing her to always be at the very edge of the bed. Igor had a tendency to be too possessive of her. She lost count the number of mornings she woke up absolutely boiling because the man had his arms wrapped so tightly around her body that she could barely breathe. Antonin had a horrible habit of tossing and turning when his mind grew restless. More than once he'd done a turn in his sleep that ended with his elbow hitting Hermione in the face.

Kingsley, surprisingly, had been the least obnoxious out of all of them. He snuggled the perfect amount and always relinquished his hold on her before she got uncomfortable. Just simply having the presence of his large body inches away put her at ease. Somehow it always felt that as long as she had him next to her, she would be all right. There was a peace and a serenity that simply did not exist with the others. She even found the quiet snores and sleepy grumbles that came out of him endearing. He never stole the blankets and never complained when she did. Hermione had grown used to him and when he wasn't there, she missed him.

As she showered and prepared for the annual Christmas Day brunch at Marjorie Shafiq's house, her mind wandered to less pleasant subjects than the missing auror who was probably already being thrown out of his grandmother's kitchen just a short journey up the road. Hermione had not seen Greyback since the day of his rather ominous visit at the goat pen over a month earlier. His possessive reminder only served to make her nervous about his continued absence. She didn't know a lot about the werewolf, but she felt like she knew _enough_. He was an extremely patient soul. One had to be to be an effective hunter. Greyback was simply biding his time waiting for the right moment. With New Year's Eve rapidly approaching, she knew that he would likely make an appearance. He usually did, even if it was only standing silently in the shadows.

Determined to put her thoughts on happier subjects and to distract her overactive imagination, Hermione sped through the rest of her preparations for the day. Between his work at the Ministry and her work in her cousin's shop and her father's pub which only seemed to get busier as the holidays approached, there had been little time to spend with Kingsley. She found it interesting that she could miss his simple presence so much after just a short time apart. They had gone entire months in the past without seeing one another. Imagining not being around him for that length of time again made her sad.

"You've been busy the past few days," Aberforth stated once they were on their way to Margie's house. "And Kingsley hasn't been in the pub. Everything all right?"

"Yes, of course. Just a busy time of year."

She thought that would be the last on the subject. Aberforth was a man of few words. He spoke only when he deemed it absolutely necessary and had very little use for the people who insisted on 'prattling on and on'. Knowing that her father approved of the wizard that she was seeing made life a great deal easier. Unlike when she was with Antonin and even Igor to an extent, there had been no subtle jabs and remarks informing her of his opinion that she could do much better. The simple fact that he asked where Kingsley had been the rare times that a few days had gone by when they hadn't seen each other was enough to tell Hermione that he approved.

"It may have been a very long time since I was his age, but I seem to vaguely recall that it didn't matter how _busy_ I might be with work, if a pretty, young witch was wanting to see me, I'd make the time."

The hint of a smirk appeared underneath his whiskers as he looked down at her from the corner of his eye. Hermione much preferred him teasing her about her suitor instead of making his dislike for them apparent. As far as Aberforth Dumbledore was concerned, _no one_ was good enough for his daughter, but Kingsley Shacklebolt was pretty damn close.

"And to be fair, Dad, _you_ work in a pub. Kingsley is out there searching for Dark wizards."

"So he tells you because it's much more impressive than just admitting he spends most of his time sitting at a desk in a stuffy office filling out parchment."

She knew he was looking to get a reaction out of her, and it almost worked. Rolling her eyes but still smiling, Hermione sighed. It made her happy to know that Aberforth was happy for her. His approval meant more to her than she ever imagined. It was still incredible to her to stop and think how much her life had changed in just a few years.

Before she could think up a suitable response to Aberforth's teasing, they arrived at the front door of the familiar house. Somehow Dean always knew exactly when to open the door. Just as he always did, the patriarch of the Shacklebolt family plucked Hermione quite literally off of her feet for a tight hug. Kingsley's father didn't care how many people chastised him for his unusual greeting of the witch. He continued to do it long after he was told to stop. Hermione was secretly glad he didn't care what anyone else thought. A simple kiss on the cheek from the man would've been a disappointment.

"If you two didn't arrive when you did, we were going to have to go get you. My son has been unbearable all morning waiting and looking out the window for you, Hermione."

Clearly annoyed by his words, but still happy to see his girlfriend, Kingsley stepped forward for a kiss. Their fathers laughed as they gave him unwanted advice on the proper way to greet a lady. Her boyfriend took her cloak from her and whispered a warning in her ear.

"Mum's invited a stray again. I'm sorry. I tried to stop her, but she feels protective of him."

Hermione wasn't exactly surprised to find out that Antonin would be sharing the traditional meal with them again that year. With the exception of the one Christmas he was seriously involved with the current Mrs. Rookwood, he hadn't missed one the entire time she was stuck in the past. Truthfully, it would've felt strange to _not_ have him present. But even if it was strange, she wasn't happy to have him there. She had not crossed Antonin's path since their heated discussion outside of the cemetery gates following Silas' funeral. He had taken her demand that he not speak to her again very seriously.

Kingsley held the door to the dining room open for her to walk through. As she made half a step inside and already laid eyes on her ex-boyfriend, Thomas walked out of the same door. He gripped her arm and despite the protestations of his little brother, pulled her to a quiet corner of the front room to speak.

"I don't know what your problem with Tony is and honestly, I don't want to know. Just please, _please_ don't make today uncomfortable, Hermione. It's already going to be weird enough for him that you and Kingsie can't make it four seconds without eye-shagging the other over the dinner table."

She didn't even attempt to hide her exaggerated eyeroll. It was going to be a non-issue. As long as Antonin behaved himself and did not speak to her, there wouldn't be anything to worry about. Thomas might have claimed that he didn't want to know the facts of their disagreement, but she knew him better than that. Her feelings about keeping the full truth of Antonin's activities from Thomas had not changed. She took a moment to think up a suitable and believable enough lie to tell.

"I'm upset with Antonin because I think he's been spreading around the fact that I was… well, that I was _with_ You-Know-Who. Both my Uncle Albus and Fabian Prewett asked me if there was any truth to the rumors they heard. Who else would have anything to gain from just being cruel to me?"

Thomas' eyes narrowed. Either he wasn't convinced or he was feeling defensive about her slight against his best friend.

"Hermione, you said yourself that there were over twenty people at your uncle's dinner party that night. Any one of them could've told people what they think happened. Probably several did. And your cousin's wife hates you. I wouldn't put it past her to tell anyone who would listen that you've bewitched him."

He certainly wasn't wrong. Hermione already suspected Bellatrix of sending notes, either anonymously or not, to her Uncle Albus. There was something about the way she gleefully asked her if she's spoken to her other uncle recently that made her wonder. Though she was still bothered by Antonin's presence, she promised Thomas that she would be nice.

She entered the dining room moments later determined to simply ignore Antonin's very presence. Nothing that she had to say to him would be appropriate for Christmas Day or for the entire family to hear. They met the other's eye as she sat down in the chair next to Kingsley, but neither said a word even in greeting. As the meal began and progressed, ignoring Antonin was easy. He hardly spoke more than three words.

Christmas brunch was one of the events that Hermione looked forward to each year. With Kingsley at her side, she found the experience even more enjoyable than it had ever been before. All too quickly it seemed that they were laying their forks down on their plates and her wizard was announcing in a disappointed whisper that he needed to go into the Ministry for a few hours before they made their appearance at her Uncle Regnault's home for dinner that night.

Not wishing to linger too long at Margie's house where Antonin was and wanting to potentially indulge in an afternoon nap before the usually tense Christmas dinner, Hermione said her goodbyes to _almost_ everyone. She stepped back out into the chill of the December day to rush across the village back home. Her feet hadn't travelled far through the snow when she heard the call of her name behind her in a familiar voice. Despite it being the last thing she really wanted to do, Hermione stopped walking to wait for Antonin to catch up. If there was one thing she knew about her ex, she knew that once he set his mind to speaking to her, he wouldn't rest until he'd accomplished his goal.

"What do you want, Antonin?"

He opened his mouth to speak and immediately shut it. For the first time in a long time, Hermione made herself take a good look at the wizard. Time was changing him at a rapid rate. She could still see the shy boy she met at her father's pub hours after she was thrust back in time, but there was too much of the terrifying man he would become to make her comfortable. The loss of his mother had been a turning point in his life. Clearly, some of the worst choices in his life had already been made. He was more the monster, half-crazed from over a decade in Azkaban, than he was the studious boy who was afraid to touch her. It made her profoundly sad.

"The last time we saw each other…"

"When I told you to never speak to me again?"

Antonin sighed and dropped his dark brown eyes to his feet. Though she was curious about why he wanted to talk to her, she wasn't about to make it easy on him. She'd meant what she said to him after Silas' funeral. If he had anything to do with Silas' murder, she wanted nothing to do with him.

"That was an extremely confusing time for me."

"When you beat a man's face to nothing?"

He lifted his eyes back up in a defiant manner. Even if she didn't know what he was capable of, Hermione could tell that he was not someone to mess with. The set of his jaw and the clenching of his teeth proved that he was struggling with his self-control. If she wasn't careful, she could be the victim of his temper yet again.

"Hermione, that's not what happened."

"Oh, it's not? So how do you explain the injuries to your hands, Antonin? You don't just trip down some stairs and hurt your hands like that."

She reached for one of his uncovered hands to take a good look at them. Despite the dittany she threw at him, there were still scars. Realizing that he would have a visual reminder of what he did for the rest of his life, she felt a tiny bit of happiness. He _should_ have to stare at his hands daily and remember the violent act he committed to bring about an innocent man's death. She hoped the reminder was agonizing.

"Hermione, I think you misunderstood what happened that…"

"I don't know how I could, Antonin. Can you honestly tell me that you had _nothing_ to do with Silas' murder?"

His mouth opened a fraction as if he was going to say something in response. Almost immediately he shut it again. There appeared to be an internal struggle in his already disturbed mind of what he should say next. Hermione was losing her patience with him. Anything that came out of his mouth was going to be another lie. She _knew_ what he was capable of. In five years or less, he would be convicted of torturing Muggles for nothing more than sport. One didn't become a monster like that overnight. It was a process that he was already in the middle of.

"Can you tell me, Antonin, that you had _nothing_ to do with Silas' murder?"

"No, I can't."

The words were spoken softly. She almost missed the confession. Not wanting to waste another moment of her life in his presence, Hermione repeated her demand that he leave her alone. She left him standing in the snow.

* * *

 **6:45 pm**

One of the more surprising traits Kingsley possessed was an almost obsessive desire to be punctual. Hermione tried to remember if that was something that she saw in him when he was an adult, but too much had happened in her life since then to allow her recall if he was a stickler for being on time. There was a lot about Future Kingsley that she remembered and missed. His overwhelming need to arrive at her uncle's home fifteen minutes before they were expected wasn't one of them.

Regnault was certainly pleased to see them enter the study for pre-dinner drinks. He had all but given up hope that his niece would ever show up any earlier than two minutes before time. When the young couple crossed the threshold of the room, her uncle ceased his conversation with St John Selwyn to greet them both with a broad smile.

"We weren't expecting you so soon."

Hermione rolled her eyes as she accepted the kiss to her cheek.

"We would have been here sooner, Mr. Lestrange, but Hermione had to help pour some drinks first."

She wanted to kick Kingsley for his playful remark. He knew what he was doing if his bright smile was any indication. Riling her up was fun for him.

"Of course she did," Regnault replied with a resigned sigh. "I'm not surprised. Helping her father in his business is perfectly acceptable for the moment, but I think we can all hope that it won't be terribly long before Hermione finally marries and has no need of employment. She can rely solely on her husband to provide."

The grin fell from Kingsley's face immediately. When Regnault clapped him on the back, Hermione thought he might be sick. It was her turn to giggle at his expense. Clearly, the thought of marriage wasn't one that her wizard was terribly comfortable with yet. She was glad. It was her decision to not even entertain the possibility of marriage in the seventies. If she was able to return to the future, she would think about it then. If she wasn't able to… well, the thought of leaving anyone, especially Kingsley, a widower at an excruciatingly young age wasn't palatable.

She wasn't pleased to see that there were additional guests waiting for dinner to begin. It had been her foolish hope that Regnault would have a quiet meal with just the three of them while her cousins spent the holiday with their in-laws. As much as she always enjoyed Rabastan and Rodolphus, she didn't want the families that they married in to be a part of the evening. A quick scan of the room showed that not only were the Blacks and the Selwyns present, but so were the Malfoys. Regnault's affair with Mrs. Malfoy was widely known in their circles. Hermione was pleased that her uncle had happiness in his life, but that didn't exactly mean she wanted to spend the evening with Lucius.

All of the Selwyns were present. Mrs. Selwyn stood by the fireplace adjusting her husband's crooked tie. Sybille was taking deep gulps of red wine from a chair in the corner. Her elder brother sat next to her in his own chair. Hermione could feel his eyes on her, but she didn't want to give him the satisfaction of knowing that he unnerved her so. Instead, she focused on where a bubbly Solveig was speaking animatedly to her husband near her uncle's desk.

Hermione had not seen her cousin and his wife since they returned from their delayed honeymoon. When enough time passed that it wasn't unseemly for the young couple to leave the country following her brother's premature death, they had taken advantage of the opportunity to be carefree. Pleased to see that the younger witch seemed more like herself than she had the last time they had been in the same room, Hermione crossed the room to greet them both.

Solveig threw her arms around her husband's cousin and kissed each of her cheeks. Though there were times that Hermione was frustrated with how silly and vapid the girl was, she found her to be a breath of fresh air in the stuffy manor. They exchanged pleasantries about the holidays and her recent travels. When Solveig turned her attention to Kingsley, Hermione graciously accepted a kiss on the cheek from her cousin.

"Sollie seems a bit vivacious," she teased low enough for only Rabastan's ears to hear. "And positively glowing. Do you two have an announcement to make over pudding?"

"Not yet, I'm afraid, but I hope we will be able to soon. We've certainly tried hard enough."

His roguish wink made her snort. Hermione playfully swatted at his arm as they both descended into giggles. Thinking about Rabastan being a father made her sad in a way she couldn't quite put her finger on. Maybe it was because she knew of no young Lestranges in the future. Certainly that wasn't a name that was worn proudly by any of the other students in the castle while she attended. She wished yet again that she knew more about his future. Solveig Selwyn Lestrange was not a name she had ever heard before though it was hard to forget. What was the fate of the happy witch regaling Kingsley with a story of the Mediterranean?

Before she could thoroughly ruin her mood any more than it already was, Hermione and Kingsley moved about the room to greet every single guest properly. Just as she finished introducing Salazar to her boyfriend, the announcement was made that dinner was ready. Kingsley needed no further encouragement to offer his arm to his date. She tried not to let her disappointment and frustration show when Salazar took the seat directly across from her at the table. At least she was fortunate enough to have Kingsley on one side and Narcissa on the other. Ignoring the cretin would be simple.

Just moments after everyone took their place at the enormous table with the elegant settings, another guest entered the room. She had to turn her head to view the newest arrival over her shoulder. Voldemort caught her eye and smiled. With Voldemort, Salazar and Bellatrix seated at the same table, all Hermione needed was Greyback present to make the holiday meal even worse.

Regnault rose immediately to his feet to welcome the Dark Lord. His face and gestures might have been the very picture of the polite host, but Hermione could tell that he was seething underneath the surface. Ever since she admitted to her uncle what the wretched man had done to her to get her secrets, he hadn't wanted anything to do with the dangerous wizard. It was clear that he was not the one that extended the invitation. One glance at the delighted Bellatrix was all either of them needed to know who was responsible.

"I am so pleased you were able to make it, my Lord," gushed Bellatrix.

"Of course, I did, Bellatrix. I was a little surprised that it came from you and not your father-in-law, but I assume it must have simply slipped Regnault's mind. The holidays are a busy time of year after all."

The sharp glance he shot in Regnault's direction did not require an interpretation. Voldemort was making it clear with a smile and a deliberate use of his words that he was not pleased with her uncle. Hermione felt her stomach twist up in knots. It was all _her_ fault that there was ever any reason for Regnault to want to break ties with the Dark Lord. Before he knew about the spell and the aftereffects, he had been all in to throw his lot in with Voldemort. He was in danger now that it was obvious he changed his mind. One didn't simply walk away unscathed from a man like him.

It was, without a doubt, the single most uncomfortable Christmas dinner she had ever experienced. And that included the year that her uncle drank too much and told her that if she didn't marry Igor there would come a day when no wizard alive would want her. The only thing that could have made Christmas 1976 any worse was if she was seated next to the Dark Lord and he tried to get handsy again. Simply having him at the same table was bad enough. He seemed _too_ fascinated by Kingsley throughout the entire meal. When he wasn't making subtle, snide remarks to her uncle about his changing loyalties, he was bestowing all of his attention on Kingsley.

"The Ministry must be an interesting place to work right now," Voldemort declared. "Especially in the Auror department."

"Yes, it is actually. Lots going on. Lots of evil wizards to seek out and stop."

Hermione almost choked on her fork at her boyfriend's response. He was no fool. Even if she hadn't made it clear to him in the past what she knew about Voldemort from her time in the past, Kingsley was already well aware of the danger the wizard presented. His name might have long since been uttered only in whispers, but his role in the present dangers in their country was not a secret.

She worried that his flippant response would draw Voldemort's wrath. There would become a day that Kingsley would devote his life to bringing down the wizard, but she wasn't ready for him to be in danger. Hermione wanted to ignore the small voice in the back of her mind reminding her on a continuous loop that they were already both in grave danger. When the sound of Voldemort's sharp laughter rang throughout the dining room, she found that her fear did not dissipate with his seemingly good mood.

"Absolute tragedy what happened last week in Shropshire. An entire family? These brigands have grown quite bold."

"Yes, they have, but don't worry. We will catch them."

Kingsley not only remaining calm in such a situation but actually being able to remain his charming self was beyond Hermione's understanding. She was certain that she would've been trembling and squeaking her responses in his place. But not super self-assured Kingsley. He smiled his charming smile, even sending a shocking wink in Voldemort's direction as he made his promise to catch the perpetrators. His arrogance and confidence extended far outside just the privacy of his bedroom.

"Any idea on who might be responsible for such a horrific crime?"

"Some manky twats running around in masks, no doubt."

A spattering of nervous titters sounded around the table. Realizing his language wasn't suitable for polite company, Kingsley rushed to apologize to Regnault with a sheepish grin. Her uncle brushed it off and then hid his mouth behind his linen napkin. Judging by the spark in his eyes, Regnault was amused. So was Voldemort. Bellatrix, however, wasn't. She glared at Kingsley from her seat across the table.

"You possess a great deal of youth and vigor, Mr. Shacklebolt. I hope that isn't wasted on the fools in the Ministry."'

"Thank you, but I'm certain they know exactly how valuable an asset I am."

With each word that Kingsley spoke to the Dark Lord, Hermione could see Bellatrix steadily growing angrier and angrier. It reminded her, sadly, a great deal of how Silas used to poke and prod her over dinners. She was at war within herself whether to laugh or cry. Finally, after several more direct questions to Kingsley from Voldemort, his most ardent follower could stand it no more.

"My Lord! You must refer to him as my Lord, Shacklebolt. Didn't your mother teach you proper manners?"

The air in the dining room filled with the electric tension pulsing off of Bellatrix in waves. It seemed even her hair was standing up. She stared down an unimpressed Kingsley with an expression on her face that had been known to terrify her enemies. Or at least it _would_ one day. Just as he did with the Darkest wizard their world had ever known, Kingsley simply laughed as if nothing she could say had any chance of making him fearful. Hermione admired him and worried for him in the same moment.

"You _must_ show him proper respect!"

"I meant no offense, truly, but I'm unfamiliar with there being any Wizarding lords. I thought they were just a _Muggle_ custom."

Bellatrix's horrified gasp assaulted everyone's ears. She had her wand gripped tightly in her hand just waiting for an excuse to use it on their guest. Voldemort wasn't offended by his Muggle remark in the slightest if his laughter could be believed. Convinced that Kingsley was going to get himself hexed, Hermione squeezed his hand under the table, silently pleading with him to stop.

The conversation around the table quickly lightened to a less frightening pace. Hermione turned her attention to Narcissa Black to discuss her wedding plans for later that winter. It seemed a safe enough topic and she was glad to see Kingsley engaged in his own discussion with Rodolphus on his other side.

It was hard not to feel eyes on her even as she turned her attention completely on Narcissa. She hated being under such scrutiny. Salazar and Voldemort both were seated in the direction the feeling was coming from. She didn't really want to know which one of them seemed to find her fascinating.

"Mother keeps insisting that a summer wedding would be best, but I don't think I can wait that long! Lucy and I should have been married as soon as he came back last summer."

Listening to Narcissa drone on and on about centerpieces and waltz music made Hermione's eyes grow heavy. She hazarded a glance over her shoulder to discover that it _wasn't_ Salazar who kept looking in her direction. No, he was too focused on staring at Kingsley over the rim of his glass. Not even trying to hide it either. If her wizard noticed, he was too polite to say anything.

When the last of the plates were cleared away, Regnault rose to his feet. All of his guests followed his example. When he requested that everyone join him out in the gardens, no one argued or complained. It was simply an eccentricity of his that everyone accepted.

As they all filed out of the exit, Hermione felt a hand on her arm. She struggled not to show any fear or drop her shields when Voldemort requested a minute alone. The last thing she wanted was to be alone with him for a second. Convincing a reluctant Kingsley to go on without her wasn't easy, but somehow, she managed.

"Have you had a happy Christmas, Hermione?"

She was annoyed and frustrated with the wizard. What was his endgame? Part of her was intensely curious to know what he wanted and the rest of her was too frightened to care. Being alone with him was something she never wanted to experience again. What if he tried to cast another hideous spell on her? She wouldn't be able to stand that for a second time.

"At the risk of being impolite, would you please just tell me what you want?"

Voldemort chuckled once again that night. It was a sound she detested.

"I know you told your uncle the truth before I had the chance to use it against him. Clever girl."

He might have been smiling, but she knew he wasn't pleased. How could he be? She had taken away some of his power.

"I could sense how angry Regnault was with me all throughout dinner no matter how hard he tried to hide it. Perhaps you should give him a few pointers in Occlumency. Ordinarily he is a difficult man to read, but whenever the subject turns to you, he's an open book. Too much emotion when it comes to you. It's a weakness he'd be best served to learn to control."

It warmed Hermione's heart to know that her uncle had such strong emotions when she was involved. His anger at discovering what she suffered under Voldemort's wand was dangerous. They'd had several discussions about it since the day she confessed.

"Even though your uncle is aware of the secret you tried to keep, I still haven't given up the hope that you will change your mind. Tell me, Hermione. Has Fenrir made a nuisance of himself to you yet?"

She didn't want to answer him. It gave him too much power over her. Technically, with the exception of the one day he stood on the other side of the goat pen's fence to make vaguely threatening promises, he'd left her alone. She knew that he spent the Full Moon in Hogsmeade around her father's pub, but she was smart enough to spend the nights away from home.

"It would be simple for me to get the werewolf to leave you alone on a more permanent basis."

"That's not necessary."

"I like young Shacklebolt. He has a great deal of spirit."

"Leave him alone."

The words came out of her mouth before she could stop them. It wasn't always the smartest move to be so vocal against the Dark Lord. He had a way of making those who opposed him regret their decisions. Voldemort simply laughed for the countless time that evening.

"It would be awful for such a sweet boy like him to get his heart trampled upon. Did you know there are rumors about the two of us having a prior relationship?"

Voldemort brushed the back of one of his fingers down Hermione's flushed cheek. Every inch of skin he touched felt like it was on fire. She wanted nothing more than to scrub her face with scalding hot water and the most caustic soap she could find.

" _Well-placed_ rumors. A few of your uncle's guests that night have loose lips. One of them even went straight to your Uncle Albus… at _my_ request."

She wasn't surprised by his confession in the slightest. Making her out to be his mistress would undoubtedly make her uncle distrust her. It might have even pushed her right into the service of the Dark Lord if she hadn't had the benefit of future knowledge.

"Shacklebolt is in love with you. Written all over his face. He doesn't even understand what kind of weakness that is. Would you like me to show him how much?"

The wizard reached into his front robe pocket to pull out a photograph. He smirked as he pushed it into her hands. Hermione feared she was about to be sick. The moving photograph was completely obscene. Somehow, he had managed to get a picture of the two of them when they were together in her room upstairs.

It was painfully clear what was happening and who the participants were. She even somehow managed to look like she was enjoying herself. The bewitchment she had been under was so powerful that the camera captured her expression of relief. Knowing that there was physical proof that that horrible night existed mortified her beyond words. Hermione ripped the disgusting picture into tiny pieces to his great amusement.

"You don't honestly believe that's the only copy I have, do you? I thought you were smarter than that."

Hermione's mortification morphed into blinding terror. What were his plans? If he couldn't blackmail her with threats to tell her uncle her "big secret", what else was he capable of? She hadn't been able to bring herself to tell Kingsley the truth yet about Voldemort or Greyback. Her fear was that if he knew about Greyback, he'd put himself in danger to avenge her and then never be able to look at her again without pity in his deep soulful eyes.

And if he knew about Voldemort… How could he ever forgive her?

"He's heard all the rumors but he's too pure of heart to believe they're true. I imagine owling him a copy of that picture would be devastating."

"What do you want from me?"

In a movement that was eerily similar to the first time he ever saw the locket, he moved his finger down the chain to trace its progress to the space between her breasts. Every touch of her skin made her stomach roil. It had been an unpleasant enough sensation when she didn't know how it felt to be intimately touched by the wizard. Now that she knew, it was immeasurably worse.

"I will let you know."

Voldemort removed his finger from her person with his most charming smile. He stared into her eyes for half a second longer before exiting the dining room. Only when the last echoes of his footsteps disappeared did she allow herself a breath. Fearing that her legs would collapse underneath her, Hermione rushed as quickly as she could across the corridor to her uncle's study. She poured a large glass of fire whiskey and knocked it back in one swallow. As the fiery tendrils of warmth moved from her belly to her limbs, she calmed.

She couldn't stay hidden in the study forever. Kingsley would be worried if she didn't return in a few minutes. After she gulped down a second glass, Hermione walked out into the gardens. To her relief, Voldemort was nowhere to be seen. She hoped that he had gone home to wherever it was he lived.

An infuriated Kingsley stomped out of the hedge maze just as she passed by in an effort to catch up with the other guests. His hand was clenched in a tight fist and he looked as if he was about to explode in his anger. Salazar walked out a moment later clutching his jaw. He wasn't angry. In fact, he looked more amused than anything.

"What did I miss?" Hermione asked, pulling Kingsley as far away from Salazar as she could.

"I was _trying_ to be nice," he spat. "I told him you showed me a shortcut to the end of the maze and he asked me if I'd show him. Arsehole couldn't keep his hands to himself."

She knew she shouldn't laugh. She _knew_ Kingsley wouldn't appreciate it, but she couldn't help herself. All of the tension and fear that she had just been experiencing when she was alone with Voldemort coupled with the liquor that was steadily making its way to her head made her burst out in loud laughter. To pacify the increasingly angrier man, Hermione leaned up to kiss him.

"My sweet, trusting Hufflepuff! You went into a maze with a man who spent all evening staring at you like you were the next course to devour and you didn't expect him to try anything? I just adore you."

Several more kisses were needed before Kingsley began to see the humor in the situation himself. The rest of the Christmas night was spent in the family lounge as far away from Salazar Selwyn as possible without being _too_ impolite.

* * *

January 1, 1977

 **12:03 pm**

Margie's Hogmanay party at the end of 1976 was the best that Hermione had ever been to. She couldn't be certain if it was just the joyful mood of her fellow partygoers or it was the peace that came with having Kingsley at her side. It didn't really matter. The night passed quickly in a blur of laughter and stolen kisses. Even Thomas' mood from the previous year had greatly improved.

Avoiding Antonin was the worst part of the evening. Thankfully, she never had to worry that Kingsley was far away from her when they moved around the house and the back garden. Her ex didn't seek out her audience a single time, but his eyes seemed to follow her wherever she went.

She didn't even think about Greyback until midnight approached. As they all stood outside waiting for the countdown to the beginning of the new year, Hermione felt her smile slip. There _had_ to be a moment in the future when she confided in Kingsley. He deserved to know, especially since she knew she was in danger again.

"Go on ahead to the pub and I'll follow you in a few minutes."

The thought of approaching her home alone _that_ night of all nights was terrifying. She knew if she just had the courage to tell him the truth, he wouldn't leave her sight for a moment.

"Oh, no, you don't. You're walking with me. I don't want you to get sidetracked by another pretty girl."

"As if that was even possible, Little Witch."

Kingsley's third or fourth kiss of 1977 helped her almost forget her anxieties. They walked through the village together. Hermione didn't release his arm for a moment in her ridiculous fear that he would disappear if she didn't hold on to him. The closer they drew to the pub, the more heightened her senses grew. She tried not to be afraid. Greyback always loved how she smelled when she was afraid.

The hair on the back of her neck was standing up as she removed the wards. She didn't even have to glance in the direction of the nearest tree to know that the werewolf was hidden in the shadows waiting for a chance to catch her alone again. He seemed to find it amusing to be near her on the anniversary of that horrible night.

Her hands shook as she accepted the traditional gifts from Kingsley moments later. They each drank deeply from their own glass of fire whiskey. Once the traditions were over, she reapplied the wards and tried to drag her wizard to the back. She was going to replace the horrible memories with good ones every chance she got.

Knowing that he was a man who struggled to keep his hands off of her whenever they were around each other, Hermione couldn't help but feel a little hurt by his reluctance to follow her into her bedroom. He usually needed very little encouragement. Instead, he took her by the hand and led her over to the massive fireplace.

"I want to show you something."

He told her an address she didn't recognize. After promising that she would give him at least a minute before she followed, Kingsley kissed her and disappeared into the green flames. Standing alone in the pub waiting even just the sixty seconds felt like an eternity. She couldn't even begin to imagine where it was he wanted to take her. It hadn't escaped her notice that in the previous week he'd been awfully secretive. If she had not known Kingsley to be an honorable man, she might have assumed he was seeing another witch behind her back.

She stepped into the fireplace, eager to be reunited with her wizard. Floo travel was never her preferred way to move about the country. It might have been convenient, but it was far from comfortable. Even years of practice hadn't yet taught her how to prevent ashes and soot from flying up her nose as she travelled.

Her feet landed on a stone hearth not a second too soon. She wiped the ashes from her eyes before stepping out into the room. A survey of her destination showed Kingsley to be standing alone in an empty room with floating candles in the air. She didn't miss that the only piece of furniture was a bed in the corner. Or rather, it was simply a mattress on the floor covered in blankets.

Kingsley extended his hand to help her out of the hearth. Something felt familiar about the room. Like she had been there once before. All at once it hit her. They were standing in _his_ house. The night that had become known in the lore of the Second Wizarding War as the Battle of the Seven Potters had involved a portkey to the very room they were standing in.

"I've had the keys jingling around in my pocket for days, but I wanted to wait to show it to you tonight. It seemed fitting to start the New Year in my new house."

Completely overwhelmed, Hermione wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him.

* * *

September 4, 1998

 **1:45 pm**

Kingsley tried to brush off Selwyn's words, but it was no use. He knew the wizard delighted in getting underneath his skin. Even that wasn't enough to dissuade him from his line of thinking. Why was Hermione so terrified of Fenrir Greyback? Yes, he was a dangerous werewolf. That alone would have been reason to encourage her to stay as far away from him as possible. No, it was something in the _way_ that Selwyn brought her up that disturbed Kingsley the most.

He hadn't been as naïve as Hermione thought him when they were young. Sometimes it was just easier to pretend than it was to bear the weight of the world on his shoulders for her to see. He preferred to carry his burdens in secret so she wouldn't worry. She had enough. With Voldemort's disturbing fixation on her through those years, he didn't want her to have to exert too much energy in fearing for his sake.

There were secrets that she kept from him. He'd known that all along. Of course, once he learned that she was a time traveler, most of her secrets made perfect sense. But, he knew there were more. If that horrible December morning hadn't happened back in 1977, he likely would have never known the extent of her history with the Dark Lord. And maybe, he hated to admit even to himself, maybe that wasn't _everything_.

Kingsley shook his head to dislodge the disturbing thoughts from taking even further root. Hermione had her secrets. It saddened him more than it made him angry. At least it had the older he grew. Greyback was never a name that he heard her utter. Was there a reason? Was there something that she was keeping from him in some heartfelt attempt to keep him protected? He had at least a hundred questions from Hermione if… _when_ she returned.

"She would've been so proud to see him standing up there as the Minister for Magic," Rabastan declared with a laugh. "So official. She always said he would be. Did you ever believe her?"

"I'd like to say I did, little brother, but…"

"You couldn't see it either?"

The brothers were startled by the sudden appearance of the wizard they had just been discussing. Kingsley couldn't let an opportunity to poke fun at them pass. Even if his mind was consumed with less than savory thoughts, he could still put on a jovial grin and joke with the best of them.

"It's all right," Kingsley continued. "She had to beat it into my brother's head a few times before he believed it."

Each of the prisoners rose to their feet. With cells right across the narrow corridor, they were able to see and hear everything that happened to their brother meters away. They weren't expecting the Minister for Magic within their midst. He could sense their nervousness. It was cruel to keep them waiting too long.

"Rodolphus, I'm here to take you home. You have been granted a full pardon."

Rabastan's triumphant cheer rang through the dismal air. Rodolphus' reaction was a bit calmer. In fact, Kingsley repeated himself out of fear that perhaps the wizard hadn't heard him properly. It didn't appear to strike him as truth until the bars of his cell vanished.

"Come on, Roddy. You don't belong in here."

His words were spoken in a whisper, but Kingsley knew they were heard. The silent tears rolling out of Rodolphus' light green eyes were proof enough. He took a hesitant step forward, almost as if he was expecting the iron bars to return. A small grin crossed his lips when he finally stood in the corridor.

"Minister Shacklebolt, I offer you my word as a Lestrange that the little matter I was… _ahem,_ blackmailing you for will never be brought up again as long as I live."

Kingsley chuckled and slipped his hand between the bars in Rabastan's cell. They shook hands like old friends. He stepped back a few feet to give Rodolphus the opportunity to speak as privately to his brother as possible. They said their bittersweet goodbyes. An awkward hug through the bars marked the end of the older brother's prison sentence.

"Roddy, if you don't get your flabby arse out of here this second, I'm going to escape again just to force you."

With Rabastan's warning still ringing in their ears, Kingsley led Rodolphus to the second-closest exit. He wasn't prepared to walk back past Selwyn's cell. Neither man spoke again until they were standing in the sunlight outside the prison.

"I thought it best that you stay with me for a few days. The press coverage of your case and pardon will be enormous. I wouldn't be surprised if they were camped outside of the gates of your manor as we speak. My house has been Secret-kept since the War. You won't be bothered."

"Thank you for your generosity, Kings, but that's not necessary."

"You are my witch's family, Roddy. I'm not going to accept 'no' as an answer. That's final."

A hint of the man he once was shone on the former prisoner's face. He smiled shyly and accepted Kingsley's arm for the Side-Along to his home.

"Thank you, Kings."

The men arrived in the middle of Kingsley's neglected front garden. There just simply hadn't been enough time in his hectic schedule to pay attention to inconsequential details. His mother would be horrified. _When_ Hermione was back home he could worry about weeding and pruning.

A high-pitched shriek from the kitchen surprised both wizards. Kingsley was reaching for his wand when he witnessed the most ancient house-elf he had ever seen come running towards them at full speed. Or, for what passed as full speed for one as old as she was.

"Master Roddy!"

The tiny creature threw her arms around Rodolphus' legs and sobbed loudly into the dirty, frayed fabric. A complete transformation in his bearing took place. He smiled a contented, indulgent smile and patted the house-elf's wrinkled head.

"There there, Rosie. No need for tears. This is a happy day."

Rosie needed further encouragement and a gentle tug from Kingsley to release her grip on her master's legs. She blew her nose on the bottom of the pristine pillowcase she was dressed in.

"Missy Mafalda sent me. She said that Rosie was to make sure you were clean and dressed. Master Reggie wouldn't want you to be in those rags."

She stood up to her full height, her purpose in life restored. Caring for Lestranges had been her entire life. It wasn't a skill she'd lost. Neither, apparently, was bossing them around.

"Now, Master Roddy. Rosie has clean clothes for you upstairs in the spare bedroom. When you have washed properly and shaved, you can get dressed and Rosie will cut your hair. It is too long. What would Master Reggie think of it?"

Rodolphus seemed happier in the moment that he was being ordered about by a tiny house-elf than Kingsley had seen him in years. He assumed it had something to do with finally experiencing a measure of normalcy in his chaotic life. As he headed up the narrow staircase, further instructions were shouted.

"Master Roddy will scrub hard or Rosie will come in there and do it for him like she did when he was a baby!"


	72. Chapter 72

**Important Author's Note** **: I'm going to address something that honestly, has really been bothering me since Chapter 32 of this story. I've responded to many reviews and PMs personally and even deleted several anonymous guest reviews that were upsetting and blocked a few signed in users because of this issue.**

 **I hope and pray that none of my readers have ever had to experience the horror and indignity of sexual assault. This is an issue, as a survivor, that is very close to my heart. Sadly, I know based on some of the responses I've gotten that there are at least a few of you out there who have. That breaks my heart.**

 **One thing that those who** _ **haven't**_ **experienced this need to understand is that every single person reacts in their own way. There isn't a 'one size fits all' reaction. To be perfectly honest, if I hear one more "Hermione is so stupid for not telling Kingsley what Greyback did to her" comment, I'm going to lose my fucking mind! Seriously. It's something that bothers me tremendously and I've had to vent with several of my author friends about this just to keep my sanity. There is an INSANE amount of shame associated with sexual assault. Yes, rape is not the victim's fault, but that doesn't keep people from being judgmental whenever they hear someone has been attacked. What is a common question that sexual assault survivors get asked? "What did YOU do to bring this on yourself?" Is it any wonder so many people choose to stay silent? In the US, it's estimated by the FBI that at** _ **least**_ **NINETY percent of all sexual assaults go unreported.**

 **I am one of the ninety percent. My reasons are personal. I've shared them before on Tumblr when I just couldn't take the "Why isn't she telling anyone?!" reviews. I kept silent because when I finally shared my story with a law enforcement officer I trusted, he didn't believe me. My best friend also didn't believe me. Both of them thought that I "misinterpreted" the situation when my ex kicked in the front door of my apartment, beat me up and assaulted me before almost murdering me. One of them even accused me of not understanding what rape was.**

 **No member of my family knows what happened that night. Not my parents. Not my older brother. Not my soon-to-be ex-husband. They probably never will. Why? Because I do not want to look in their eyes and see them thinking that I'm broken. It's not my fault what happened to me. But… it's my CHOICE to not tell them because I don't want to hurt them and I don't want them to look at me differently. I'm not defined by one night in my past ten years ago.**

 **Writers often write what they know. They write their experiences. For every reader out there leaving a review telling me how "stupid" Hermione is for remaining silent, they are calling ME and every other person out there who doesn't want to be defined in the eyes of people they love by something beyond their control, stupid.**

 **Please remember that. Just because a character (or a person) doesn't react to something the way that YOU** _ **think**_ **you would, doesn't make them stupid or weak or ridiculous. And trust me, it's not fun to pour your heart and soul into a story only to receive reviews and messages from complete strangers telling you that your personal choices and decisions are** _ **stupid**_ **and that you are** _ **pathetic**_ **. It's also not fun having complete strangers tell me that I don't have a choice about what I want to share with my loved ones. It's MY choice, not theirs. If I want to protect my big brother from the heartbreak of feeling like he failed in his job as my protector, then I am going to damn well do it. If I want to protect myself from the well-meaning, but ignorant, questions from my family that could very well end up hurting me all over again, I'm going to.**

 **Much like I got upset by the "slut-shaming" in earlier chapters, I'm done with these kinds of responses. I understand** _ **wishing**_ **that Hermione would open up, but she's not stupid. It's her choice. (This is something that I'd already planned on in my outline addressing in a scene this chapter, but I just couldn't sit back and read any more of those hurtful reviews without saying something.)**

 **If you want to call my story shitty, okay. If you want to tell me that you think my story is stupid, fine. Yeah, well, you know, that's just, like, your opinion, man. Whatever. But please,** _ **please**_ **stop calling survivors of sexual assault stupid because you think they should behave in a certain way. It's not helping anyone.**

* * *

Chapter Seventy-Two

May 20, 1977

 **8:02 pm**

Nymphadora Tonks' fourth birthday party was nearing its conclusion by the time Hermione and Kingsley arrived at the front door of her parents' new home. They were supposed to have been there at least two hours earlier, but there had been another crisis at the Ministry that Kingsley couldn't get out of. Or at least one he didn't try very hard to get out of. Some weeks he spent more private time with Alastor Moody than he did his own girlfriend. And she was practically living in his new house!

She had been furious that despite her reminding him of the event _weeks_ in advance, he opted to stay in his department longer than was necessary. He wasn't actually needed. There were plenty of other highly qualified aurors capable of handling the situation. It was his incessant need and desire to be in the thick of it that kept him from getting home in time to shower and change.

Going on ahead without him wasn't an option either. Truthfully, Hermione had been far too angry to even attempt that course of action. The wizard never failed to make it to his grandmother's house for Sunday brunch every single week or rush over to his mother's for any tiny thing she needed, but if it was something that was important to _her_ , he couldn't always be bothered. As much as she knew he loved her, she was growing weary of feeling taken for granted. So, she waited and stewed in her own righteous indignation for him to return home late.

"You could've gone on without me."

"And you could've come home on time like I asked you to."

They had been having variations of the same argument from the moment he crossed the threshold of his front door. There would be no victor in their disagreement. There very rarely was one. Both of them were far too stubborn in their attitudes. Rarely did either of them feel like they were the least bit at fault for whatever it was that was making the other upset. Eventually, they would give in, too exhausted to continue.

Kingsley didn't even try to quieten his exasperated sigh. A tiny part of Hermione felt guilty for being so angry with him. She understood that he had a stressful job. The war was never ceasing. Every single day more disappearances were reported and every single week more murders were being uncovered. The culprits weren't a secret, by any means, but the Ministry was struggling to figure out how to stem the tide of violence. Too many spies on the inside to be effective. Too many high-ranking Ministry officials with ties to Voldemort. All _she_ did was muck out kneazle cages and serve fire whiskey to drunks.

"For the thousandth time, Hermione, I'm _sorry_ I was late. Can we just forget it and move on? I don't want to waste my entire Friday night being miserable."

She grunted in agreement, not even caring to give him a full acknowledgment. Kingsley rolled his eyes, but considered it an acceptable conclusion to the end of their argument nonetheless. He was nothing if not a peacemaker.

"Did you leave any toys at the shops for the other children?"

His question was meant to be teasing, but Hermione was already feeling a little self-conscious about the sheer number of presents they both held in their arms. They weren't all for Dorie. Some of them were for her parents. Her party was a combination house-warming and birthday celebration in one. The Tonks family had finally been able to move out of their cramped flat into a beautiful cottage out in the country. There was plenty of room for Dorie to run and play and for Ted to tinker about in his gardens. Only Andromeda seemed to be sad to leave the city.

"They're not _all_ from me. Roddy slipped in a couple too without his name on them."

"Isn't that a little inappropriate?"

"Of course it's not. He is her uncle. If the Blacks weren't a family full of hateful bigots, she would actually know him as such."

Truthfully, Hermione _did_ think it was a little inappropriate, but she didn't know how to say no to Rodolphus. His heart could often outweigh his good sense. If his wife was aware that even a fraction of their vast wealth was being spent on toys for the halfblood child of her disowned sister, Bellatrix might actually murder him. Hermione knew that at least part of his motivation for the secret gifts was because of the lingering feelings for the child's mother that he continuously denied. She quickly changed the subject.

"And besides, I can spoil her if I want. I'm practically her godmother. All of the fun and none of the work."

Any time the question of Nymphadora's godmother came up, Hermione put a brave face on and pretended like it didn't bother her one bit that Ted's Muggle cousin was the actual godmother. Even four years after learning that she wouldn't have the honor, her feelings were hurt when she dwelled on being passed over. It wasn't as if she couldn't respect and understand Ted's private feelings about why he didn't want her as a godmother to his only child. She could and he wasn't wrong. If anything happened to her parents, Dorie would most definitely be in the presence of the very kinds of people that disowned her mother before she was born. If she wasn't outright rejected by part of her godmother's extended family, she would certainly be raised in an environment that wasn't always sympathetic to people like her father. Too bad Hermione couldn't put his mind at ease with the knowledge that she _knew_ neither of Dorie's parents would die in her childhood.

"Will you spoil your own children like this, Little Witch?"

The teasing hopefulness in Kingsley's tone drew out a small smile against Hermione's will. Children was a topic of conversation they hadn't yet breached in their almost yearlong relationship. She could tell that when the time was right, her wizard would be all for starting a family with her. Just watching how he interacted with his relatives and seeing how much he admired his own parents was proof enough. It was a trait that Hermione found to be personally attractive, if not a little terrifying.

She was a time traveler. That was a fact that couldn't be forgotten for a second. If something unplanned happened in the past that resulted in a child, she wasn't sure what she would do. To the best of her knowledge, there wasn't a child in the future that bore a striking resemblance to both Kingsley and herself. Knowing the kind of honorable man that Kingsley was and would continue to be as he grew older, she knew that he would _never_ abandon a child. It was a small comfort to know that there weren't any accidents to be worried about in the past. Surely she had enough to worry about as it was.

"No, absolutely not. That's what uncles and aunts and godparents are for. Parents are to be strict and not overindulge. Besides, Roddy will spoil any children I have enough as it is."

"As will your Uncle Regnault. And your father. And my parents. And their Uncle Tommy."

A fluttering in her stomach at his casual mention of her having his child made Hermione forget all about being annoyed with her boyfriend. Was that a future she desired? She stopped to think on it for a moment. Yes, yes, it was. Desperately.

Neither of them moved to knock on the front door. There was an energy in the night air between them that they didn't want to disturb. Though the sounds of the party spilled out of the open windows and could be heard through the closed door, they remained in front of the door staring at each other over the stacks of wrapped gifts they held.

"Is that… is that something you want in the future?"

She didn't need to elaborate what she meant. He was perceptive enough to understand the real question she was asking. It was something that she was certain she already knew the answer to, but a positive confirmation wouldn't go amiss. Before he answered, Kingsley grinned and leaned over both of their piles of presents to brush his lips against hers. The fluttering grew even more pronounced. The man knew how to take her breath away.

"One day. Absolutely. We're still young, but yes, one day."

The fluttering quickly turned to sinking when the magic of the moment passed. If that was even a possibility, it would not happen until she was back in the future. And every day that passed, it seemed that her returning to the future was going to be less and less of a possibility. Aberforth was tight-lipped about the day she would disappear, but she knew enough to know that had just about three and a half years left to enjoy the life that she was living. The future would come, she decided. Living in the moment was more important. Her internal mantra, carpe diem and all that rubbish, helped her recapture a little joy in their moment.

"And you, Little Witch?"

Hermione didn't trust herself to speak. She gave him a small smile and nodded her head. Either he didn't notice the wealth of emotion behind her gesture or he was not giving it any notice to keep from embarrassing her. It didn't matter which.

"We're already late because of me. Let's go inside and enjoy what's left of the party. The sooner we arrive, the sooner we can go back home and I can start making up for my tardiness."

His attempt at a sultry wink only made Hermione snort. He was a man that knew instinctively how to fashion his handsome features into an alluring pose. And he was also a man who could get them very wrong on purpose to make her laugh. She kissed him one more time before knocking on the front door.

A flushed and smiling Ted Tonks opened the door moments later. It always made Hermione's heart feel full to see him so happy. Andromeda was technically her best friend, but her husband certainly held his own special place in her heart. She knew that the future held a great deal of pain for him and for his small family. One of her greatest regrets was that she was unable to make it so they didn't have to meet the same fate in the future. It was infuriating to be so powerless.

"Please tell me that all of these presents are _not_ for Dorie."

Hermione rolled her eyes and pushed the gifts into Ted's arms as he laughed. Kingsley joined their host in his laughter. She knew she had overdone it. What was the point in having a vault full of money if one did not spend it?

"Sorry we are late, Ted."

"Entirely my fault, mate. I spent too long at the office working on a case."

"Nothing to apologize for," Ted assured them. "But I know Dromeda is anxious for you both to arrive. She promised Dorie that she could stay up to wait for you."

Kingsley's grin slipped with another onslaught of guilt. A silent prickle of satisfaction welled up inside Hermione. Maybe hearing the words spoken out of someone else's mouth would get through to him that he was working too much because he didn't seem to understand when she uttered them. The amount of time he spent working was a frequent argument of theirs. It was an exciting time to be an auror. She couldn't argue with him about that. Working long hours and foregoing sleep and proper nutrition _was_ something she could argue with him about. If he killed himself by not taking proper care of his biological needs, who was going to keep the world safe from the Dark wizards?

Most of the guests with young children had already left for home when Hermione entered the cottage. Admittedly, she wasn't bothered by the absence of the other children. It would have been fun to see Dorie interact with her friends, but she had nothing in common with their mothers who always seemed either overly friendly or cold and suspicious because of her well-known family. There never seemed to be a happy middle. A chilly conversation with a young Molly Weasley the year before was not an experience Hermione was anxious to repeat. She had little doubt that Fabian had already filled his sister's head with less than glowing opinions of his best mate's girlfriend. Molly's behavior was enough like Hermione's fourth year that it was obvious that some things never changed no matter how much time passed.

It didn't take her long to spot Antonin in the corner nearest the fireplace speaking with Thomas. His arm was wrapped around another nameless, leggy blonde. Hermione rolled her eyes. Since their final breakup, he always seemed to go out of his way to flaunt his relationships when she was around. It was a game she didn't want to play. Was he simply trying to make her jealous or was he attempting to get her to rethink her own relationship with Kingsley? He never seemed to stay with the same witch longer than a single evening.

Whether she wanted to admit it to herself or not, it always bothered her that he appeared to pick women with all of the physical and personality traits that she lacked and lamented. Her petite stature always made her long for the height of the statuesque beauties that seemed to populate their society at an unnatural rate. The unruly curls she could never quite tame without sheer determination and a lot of potions help always drove her mad. Kingsley made a point to gently tug on her curls and tell her how much he adored her wild, untamable hair, but she would have preferred the sleek, simple styles of the more fortunate women. And somehow, despite being surly and unpleasant more often than not, Antonin attracted women who were much more socially adept than his ex-girlfriend. Years at Regnault's side learning the intricacies of the Pureblood social hierarchy and customs had been a valuable education, but she still failed to charm with a simple smile and a well-timed quip. People usually liked Hermione in _spite_ of her failings at social niceties.

Thomas caught Hermione's eye across the room with a bright smile. His moods were steadily improving as his heart mended following his brutal breakup. She knew he still held out hope that Grace would 'come to her senses', but she feared that he was being entirely too optimistic. Sometimes relationships simply did not work no matter how hard the participants loved each other. _That_ was a lesson she had had to learn the hard way more than once.

She was just about to cross the room to greet the older brother of the frustrating wizard she loved when a tiny creature ran in her direction with her arms outstretched. Hermione did not hesitate to scoop little Nymphadora Tonks into her arms. Dorie threw her tiny arms around her not-quite godmother's neck and the older witch tightened her grip. It was impossible not to love the four-year-old witch. Even when she grew up to a clumsy, awkward auror, she was easy to adore. Knowing that she would be dead at the hands of her insane aunt, it took all of Hermione's self-control to keep from trying to murder Bellatrix every time she saw her. Bellatrix's presence in the future proved that all attempts to bring about the end of her life in the past would be futile and for all Hermione knew, it _could_ be the end of _her_ existence in late December 1980.

"You're squishing me!"

Dorie's voice was muffled against Hermione's shoulder making it impossible to hear the words at first. She continued hugging the child tightly until she rose her voice louder. Embarrassed at being caught in an emotional moment, she carefully set the birthday girl down on her feet.

"Sorry, love. Happy birthday."

"Are those all for me?"

Her eyes widened in amazement when she saw Kingsley and her father enter the room with their arms full. Suddenly not interested in Hermione any longer, Dorie ran off towards the wrapped boxes instead. Far from being offended by her actions, Hermione laughed.

"We were starting to get worried. Everything all right?"

Andromeda seemed to appear at Hermione's side out of nowhere. The two women greeted the other with a customary kiss to the cheek. Much like her husband, Andy's face with lit up with excitement and joy. Even if her annoyance at Hermione arriving late was perfectly obvious, she still smiled.

"I'm sorry, Andy. I don't have a good excuse."

"If I had to guess, I'd say that Kingsley is still working too hard."

Hermione sighed. They had had the same discussion many times over the previous year. Andromeda was sympathetic to a point, but to be truthful, Hermione would be better off venting her frustrations with Ted instead. He knew what it was like to live with a woman who was obsessed with work. Most of their success was due to the brutally long hours that Andromeda kept in their shop. She loved what she did. Part of the reason why it had taken them so long to move out of their tiny flat was because she felt it was more prudent to save their money up to buy the shop she worked in instead of continuing to work for someone else. Ted had to finally stand up to his wife to insist that they wait to expand to a second location until _after_ they purchased a proper family home. It was one of the only times in their entire marriage that he didn't just allow Andromeda to do whatever made her happy.

"Yes, well, you wouldn't be wrong. He's already apologized to Ted. I'm sure he will find you later to do the same."

Andromeda called out to her daughter who was ripping the paper off of one of her presents to the general amusement of the remaining guests. Dorie, as tenacious and strong-willed as her mother, ignored the repeated call of her name until she had her newest doll completely unwrapped. Only then would she walk over to her mother.

"Look, Mummy! It's just the one I wanted."

"Yes, darling. It's lovely. Give Hermione a kiss and then it is time for bed."

The child did not hesitate to bestow her gratitude on Hermione. Every time she had the pleasure of being with Nymphadora in Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade, she paid attention to what she pointed to in the windows of the shops they passed. Being observant helped her pick out the perfect gifts for her loved ones every time.

"Get a drink, Hermione. After I get this little one to bed, I'll give you a tour."

Hermione stood in the middle of the crowded lounge feeling unnerved. She looked up to where Thomas had been only minutes earlier to see only Antonin standing by the fireplace trying not to make it obvious that he was observing her. Why could he not just move on? He always seemed as if he was just waiting for her to invite him back into her life. Maybe that's exactly what was happening. It didn't matter. She never would again.

Kingsley did not waste a moment getting involved in an animated discussion with a couple of wizards he knew from the Ministry. She considered briefly joining in, but changed her mind. Getting stuck listening to him talk about work for another evening wasn't appealing in the slightest. Standing around feeling awkward was not a good option. Hermione muttered a simple spell to summon all of the dirty glasses and plates around the room straight to her. At least she could do something productive.

Finding the kitchen wasn't difficult. The home was lovely, but not very large. Hermione directed the floating collection of dishes to the large sink underneath the window. No one else was in the room. It was the perfect escape for a few minutes at least. Igor always washed dishes by hand when he needed to clear his mind. She positioned herself at the sink to do the same.

The kitchen window overlooked a charming, if somewhat overgrown garden. Ted was the kind of wizard who enjoyed getting his hands dirty as he worked the earth. No doubt he was itching to get out there to make the area thrive again. There was plenty of space for Dorie to run and just enjoy being a child. Outdoor play was extremely limited for her when they lived in the city. Now she had the opportunity to truly experience a happy childhood. At least she would have that if she couldn't grow old. And at least Ted would be there for all but the very end of her life. Some poor souls weren't even that fortunate.

Her eyes wandered up to the sky where the moon was just barely peeking over the clouds. It was only three days old, hardly even a waxing crescent. There were still twelve days until the Full Moon. Not a day of her life passed without her knowing exactly what phase the moon would be in that night. Part of her felt like she was always planning her life around the moon. She might as well have been a werewolf herself.

Greyback never left her alone for too long. Though it had been several months since he last spoke to her directly, he was always making his presence known in subtle and not-so-subtle ways. Every few nights she heard the sound of his howl outside her bedroom window. He never went as far as to scratch at the glass, but that wasn't exactly necessary. His point was made with just the sound of his voice. Each morning after she heard the familiar howl she knew she would find a single thistle laid across her bedroom windowsill. She doubted he was using the purple flower for any sort of special symbolic significance. They just grew freely around the pub. It was a reminder to her of how close he was able to get to her whenever he wished.

Some days, usually in the lead up to the Full Moon and a few days after when he was still feeling fairly primal, he would include dead animals in his warnings. She tried to hide the bloody rabbit and owl carcasses from her father whenever she could. Their presence might have been easily explained away with aggressive foxes or even wild dogs in the area, but her paranoia that Aberforth would learn how much danger she was in kept her from taking the risk. Each morning she would sneak out the front door long before her dad woke up to hide the evidence of the demented love letters of a monster.

Between the murdered creatures and the seemingly innocuous flowers on her windowsill, she could never rest easy. They were reminders that Greyback was always watching, always waiting. Knowing that he was out there but not actively trying to attack was even more frightening. The fear and the anticipation of the moment when he finally stopped watching her to make his move was threatening to drive her completely mad.

Greyback had even stalked her all the way to the outskirts of London where Kingsley's new house was located. One morning as she was headed off to Diagon Alley and her boyfriend was leaving for the Ministry, they stumbled upon a bloody half of a rabbit just steps outside the front door. Hermione tried to overlook it as a horrible coincidence. There were plenty of reasons why a small animal could have been found dead. It didn't necessarily mean it was psychological warfare courtesy of Fenrir bloody Greyback. Kingsley blamed the neighbor's dog and told her not to worry. Even domesticated canines couldn't always ignore their instincts.

It was only days later when she was up in the middle of the night to get a glass of water from the kitchen that her suspicions were confirmed. She had had an uneasy feeling since long before they called it a night and went to bed. They were both exhausted, but only Kingsley was able to fall asleep moments after his head touched his pillow. Hermione tossed and turned for at least an hour before she decided to distract herself with a drink downstairs. As she took a glass down from the cupboard, she saw him standing with his back against the fence that surrounded the property. The light of a streetlamp revealed the amused smirk on his face. Greyback nodded in her direction.

"I was wondering where you were hiding."

Hermione dropped the glass she was washing into the sink. Her mind had been far enough away that she never heard Ted enter the room. The echoing of the shattered glass brought her back to reality.

"Shit!"

She reached into the kitchen sink for the broken glass with her bare hands without even thinking. Beads of crimson blood popped up on her fingers almost instantly. The cuts weren't very deep. Only enough to be annoying and little else.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you."

Ted grasped her injured hand in his and deftly used his wand to clear up the tiny cuts. He'd had plenty of practice healing minor wounds since becoming the father of a notoriously clumsy child. Once her hand was back to its normal state, she turned her attention to the broken glass.

" _Reparo_."

Her host continued to stare at her with an indiscernible expression. Rarely did she ever feel uncomfortable in Ted's presence, but something was clearly different than it usually was. She placed the repaired glass next to the sink with the other glasses and looked back up at the moon. The clouds were moving slowly, revealing more of the heavenly body by the second. She felt Ted step closer to the sink, his own gaze fixed on the same object in the sky.

"How many days until the Full Moon?"

"I don't know," she lied. "Why do you ask?"

"I just assumed that you always knew when it was."

She felt suddenly defensive. What was he trying to ask? And why did it make her stomach twist into knots?

" _Why_ , Ted?"

"We never talk about _that_ night, Hermione…"

"For good reason. I don't want to talk about it."

Ted sighed. She knew that it was taking a lot for him to even broach the subject. Clearly there was something that was bothering him. Not once in all of the years since he walked into the pub in the middle of Greyback's attack had he brought up what he witnessed. She clenched her fists.

"I've done some reading up on werewolves. Books that would never have been allowed in the library at school," Ted explained, unruffled by her harsh tone. "I know that he was trying to mark you that night, and I know that he's not just going to leave you alone because he failed."

"Ted…"

"Has he been bothering you?"

Hermione wasn't sure when she reached for her locket. Its constant weight around her neck was a comfort when she was feeling frightened and nervous. Just knowing that it was imbued with Igor's heart's blood helped her feel safe. It had already been proven that as long as she kept the necklace on, he couldn't touch her without experiencing immense pain.

"I have it under control."

His scoff proved that he wasn't in agreement.

"Sometimes when I leave the office, he's standing outside. He's never actually spoken to me, but I know he hasn't forgotten who _I_ am. If he exerts that much effort with me, I can only imagine what he's been doing to you."

"I am protected. He doesn't frighten me."

"Who doesn't frighten you?"

Neither of them were aware that Antonin was in the room until they heard his voice. Hermione released a frustrated sigh, but didn't turn. Ted considered the Death Eater one of his best friends. He spun in place to give half an answer.

"We were just talking about what's been happening around us lately. All of the disappearances and murders."

Hermione was surprised that Ted the Hufflepuff was able to lie with a straight face. Antonin, however, wasn't buying it. He coated the room with a silencing charm before he responded.

"Are you talking about Greyback?"

Ted seemed at a loss of how to answer. Years earlier he made a promise to Hermione against his better judgement that he would never tell anyone what happened on New Year's in her father's pub. Knowing it was likely burning inside his gut as he struggled, she took pity on him.

"Antonin knows about Greyback, Ted."

"Oh."

"Why did you tell him when you didn't even tell me?"

Antonin's anger was evident in his voice and the clench of his teeth. His inferiority complex was showing. The intense level of his insecurity might have made the wizard a more sympathetic person if Hermione hadn't been the very one he lashed out at. She had lost all patience with the unpredictable man and was weary of always being made to feel like she was the reason for his anger.

"Remember when you thought there was something going on between Ted and me because we disappeared for so long the night you were stunned in the back?"

Ted's eyes widened in shock as Antonin's cheeks flamed red. Clearly, he'd never confronted his close friend with his concerns. Antonin knew that there had never been an illicit affair between the two. His embarrassment was fully on display. It might not have been mature, but Hermione felt a trickle of satisfaction with that knowledge.

"Ted stopped Greyback from finishing what he was intent on completing. He walked in on…"

She choked down the emotion that bubbled up in her throat. Neither wizard said a word as she took a deep, calming breath.

"Ted saved me that night. Without him, I'm not sure what would have become of me."

"Why did you never tell me?"

Antonin's whispered question was addressed to the other man in the room. Ted didn't hesitate to meet the Death Eater's eyes. There might have existed a number of people who feared what violence he was capable of, but not Ted. He knew Antonin well enough and was strong enough in his convictions to know he had done what was right.

"I _wanted_ to tell you a thousand times, Tony, but I couldn't. I promised Hermione that night that I wouldn't tell anyone."

"And you are a man of your word."

"I certainly try to be."

An uneasy silence fell between all of them. The sounds from other parts of the home could be heard even through Antonin's silencing spell. Somehow the laughter and the low hum of much less serious conversations seemed like an abomination to Hermione's ears. She wanted everyone else to shut up too.

"Does _he_ know?"

Hermione didn't even need Antonin to elaborate. She knew exactly who he was referring to. It was encouraging that he didn't revert to his ridiculous and childish nickname in such a serious moment.

Though it wasn't really any of his business what she did or did not tell her boyfriend about her past, Hermione felt strangely compelled to tell him the truth. Maybe it was her way of letting him know that it wasn't a personal decision against _him_ , but a subject she didn't want to talk about with anyone.

"No, Kingsley doesn't know about Greyback and I would like to keep it that way."

Neither man was pleased with her answer though they showed it in very different ways. Ted expressed his disappointment with a resigned sigh. Antonin's cheeks turned an even darker red and he did not hide his anger.

"You _can't_ keep something like that from him, Hermione. Not if you claim to love him."

"I _do_ love him, but it's my decision whether to tell him or not."

"But, Hermione…"

"What good could it possibly serve to tell him? It's in the past. It happened. It's over. There's nothing anyone can do."

He wasn't prepared to give up the argument. She recognized the fierce determination in his eyes.

"Don't you think he would want to know? I certainly would've preferred to know about it when it happened and not _years_ later."

"And what was the very first thing you wanted to do when you found out?"

He was taken aback by the bluntness of the question. As he stood there struggling with formulating a response, Hermione continued without an answer.

"You went straight to your Dark Lord and asked for permission to kill the monster."

At the mention of his master, Antonin's eyes narrowed and he turned his head in Ted's direction. Hermione had almost forgotten he was there. Instead of being horrified or frightened, Ted simply sighed again.

"If you truly believe that I don't know the company you keep, mate, then you don't know me at all."

Ted's revelation was another surprise. If he knew Antonin was a Death Eater and knew what people like him had been doing, how could he still allow the man in his home when his wife and daughter were present? Sometimes Hermione feared that a Hufflepuff's staunch, unwavering loyalty was more of a detriment than a benefit. Ted still believed Antonin was a good man even after he'd proved he wasn't always. Instead of addressing Ted's confession, Antonin return his focus to Hermione. That was a conversation to have another day.

"How do you know about that?"

"One of your new mates told me that everyone knew what happened to me because you asked your master to allow you to kill Greyback and he told you 'no'."

Her words confused him for a moment. Part of her wished she could read his mind to finally understand what he was thinking.

"That's not true. Nobody else knows. The Dark Lord already knew and only… _fuck_. It was Selwyn, wasn't it?"

She nodded.

"I didn't know he was in the room until it was too late. You have to believe me that I never would've said anything if I'd known we weren't alone."

"I do believe you, Antonin, and actually you've put my mind at ease a little bit. I was afraid everyone was aware."

"No, of course not, and Selwyn knows better than to open his mouth to the wrong person. I've already made it very clear to him that I'm not an enemy he wants to have."

It _was_ a relief to know that Antonin wouldn't take Salazar's loose lips lightly. Of course, the more she thought about the situation with a rational mind, the clearer it was that all of the Death Eaters didn't know about her attack. Rodolphus wouldn't even waste his time asking for permission to kill Greyback and Bellatrix would never resist the opportunity to call Hermione a "werewolf's whore".

"So your first desire was to kill Greyback when you found out. What do you think Kingsley's is likely to be?"

"I might hate the arsehole, but he has every right to defend and protect you, _dara_ … Hermione."

"And I would prefer that he not die in the attempt."

He started to argue with her further but she held up her hand to stop him. She had had enough of the discussion of what she was _supposed_ to do. Could she not be trusted to make her own decisions? Yes, there were times, especially after she learned that Greyback followed her to Kingsley's house, that she wanted to unburden herself by telling her secrets. The sinking in her gut every time she approached the subject of that night kept her from speaking. She did not have a peace within her about telling Kingsley. He was the kind of brash Gryffindor who would rush headfirst into danger without a second thought. His blood on her hands was a possibility she didn't want to imagine.

Besides, she resented the notion that she _had_ to tell anyone. If she wanted to keep those she loved as far away from the monster as possible, what was wrong with that? It was _her_ body that was violated; her peace that was shattered. Wasn't it selfish of her to bring that kind of negativity into an innocent's life? Hermione had had years to justify to herself why she should remain silent. If for no other reason, she could not bear the thought that the people she loved would never look at her the same way again. She wasn't broken. She had been hurt, but she didn't have to spend the rest of her days constantly being defined by one horrific event. Why was this a difficult concept for Antonin to understand and respect?

"I still think you are wrong," Antonin declared.

"And you have a right to your opinion, but you do _not_ have a right to tell me what to do. I would like you to remember that."

Any further discussion was cut off by the abrupt opening of the kitchen door. Andromeda could sense the tension in the room. Completely done with the serious talk, Hermione slipped out the open door to return to the crush of people in the lounge. Maybe Kingsley would be agreeable to leaving the party a little early.

* * *

September 10, 1977

 **1:33 pm**

On one of the last sunny Saturdays of the summer, Hermione kissed her father on the cheek and exited the pub. A rather rushed ceremony had been put together that she simply could not find a way out of without breaking at least a dozen social rules that Regnault would never approve of. She would have rather been just about anywhere else in the world than a party celebrating the union of a man she loathed with a woman she hardly knew.

Kingsley had been fortunate enough to be able to use a busy weekend shift at the Ministry as an excuse to get out of the event. Knowing his true feelings about the groom, Hermione couldn't exactly blame him even if she was rather jealous that she couldn't do the same. As she often did because her uncle had never remarried, she promised to accompany Regnault as united representatives of their family.

She wasn't looking forward to the afternoon ceremony. Instead of rushing off and Disapparating just outside the front door of the pub, she took advantage of the unseasonably warm weather to enjoy a walk. It had been a long time since she had had the courage to walk through the woods. Too long. A streak of defiance filled her with the desire to throw caution to the wind and not be afraid.

She never could hear his footsteps. Not even when the rest of the world around them was virtually silent. Whether it was an inherent trait acquired from his cursed condition or a skill he had developed over many years of stalking his prey, she couldn't be sure and it certainly didn't matter. The sound of a twig snapping beneath his feet or the shuffling of the earth around him wasn't even necessary. If he was nearby, she could feel him.

"How long are you going to continue following me?"

She didn't turn her head or slow her pace as she posed the question. His soft, amused chuckle reached her ears in seconds. Walking through the woods outside of Hogsmeade had been a simple pleasure that the monster had stolen from her with his incessant presence. Though she wasn't foolish to walk there after the sun had gone down, she hated that even a stroll in the middle of a rare sunny summer afternoon was impossible.

How was he always aware of where she was? Her research, conducted always in secret away from Kingsley and her father, seemed to indicate once a werewolf set their minds to a potential mate, there was no deterring them. The fact that the ritual had been interrupted before completion meant that Greyback would always feel compelled by his instinctive urges to seek her out and finish what he started.

It was something that once terrified Hermione down to her bones. Years passing meant she had learned how to control her fear around him. She only gave in to her panic and terror when she was completely alone and safe in the back of her father's pub.

"How many times must you be warned that it is dangerous to walk alone in these woods, little girl?"

His unnatural physicality allowed him to close the distance between them in a heartbeat. Greyback loomed over Hermione, forcing her feet to stop to keep from running straight into his broad chest. The smirk on what might have once been a handsome face threatened to turn her blood cold. She took a deep breath, forcing herself to calm down. He fed on her fear. She didn't want to give him the satisfaction.

"Move out of my way, Greyback. I don't have time for your inept and empty threats."

An involuntary gasp came out of her mouth when his hand shot out to grab a handful of her curls. He twisted them tightly around his fingers, careful not to come into direct contact with her scalp. His face was close enough for her to feel his breath on her cheeks. It took a great deal of self-control to keep from being afraid. Instead of giving him the reaction he craved, Hermione stared into his amber-flecked eyes with a steely determination. She would not cower.

"You should understand by now that I don't make empty threats."

"I'm bored of this, Greyback. How many years must I endure your failed attempts? I'm growing weary of this game."

He twisted the curls tighter. Hermione refused to be afraid. He could pull her hair but he couldn't actually touch her without being in severe pain.

"Always so brave and so foolish." He made a dramatic show of sniffing the air around her. "You hide your fear well."

"I am not afraid of you anymore. I find you pathetic. I feel sorry for you."

His anger quickly turned to amusement.

"Maybe you don't fear for yourself because of the trinket you wear. I can't harm you yet. But what about your young auror?"

Greyback sniffed the air deeply again as his grin widened.

"Ahh, there it is. That's a scent I'll never grow tired of."

There was always a fear that the creature would one day use Kingsley to hurt her. It didn't matter that he was an experienced auror more than capable of defending himself, Hermione feared for his safety. She shouldn't have been surprised that Greyback was able to smell it when he made the suggestion.

"Intoxicating. I've missed that smell."

"Leave Kingsley alone, Greyback, or you will regret it."

His unnaturally raspy laughter seemed to shake the leaves in the trees. The bare skin of her arms and shoulders erupted into the pesky goosebumps she couldn't hide. Walking through the woods had been a terrible idea.

"I have no use for the boy. In fact, I wouldn't mind never smelling his scent again. I long for the day when your body is free from his stink."

Greyback loosened his grip on her hair enough that she was able to stagger backwards. He was simply toying with her, reminding her that he was never far. Hermione spun in place the first moment she could. The sound of his laughter echoed in her ears as she travelled to the front gates of her family's estate.

"Are you all right, Hermione?" Regnault asked seconds after her feet touched down on the ground in front of him. "Your cheeks are a bit flushed."

"I'm all right, Uncle. Thank you. Just a little warm."

"Ahh, yes, well, let's get this whole charade over with."

She accepted his outstretched arm. Apparently, neither one of them was anxious to attend the happy event. Through the miracles of Apparation, they stood at the main gates to the elaborate Fawley Estate only moments later in the midst of a large crowd of other guests to the wedding of Annaliese Fawley to Salazar Selwyn.

One of the few Sacred Twenty-Eight families that Regnault would ever consider allowing to unite in marriage with the Lestranges, he had been more than a little surprised to hear that the younger daughter was engaged to marry Salazar. It had been a rushed engagement. There hadn't even been a bonding ceremony which was simply not _not_ done when the Heir of one of the Families was to be married. Rumors abounded that St John Selwyn was pushing the marriage through rather hastily to prevent his son from backing out. His predilections for wizards was a well-known secret in their circle. It had been widely assumed that if Silas had survived, Salazar would never have done something so terribly domestic as allow himself to be married to a _witch_.

"I hope for the bride's sake that their first child is a male," Regnault whispered as they stood in the receiving line to greet the groom and his parents. "Miss Fawley seems to be a sweet child. At least if she gives birth to his heir quickly, she might be able to seek out her happiness elsewhere."

Hermione had had many disagreements over the years with her uncle about what a proper marriage entailed. No matter how long she lived in the past and no matter how much time she spent with Regnault and his antiquated ideas, she would never consent to a loveless marriage. Needing to only come together as a married couple to provide an heir seemed a terribly exhausting and lonely existence.

"Yes, I know that you think these ideas are terribly disgusting…"

The dramatic roll of Regnault's eyes, a mannerism that seemed so foreign to him, made Hermione laugh out loud. She feared that she was rubbing off on the wizard.

"Not necessarily disgusting, but very, very sad."

Anything further they had to discuss on the subject was cut off by reaching the end of the line. St John and Elizabeth wore nothing but smiles on their faces. They, at least, could find some manner of joy in the occasion. Their sullen son could not. Dutifully, he shook Regnault's hand and brushed his lips against Hermione's cheek in greeting. Before he would let her walk on, Salazar whispered a warning in her ear that made her heartrate increase.

"You _fucking_ bitch. This is all your fault. I won't forget your hand in this."

* * *

September 4, 1998

 **5:30 pm**

Rosie made herself right at home in Kingsley's house. The Minister for Magic couldn't exactly complain. It had been a long time since he'd been able to see his reflection on every surface in his home. The moment Rodolphus followed the tiny house-elf's orders to shower, she'd snapped out of the house only long enough to bring four more tiny elves back with her. Between the five Lestrange house-elves, he practically had a brand-new home. Certainly it hadn't been that clean since Hermione lived with him. Whenever she was nervous or agitated, she would take her frustrations out on the furniture.

He had also forgotten how marvelous her cooking was. Part of him selfishly hoped that she would never leave. Though her relationship with Hermione had often been quite chilly, Rosie adored Kingsley from the moment he first came over to the manor. She remembered his favorite dishes and made certain that almost every time he came for dinner that they were available. Not once did she allow 'Master Kingsley' to get up from the dining table when he wasn't completely full. Perhaps she enjoyed serving a wizard that could eat more than most men. She would tease him as she filled up his plate with a third or fourth serving of his favorite potatoes that she couldn't imagine where he kept all of the food he consumed. The small smile Rosie always gave him never failed to annoy Hermione. She _never_ got a smile.

As the house-elf moved about the kitchen cooking more food than ten men could eat in a week, Kingsley was glad to see the contentment that was splashed across Rodolphus' whisker-less face. A haircut and a long shower had done the wizard a world of good. He had quite a bit of fattening up to do, as Rosie reminded him at least a dozen times, but he was looking more and more like the man he was decades earlier.

"You are very kind to let me stay here for a few days, Kingsley. That was unnecessary."

"Nonsense. I meant what I said earlier. You're my witch's family. That makes you _my_ family too."

Rodolphus seemed ill at ease with the emotional reminder. He pushed the mountain of food Rosie placed in front of him with his fork. The two men might have continued in the same awkward silence for a long time afterward if they hadn't both been startled by the sound of a loud knock on the door. Kingsley jumped up to his feet, but a gentle push on his legs by Rosie as she told him she would answer it, made him sink back in the chair.

Moments after the front door was opened and the mysterious guests were escorted into the kitchen by Rosie, Rodolphus dropped his fork to his plate with a loud clatter. His light green eyes widened and he stood up quickly from the table.

"We didn't mean to interrupt," Andromeda stated.

It was in that moment that Kingsley realized it wasn't his witch's best friend that Rodolphus was staring at. Mafalda stood a few feet away from Andromeda with her gaze rapidly moving between the floor and the released prisoner. It had only been a few days since they last saw each other in the prison interview room, but they were both nervous.

"Roddy, it's wonderful to see you again."

Andromeda greeted her former brother-in-law with a quick peck to his cheek. He smiled shyly in return before turning back to look at Mafalda. Far from being offended, Andromeda softly giggled to herself and grabbed Kingsley by the elbow.

"Excuse us for being terribly rude, but Kingsley and I have something very important we simply must discuss in the other room."

He allowed himself to be bossed around in his own home by a female for the second time that day. Once outside of the kitchen, Andromeda closed the door and placed an inconspicuous privacy spell on the room.

"Let's just give them a few minutes to get reacquainted without our nosy faces in the room."

The pleased smile on the witch's face was something of a surprise to Kingsley. He knew that over the years Hermione had been adamant in her belief that her cousin and her best friend were still in love with each other.

"Forgive me if I'm speaking out of turn, but are you all right with… _that_?"

Kingsley gestured towards the closed door with his thumb. His guest smiled wider and laughed.

"Of course, I am. Why wouldn't I be?"

"Hermione adored Ted, but she always hoped that one day you and Rodolphus would somehow… well, you know."

Andromeda wasn't offended to Kingsley's relief. She simply smiled and laughed again. If she _wasn't_ all right with the reuniting of the lovers in the kitchen, she was doing a damn good job of hiding that fact.

"Well, first of all, Kings, I am not over Ted. I'll likely _never_ be over Ted, so the thought of entering into any kind of relationship right now with _anyone_ terrifies me beyond words. But besides that, most of us outgrow our first loves. I will always care for Roddy, but my love for him cooled many, many years ago."

He understood what she meant about first love. Hermione wasn't _technically_ his first love, but he didn't think that the older girl with the black and white kitten when he was seven could actually be counted. They'd shared only one kiss and neither of them knew what they were doing. But, Hermione was certainly the first woman he loved as a man. Though their love and their relationship changed and grew as they did, he never felt like he'd outgrown her or she him. They weren't perfect, of course, but they _worked_.

"Besides, Roddy deserves much better than me."

It was his nature to want to immediately dispute her statement. Andromeda wouldn't allow it. Once he started trying to deny it, she silenced him with a simple touch of her hand to his arm.

"I'm ashamed to admit that I never doubted his guilt, Kings. Not _once_ did I even imagine that he wasn't as guilty as everyone thought. For years, I hated him. I believed him capable of truly terrible things. Never, _never_ did I think it was possible for him to be innocent."

"Andy…"

"No, it's true. It breaks my heart to admit that I didn't have any faith in him. Truly it does. I believed that he was just as bad as my sister. Not until you showed me his memories did I even…"

She had to stop herself to take a deep breath. Kingsley could understand some of where she was coming from. He had been in the same place. Years earlier when the Longbottoms were tortured, he'd simply assumed that his witch's cousin was responsible. Losing Hermione had taken its toll on all of them. Just as Sollie's sudden death changed Rabastan irrevocably, Rodolphus wasn't the same person after Hermione's disappearance. It had been much easier to just believe that he had done the terrible thing he was accused of.

"Mafalda never _once_ doubted that man's innocence. She tried to fight for him when no one else would. If that _cow_ hadn't threatened her and put her child's future in jeopardy, she might have even been successful. She's spent the last seventeen years loving that man and believing in him. So, yes, I meant what I said when I said he deserves better than me… and she's it, Kingsley. Did you see the way he looked at her?"

Andromeda wiped at the tears that formed in her eyes. It was a complicated situation, but it was obvious that she was happy for the man she once loved. Kingsley's recognized the wistful smile on her face as the one he often had when he thought of the woman he lost so many years earlier. It was a bittersweet joy to see another happy and in love when their own hearts were breaking under the strain of missing the ones they lost. Maybe Andromeda would never fully recover from Ted's death. At least Kingsley had the hint of a hope that his Little Witch would return to him one day.


	73. Chapter 73

_Author's Note: Thank you all for your amazing support in the last chapter. Seriously. I'm in the midst of literally the most difficult time of my life, the lowest I've ever felt, and knowing that there are so many people who are so kind and supportive in this world absolutely gives me hope._

* * *

Chapter Seventy-Three

December 21, 1977

 **7:35 pm**

There had never been a Christmas season that Hermione was more anxious to see the end of than 1977. Each day that passed bringing them closer to the end of the busiest time of the year for both the Magical Menagerie and the Hog's Head seemed to take even longer than the day before. At the rate they were passing, she wasn't sure the year would ever end. Rarely did she actually look forward to New Year's.

She wasn't sure what made the season so much worse than usual. Everyone was rude and in a rush, but even that wasn't unusual. The escalating tensions in the world around them were becoming more pronounced. Voldemort's name was spoken only in the softest of whispers, if at all. There was no secret who was behind all of the attacks and disappearances. Despite the demands to the Ministry that _something_ be done to stem the tide of violence, they were, as always, ineffective.

Shoppers rushed about Diagon Alley in foul moods intent on taking them out on the poor shopkeepers and assistants that earned their living helping them pick out their presents. More than once Hermione had been tempted to rip her apron off, throw up her hands, and shout a string of obscenities that would make even the foulest of sailors blush. It was only the fact that she loved both Rodolphus and Caradoc so much that kept her temper under control. She didn't _need_ the job, but they needed her.

"Does _everyone_ wait until the last bloody second to buy their ungrateful brats presents?"

Caradoc wasn't offended at all by her irritable moods. In fact, he seemed to find them amusing, which in turn, only made Hermione even _more_ irritable. She had taken to keeping her wand tucked in the inside pocket of her robes in the shop just so it wasn't as easy to brandish the weapon and hex his smiling mouth shut. She loved her friend immensely, but he was almost as bad about infuriating her as the simpletons who couldn't understand the difference between a Southern white-faced owl and a Northern white-faced owl. They were two completely different species!

"Hermione, you know that I adore the very ground that you walk upon," Caradoc began, disregarding the frustrated grumble that came from her direction. "But you haven't been yourself for a while now. Several weeks, at least. Is there something you need to air your frustrations about?"

"No."

She knew something about been a bit _off_ about her, but she couldn't explain what it was. Everything set her off. Some nights even the very sound of Kingsley breathing made her want to place a pillow over his face until he stopped annoying her. At least then she might have had some peace and quiet for a change! His incessant prattling about the cases he was working on made her teeth clench and her eyes twitch. Many nights she made the excuse that she needed to help her dad out at the pub just so she could spend a silent night in her own bed alone. And she wasn't sure what he was doing differently, but the man's soap was making her sick to her stomach. She was tempted to hit him with an aguamenti spell every time he walked through the door. Or throw stink pellets at him. It honestly just depended on her mood whichever she preferred.

But having someone else point out the facts she already knew made it much worse. It made it feel like there was actually something to be concerned about. Most people didn't remain in the same disgusted and frustrated mood for weeks at a time. She couldn't explain what was happening to her and she knew that the idiots at St. Mungo's wouldn't know either. They would probably just force her to drink massive vials of Pepper-Up potion and insist on a break from working. She might not have had the formal training required to be an official Healer, but she knew she was much more intelligent and capable of finding a solution to her own problems than they would be. Not even the _perfect_ Emmeline Vance who had just been promoted from trainee to full-fledged Healer was competent enough.

Hermione liked Emmeline. A _lot_. That was just yet another reason why she always felt so inadequate next to Kingsley's ex-girlfriend. She was witty and beautiful and managed to make everyone feel like they were special. Even Fabian's attitude had improved since he finally asked her out. There had been a big celebration the month before thrown by her new boyfriend when she passed all of her final Healer exams. He had even managed to be polite to Hermione which was perhaps the most impressive feat of the night.

Just thinking about Emmeline made Hermione's mood plummet even further. Kingsley had never made her feel like he would leave her for his ex-girlfriend, but she couldn't help but compare herself to the witch who never took a step out of line. Hadn't Kingsley even said once that they worked because they were 'uncomplicated'? She certainly couldn't say the same thing about _their_ relationship. As time progressed, her insecurity only grew.

"Something going on between you and Kingsley?"

She rolled her eyes and sighed. Caradoc wasn't going to just let the subject drop no matter how much she wanted him to. He was the kind of person who loved dearly and deeply. When he was concerned about someone he cared about, he usually wasn't deterred in his quest to discover what their issue was. In the long run, it would be easier just to tell him the truth.

"No, there's nothing going on between us. Well, nothing except the usual. He works too much. I hardly ever see him. That's frustrating."

"Hopefully, all of this violence will stop soon and he won't have to work as hard."

Optimism was something a time traveler couldn't afford in that situation. Hermione _knew_ the violence would keep on until the horrific night that Bellatrix and Barty Crouch, Jr, and… she couldn't bear to think of her cousins as being a part of the torture of Neville's parents. She still continued to hope that at least Roddy wasn't really involved. Periodically when they were alone she would still remind him of the name 'Neville' and that he needed to be protected. It didn't feel like it was enough, but it was all she knew to do.

"I hope you're right."

"Have you two officially moved in together yet?"

"No, not yet."

That was another question she kept hearing that was making her grow frustrated. Another was Regnault's obsessive need to demand to know when she was finally going to marry Kingsley. In his mind, there was no reason to delay their union. They loved each other and both came from excellent families. The Shacklebolts, though not anywhere near as wealthy as the Lestranges, were counted in the top third of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. At least according to Regnault's ridiculous ranking system. The Shafiqs were close behind. Regnault was eager to see her settled with a proper wizard. Hermione was positive he had already been secretly planning an elaborate wedding on her behalf.

"Why not? You two love each other and it's clear that you're not planning on ending your relationship any time soon."

"It's unusual for a witch to move in with a wizard before they're married."

"And you've always been a proponent of following societal expectations to the letter?"

Caradoc's raised eyebrow made Hermione snort. He wasn't wrong. She did tend to skirt what was expected of her as much as she could. That was also an argument she frequently had with her uncle.

"If we move in together, that will bring us one step closer to marriage."

"And that's a bad thing?"

Yes, it was. She didn't want to encourage their relationship moving past where it already was. If Kingsley asked her to marry him, she was afraid that she would have to say 'no' and run the risk of breaking his heart. There was no question in her mind whether or not she loved him. Of course she did. She had had this argument inside her head more times than she could recall. It was important that she not give Kingsley false hope in case she died in the past.

"I'm not ready to be married. You know how often I've argued with Uncle Regnault about marriage. It would feel to me like I was giving up on my principles to give in just because the wizard is Kingsley. He ticks off all of the boxes that Uncle has on his list of a prospective husband. I don't want him to feel like I'm finally falling in line."

Her friend scoffed softly, but it wasn't a malicious reaction. Caradoc was well aware of her feelings about her uncle's ideas of a proper Pureblood marriage. As a fellow halfblood, he wasn't under the same pressure of those with _purer_ bloodlines. He was free to live his life and love whomever he wished, regardless of their sex. He would never be forced to marry a witch against his will simply because he was the heir of his family. A brief flicker of a thought about Salazar Selwyn popped into her mind before she could shut it down. That was a wizard who didn't bear thinking about.

"Maybe you will change your mind later," he continued. "But that still doesn't answer my question. What's wrong with you, love?"

"I don't know, Caradoc."

It seemed pointless to lie. He was a tenacious wizard. Once he decided to uncover what was ailing her, he wasn't going to stop until he was satisfied with the answer he discovered. She knew him too well.

"I feel weird. Everything annoys me and makes me angry. I'm exhausted. My body aches. Even though I'm tired every moment of the day, I can't sleep. My magic has been off. I tried to Apparate here this morning from home and ended up in Hampshire. When I try a spell, I feel even more drained than I normally do."

He listened politely as she made her explanation. Caradoc was an intelligent man. She might have enjoyed teasing him about his House, but she respected his opinions. With each sentence she uttered, his brow furrowed a tiny bit more. When she finished, he took a moment before he spoke.

"I don't pretend to know the first thing about a witch's body…" He stopped to shudder and grimace dramatically. Hermione rolled her eyes again. "… but is it possible that you might be pregnant?"

"That's ridiculous. Kingsley and I are always very careful. We never…"

Except that was a lie she tried to convince herself. They _often_ weren't very careful. Sometimes they were the very opposite of careful. She stopped to do some mental calculations in her head. Almost constant stress and an unpredictable cycle even in the best of times meant that she wasn't one of those women who could tell exactly within a day or two when they were at their most fertile, but she typically had a rough idea. Hermione's body hadn't always been cooperative. Part of her always worried that she inherited the same problems her mother struggled with when she tried to start a family.

The more she considered Caradoc's suggestion, the more it seemed like there was a very real possibility that it was fact. She wasn't sure how she felt about it either. Terrified and maybe a little excited. There was a spell that could be performed, but she wouldn't dream of casting it without Kingsley present. He had every right to know the moment she did.

"Maybe you should leave a little early and have a talk with your wizard."

She started to argue that the store was too busy that time of year. In truth, however, she really wanted to go. The store would close in less than an hour and there was only a trickle of customers still shopping at that time of night. Caradoc was more than capable of handling the business by himself. Before she could talk herself out of it, Hermione rushed to the back to grab her cloak.

"Promise me you won't try to Apparate. Go to the Leaky Cauldron and take the floo. You are too important to splinch. Especially if you are Apparating for two now."

Caradoc kissed her cheek and led her to the door. She was standing out in the snowy street moments later unsure what to do next. It started to become real. What if she was expecting? All of the signs seemed to point to it. A million questions and fears plagued her mind as she forced her feet to move towards her destination.

Every muscle in her body ached with fatigue. How many hours had she been on her feet? She couldn't even remember. Her stomach announced its displeasure at being empty with an audible grumble that could easily be heard despite the sound of the last of the Christmas shoppers wandering up and down Diagon Alley. When was the last time she had taken the time to eat? It was impossible to remember. Clearly, it had been _too_ long.

Hermione wanted to disregard Caradoc's warning and try to Apparate to Kingsley's house. Her magic might have been a bit off thanks to her exhaustion, but surely, she could make it _that_ far. Even though going from Hogsmeade to London that morning had not worked correctly on the first try, she felt confident that she could at least Apparate within the same city. She still struggled to believe that she'd somehow managed to end up in Hampshire before work. It was an embarrassing mistake that only beginners could excuse. Knowing she would never hear the end of it from Caradoc if she somehow ended up in the North Sea on accident, she continued her walk down the Alley toward the Leaky Cauldron. At least with the Floo she didn't have to worry about anything more than soot blowing up her nose in the journey.

Only three more days remained before Christmas and she could not be any more thankful. Everyone and everything about the season was on her nerves. If she had the opportunity, she would not have minded crawling underneath a mountain of heavy blankets to wait until 1978. Kingsley might even be allowed to join her if he didn't say one more word about work.

In the middle of a large, impolite yawn, Hermione felt a sharp tug on her arm. Whatever the malady was affecting her and making her magic unpredictable, also made her reflexes slow. A gloved hand clenched her arm before she could reach for her wand.

She didn't even need to look up to know that it was Greyback. Since their conversation in the woods before Salazar Selwyn's wedding months before, he'd made himself even more of a nuisance than he had already been. At least once a week he was stepping out in front of her as she walked down the pavement or he protected himself with dragonhide gloves to pull her by the arm into a dark and secluded corner where he warned of what he was going to do to her the moment he got the locket off. It was obscene and might have bothered her if she didn't have complete faith in the fact that he still didn't know how to remove her protection.

"You weren't even paying attention, little girl. What if I'd been an evil wizard intent on doing you harm?"

Hermione rolled her eyes at his attempt at banter. Maybe in some twisted, fucked-up alternate dimension of their world his flirting might have been effective. All it served to do in that moment was make her stomach flip. She closed her eyes and willed the nausea to dissipate. Emptying the limited contents of her stomach on the werewolf's face might have brought her temporary pleasure, but she felt certain that he would not take such an act lightly.

"Are you ill?"

Greyback almost managed to somehow sound concerned as he sniffed the air around her for some sign of what was wrong.

"You smell _off_. Like, you've…"

All at once the monster uttered a low, terrifying growl and dropped her arm from his clutches. Hermione was so unnerved by his unusual behavior that she looked up to meet his eyes. Never before had she seen him so angry. Not when Ted interrupted and ruined his plans to mark her as his mate. Not when she touched his bare skin to make them erupt into painful boils. Not even when he could smell another wizard's scent all over her body.

"I should rip the bastard from your womb with my teeth."

The reality of her predicament came crashing down on her with all of the subtlety of a tsunami. Though it was disturbing, Greyback knew her scent better than any creature alive. If he could sense the difference in how she smelled because of a child, there was no denying what she already knew internally.

An instinctive desire to protect what she carried within her body put her on edge. With her arm freed from his grasp, Hermione ripped her wand out of her pocket. The tip was under the werewolf's chin before he could run away. Surprised by her sudden shift in posture, Greyback's eyes widened and he seemed unnerved. Rarely, in all of the years that he'd been stalking her had he been the one frightened. It was an intoxicating feeling that she knew she could easily grow used to.

"Leave me be, Greyback."

He started to say something, but she just pressed the tip further into his skin. His silence was a beautiful sound. Even the terrifying werewolf knew better than to challenge a mother protecting her child. Hermione could also get used to the surge of power that filled her veins. How Molly Weasley was able to defeat Bellatrix in a duel began to make perfect sense. No one should ever threaten a woman's child in their presence.

"If you so much as _speak_ to me or my child, I won't even need the locket to make you regret it."

"I like this fire in you, little girl. Thinking about your body swelling with _my_ child makes me hard. When _this_ one is disposed of, I'll fill you again."

She was startled enough when his gloved hand reached for hers that she didn't rip it out of his clutches until after he forced her to touch the prominent bulge in his trousers. Disgusted and horrified, Hermione slapped her bare hand against his cheek with all of the force she could muster. It would have been painful enough without the red, oozing boils erupting over every square millimeter she touched.

Greyback's screams of agony ripped through the night. Shoppers in the immediate area stopped to stare and then rush away as quickly as they could. She used the distraction of his pain to make her escape. The determination in her mind to get to Kingsley's house was strong enough that she didn't worry for a moment about splinching herself or ending up in Timbuktu instead. She would get them both there safely.

There was a light in the front window when her feet touched down on the ground in front of the house she had grown to love so dearly. Smoke rising from the chimney proved that Kingsley was already home. She was thankful for small favors. If she had to wait hours for him to come home to tell him her suspicions, she was afraid she would grow mad. She took a deep breath before stepping inside the front door.

"You're home early," Kingsley stated with a big smile. He entered the lounge from the kitchen, wiping his hands on a towel. "I didn't expect you for another hour. Did you close up early?"

Hermione didn't even wait to respond to his question first before throwing her arms around the wizard. She buried her head in his chest. The spicy smell of cinnamon that always clung to him was overshadowed a bit by the garlic he'd been cooking with, but it was prominent enough to calm her down. His scent had driven her mad and made her sick to her stomach many times in the previous weeks. In that moment, however, she was thankful and calm.

"Are you all right, Little Witch?"

"I think I might be pregnant."

There seemed no reason to delay the inevitable. She felt his arms tense around her body at the simple declaration. When he didn't speak, Hermione carefully pushed herself back from his chest to look into his eyes. He wasn't blinking. The expression on his face was a mixture of shock and fear. It was a surprise to her as well, but she was suddenly terrified that Kingsley wouldn't want anything to do with her or the baby. Hadn't he only just said recently that they were too young and their lives too chaotic to even _think_ about starting a family?

"Are you certain?"

"I'm pretty sure."

"Did you cast any spells to check?"

"I didn't want to check until you were with me."

His questions were asked in a very solemn tone that was so unlike his usual speech that Hermione was worried that she was about to cry. What if this was all too much for him? What if the reason why she didn't ever know about Kingsley having a child in the future was because he freaked out so thoroughly by the very idea that he demanded she get rid of it or give it away? Maybe all of the talk about wanting a family had simply being that… _talk_.

"That's… that's _amazing_. I know we talked about wanting to wait until we were older and the world was less dangerous, but I can't help but be a little excited that we didn't."

Kingsley captured her lips with his and kissed her until even her toes tingled. All fear and anxiety she had about his reaction to their change of plans was gone in an instant. He had always been excellent at putting her mind at ease. Another kiss and another kiss followed the first until they were both panting and short of breath. Only the sound of a timer in the kitchen kept them from continuing. When they got started, it was always hard to stop. Her wizard kissed her one more time before rushing off to the kitchen to deal with dinner.

She took her time hanging her cloak up. Once she knew that he was excited and pleased with her unexpected news, she could relax. Following her interaction with Greyback, she needed some peace and serenity. If Kingsley had been against her having his baby, she really couldn't even fathom what her next move would have been. In hindsight, it seemed silly to worry what he would think. He was the kind of wizard that wouldn't be happy without a family. Of course he was excited to learn she was going to have a baby.

There was a nagging fear in the back of her mind as she removed her shoes and allowed her toes to sink into the thick carpet. In all of the time that she knew Kingsley in the future, he never once mentioned that he was a father. Aberforth didn't tell her that she _and_ a child disappeared in December 1980. What did that mean? She also couldn't ignore the fact that though she was one hundred percent positive that she was pregnant even without having the benefit of a spell to prove it, she couldn't shake the feeling that something was still wrong.

"I opened a bottle of wine for us before you got here, but it doesn't seem appropriate now."

Hermione smiled and took a seat at the kitchen table. He might have preferred it when someone else was in charge in the kitchen, but Kingsley knew how to cook. His grandmother made sure of that fact when he was younger.

"I was hoping to be finished cooking before you got home."

"Caradoc made me leave early. He was actually the one who figured out what's been wrong with me."

She could tell that Kingsley was fighting an internal battle. Clearly, there was something he wanted to say, but he was having trouble deciding if it was the right thing to do or not. Finally, deciding to throw caution to the wind, he spoke.

"I knew there was _something_ wrong with you, but I didn't have the first idea, Hermione. This wouldn't have even been my tenth guess."

"Maybe it's just all of the hormones making me irritable."

He was wise enough to not say anything in response. Just continued to work on their meal with a smile. There would be plenty of time to talk later about what they were going to do next. Hermione was feeling more overwhelmed than she could articulate into words.

Later that night, long after they'd cast multiple spells to confirm her suspicions, Kingsley and Hermione laid in bed talking about what they would do next. Her wizard was more excited than she had ever seen him before. With his hand held firmly against her still-flat stomach, he recited all of the plans he had for the immediate future.

"The bedroom next to this one will be perfect for the nursery. I'll start clearing the boxes out of there this weekend. I should've done that months ago."

"You don't have to kill yourself making all of these changes in three days. There will be _plenty_ of time. _Months_ , even."

"I know, but with work being so unpredictable…"

She knew she was going to have to breach a subject that she hadn't wanted to. If they were going to be parents, they were going to have to be a team. It was hard enough not knowing where he was or what he was doing when it was just her. Worrying about her child losing their father simply because he didn't stop to take care of himself like he should was going to be too much.

"I need you to stop working so much."

Kingsley's groan was the answer she expected. He rolled over on his back to sigh dramatically. They had already had this argument a few times before, but the stakes had not been as high. It was no longer just the two of them that they had to worry about.

"There's a war going on out there, Hermione. It's only getting more dangerous every single day. It's my _job_ to fight the Dark wizards."

"And your life is more important to me than your job."

He was intelligent enough to not argue with that statement. Hermione didn't want to discourage him from doing what he was passionate about, but she was scared. Their lives were about to change in ways she hadn't even considered. Being a parent was a frightening enough concept as it was. Kingsley rolled back over to his side and laid his head gently on top of her stomach. His warm hand brushed patterns across the bare skin of her stomach.

"I will be more careful, Little Witch. _And_ I will come home earlier."

His promise was sealed with a kiss to her belly.

"You said earlier that your magic was acting strange."

"Yes, but I'm sure it's nothing to worry about. That happens sometimes when a witch is pregnant."

"Still, I think you should go see my mum in the morning. She knows all about what it's like to have Shacklebolt babies. You might need an expert."

Hermione laughed and swatted at his shoulder. Amused by her reaction, Kingsley kissed her stomach one more time and slid up the length of her body to kiss her lips. Careful not to squish her body, he rested his weight on his elbows.

"We have been known to be difficult."

"You don't have to tell _me_ that. I already know."

Kingsley smirked at her cheeky remark. Determined that he was going to make her pay for her slip of the tongue in several delightful ways, he began his gentle assault of her entire body with his mouth. The worries that had threatened to drown her began to slip away. He was a master at calming her down.

* * *

December 22, 1977

 **8:03 am**

Sleep hadn't come easy for Hermione the night before. Even after Kingsley spent at least an hour simply worshipping the body of the woman carrying his child, she couldn't rest. Her mind wouldn't shut itself off to allow her to drift to sleep. When Kingsley was speaking to her in his soothing voice and touching her, she could ignore all her fears. It was only when he stopped that she couldn't ignore the niggling feeling in the back of her mind that there was something wrong.

She'd tried pacing the house to make herself tired. All it succeeded in doing was making her legs ache and her back pain worse. Prickles of minor pain in her stomach made her stop for fear that she was doing harm to her baby. Pregnancy wasn't exactly a subject she knew a lot about. Ordinarily, her knowledge extended to methods to _prevent_ pregnancy. Any time she was faced with a subject she was less than an expert on, her anxiety grew. She made a list in her mind of all of the questions she had. Waiting for the morning when she would be able to talk freely with Katie about what was happening felt like an eternity.

At some point, she managed to doze off for a few minutes. Kingsley shook the bed slightly when it was time for him to get up for work. When he realized he'd woken her up, he instantly felt bad. It hadn't been a secret to him that she'd been unable to sleep the night before. He apologized with more kisses.

"Do you want me to go with you to Mum's?"

"No, don't be silly. I'm fine. You have to go to work."

She could tell that he wanted to argue with her, but he stopped himself. Kingsley was not afraid of an argument. He just had learned when one wasn't necessary.

"Owl me if you change your mind."

The sound of the front door clicking behind Kingsley was the encouragement that Hermione needed to finally get out of bed. There seemed to be no point in lingering when her nerves were so on edge. Katie always knew what to say to make her calm down. She fervently hoped that this day would be no different.

Just a few minutes after eight she stood in front of the door to the Shacklebolts' London house feeling even more nervous for a reason she couldn't explain. The aches and pains in her body hadn't gone away after she stopped pacing. There was still pain in her stomach. She was afraid to even think what that might mean, so she pushed the thoughts away.

"Hermione! What a surprise. Please come in."

Katie led her straight into the warm kitchen where a plate of fresh scones and two cups of tea were waiting. Clearly, it _hadn't_ been a surprise visit.

"Kingsley owled you that I would be coming, didn't he?"

"Yes, he did. Late last night. Said you had a few questions for me."

The older witch looked at her with such a sweet, knowing expression that Hermione instantly felt at ease. If she couldn't trust Katie, who could she? For all she knew, Kingsley's mother had never told anyone anything that they had spoken about over the years in their private conversations. She was a confidant that Hermione knew she could trust implicitly.

"We found out last night that I'm pregnant."

Qadira Shacklebolt was, without a doubt, the most beautiful woman that Hermione had ever seen. When the pleased, excited smile crossed her face at the prospect of being a grandmother, she was even more beautiful than Hermione could've imagined. At least they didn't have to worry that their parents were going to be angry about them not waiting until they were married. Katie reached across the table to take Hermione's hand in hers.

"I must confess that selfishly, I'd hoped this is what you were coming here to talk to me about."

Filled with relief that this wasn't going to be a negative conversation or at least one fraught with concerns that they were too young, Hermione poured out all of her concerns to Katie. She described in detail how she'd been feeling strange for weeks. How her magic wasn't cooperating like she thought it should. She told her everything that had happened except for the meeting she had with Greyback the day before. When she finished, she couldn't ignore the concern and worry on Katie's perfect features.

"I've never heard of a witch's magic being affected poorly. Usually, it is the exact opposite effect. You can feel your child's magic and even draw from it. Not much, mind you, but I always felt much more powerful when I was pregnant."

"Maybe I'm a special case? Kingsley said that Shacklebolt babies could be a little difficult."

Katie rolled her eyes and laughed.

"That's a bit of an understatement. Tommy was an easy pregnancy, but we both almost died during delivery. That's a long story and definitely not one you need to hear right now. Kingsie was much more difficult. I was sick the entire time. The Healers didn't want me to go into labor with him at all. There was a concern that if I did, we would have the same problems. They weren't confident that we would survive."

Hermione's stomach began to twist like it always did when she was nervous. She hadn't even considered the possibility of a dangerous delivery. Moving past the realization that she was carrying a child inside of her was still something she was struggling with. Delivery felt like a lifetime away.

"I knew before he was even born that my Kingsie would be strong-willed. I was at Mum's house when he decided he'd been growing long enough. Everything happened so quickly that there simply wasn't time to get to St. Mungo's. My father tried to get a Healer to come to the house, but by the time he returned with one, Kingsie had already been born. Mum said she had never heard of a child arriving so quickly."

"So it sounds like if you have an easy pregnancy with a Shacklebolt baby, you'll have a difficult delivery. And if you have a difficult pregnancy, you'll have an easy delivery."

"I would _never_ call a delivery easy, but it was quick, without any complications, and we both survived."

The pain in Hermione's stomach only grew more intense. She grimaced when a particularly painful sensation shot through her body. When she opened her eyes, Katie was already on her feet.

"We are going to St. Mungo's immediately, love. You need to be checked out by a competent Healer."

Hermione knew better than to argue with a member of that family when they'd set their minds to something. She followed Katie to the kitchen fireplace without hesitation. Less than a minute later, she was rushing towards the wizard hospital.

The Welcome Witch didn't deem Hermione an immediate priority. She was given forms to fill out and the promise that a Healer would see her at some point in the next twelve hours. Hermione and Katie took a seat in the waiting room to wait patiently for her name to be called.

"Did you ever have pains in your stomach when you were pregnant, Katie?"

"This early on? Only once."

She didn't elaborate. Based on the saddened expression on her face, Hermione didn't push for more answers. Katie was allowed to have secrets of her own. If she felt like it was something Hermione needed to know, she would tell her.

They only had to wait about an hour before Hermione's name was called. Katie offered to stay behind and let her go in by herself, but she didn't want that. Being alone in the exam room was the last thing that Hermione wanted. She was terrified enough as it was.

The Healer wasn't a very personable man. He asked her a number of questions regarding her body and her symptoms. Only when she mentioned that she had some pain in her stomach and that she hadn't been able to Apparate correctly did he lift his eyes from the paper.

"Your magic is affected? _Negatively_?"

His tone terrified Hermione for reasons she couldn't explain. Something about the way he looked over his spectacles at her and his bushy eyebrows clumped together when he furrowed his brow worried her. The suspicions she had that this wasn't a normal, standard pregnancy were painfully true.

He scanned his wand over her stomach several times muttering incantations she couldn't understand. The tingling in her entire body was unnerving and unpleasant. She was ready to bolt out of the room the first chance she got. Each time his wand passed over her, she noticed his eyebrows got closer and closer together. Whatever he was seeing, it wasn't good.

"Have you been exposed to Dark magic, Miss Dumbledore?"

She didn't know how to answer that. Yes, she had been. On multiple occasions. If she admitted to it, how would she explain the circumstances? There would only be even more questions asked at that point. Maybe the Ministry would even be alerted.

"Dark magic, sir?"

"Yes. I know it's been many years since I was young, but I do remember a great deal of experimentation with spells when I was younger. Sometimes I see this when someone has been exposed to the Cruciatus Curse."

The night at Malfoy Manor when Bellatrix tortured her came to the forefront of her mind. She had almost died that night. Never would she be able to forget what it felt like to be crucioed over and over again. Was that hateful cunt the reason why she was having pain in her pregnancy? Would she always be there to ruin her life?

"But, you would've had to have been exposed to the Curse many, _many_ times. Over the course of months or even years. Are you in the habit of having your sexual partners cast the Unforgivable on you for some demented, sexual pleasure, Miss Dumbledore?"

"How dare you!"

Katie jumped to her feet with her wand held tightly in her hand. Hermione had never seen the woman so angry. Not even when she sat next to her in the dark of her bedroom as she admitted that she'd been attacked. The esteemed member of the Wizengamot seemed ready to get her hands dirty in Hermione's defense.

"You can calm yourself down too, Madam Shacklebolt. It's an honest question. You would not believe the kind of people I have had in this room over the years. Now, Miss Dumbledore, answer my question."

"Of course not!"

The Healer was not bothered by the fuming woman next to him or the terrified woman in front of him. He scribbled away further on the parchment, leaving them both waiting in agony for answers.

"A sexual compulsion spell, maybe? Or did you cast a love spell that backfired?"

Hermione was losing her patience. She didn't know what the horrible man was getting at, but she wanted him there sooner.

"What is wrong with my baby?"

"Your body is rejecting it, Miss Dumbledore. I think it is safe to say that whatever Dark magic you were exposed to has ruined all hope that you will ever be able to carry a baby to term."

* * *

September 25, 1998

 **9:45 pm**

Kingsley was pleased to see the lights on in The Hog's Head as he made his way towards the familiar establishment. Aberforth had been out of the country for a very long time. When he received an owl earlier that evening from his granny telling him that he'd finally returned, the Minister knew he would need to make a call as soon as possible.

It was incredible to him that even after he no longer had to do extra work to clear Rodolphus' name, there was still enough work to keep him occupied until long after most of the Ministry had gone home for the night. He didn't really mind staying. Rodolphus was still sleeping in his guest room. A few days had turned into almost a month. The constant presence of photographers at the gates of his estate meant that the wizard hadn't felt comfortable returning to the big, empty house alone. Kingsley didn't mind. He was free to stay there as long as he wanted.

He was just feeling a bit jealous, if he could be honest with himself. Mafalda was there most nights catching up with her long-lost love. Truly, Kingsley was happy for the couple, but it was hard to slide into the cold, empty sheets of his own bed knowing that just down the corridor were two people in love wearing out the springs of his guest room's mattress. It had been a long time since he'd felt the warmth of a woman and if Hermione didn't return in December like he hoped and prayed she would, he wasn't sure if he would ever feel one again.

No customers were inside the pub when he entered. Aberforth stood behind the bar already pouring two glasses of his best fire whiskey. Either he had exceptional hearing or he had been expecting Kingsley to make an appearance.

Neither of the men spoke at first. That was half the beauty of a friendship with Aberforth Dumbledore. He was a man that cherished silence. It wasn't always a possibility in his line of work, but it was something he enjoyed. They clinked their glasses together in a silent toast.

"How was Australia?"

Aberforth grumbled and refilled their empty glasses. Only once his second glass was emptied did he answer.

"I found them. Took me several weeks, but I was able to find them. They seemed like nice enough people."

"Were you able to…"

"No. I tried everything I could. Nothing worked. Poor lass made a mistake when she cleared their memories. There's nothing anyone can do. They're stuck."

Kingsley sighed. He could only imagine how Hermione would feel when she learned that her error prevented her parents' memories from being recovered. She would never forgive herself. Knowing that he could have done something for her parents over a year earlier when she was begging other members of the Order for help, made him irrationally angry with both himself and his former comrades. He should've stopped to think for a moment that her Muggle parents would be targets.

"The moment she told me years ago what she did to protect her parents, I vowed that I would do whatever it took to fix them. I've been studying memory charms for almost thirty years. I've even gone to other countries to learn from the best. Didn't help."

"She will be grateful that you tried."

"It's not enough. That'll _never_ be enough."

Another round was poured. The men sipped at their glasses.

"Maybe I couldn't fix them because I didn't really want to."

Aberforth's confession surprised Kingsley. He didn't push the elder man. Just sat there waiting for him to continue if he wanted.

"She's _mine_. She's been mine since she woke up from that bump on her head. I've never loved anyone or anything as much as her. Maybe I was afraid she wouldn't need me anymore if I could fix her _real_ parents."

"She's always going to be yours, Ab. Nothing will change that."

Aberforth raised his glass in another silent salute. They finished off the bottle before Kingsley stumbled back into Hermione's old bedroom.


	74. Chapter 74

Chapter Seventy-Four

December 22, 1977

 **3:40 pm**

Everything that happened in the minutes following the crushing revelation from the Healer was a blur. Hermione could remember hearing Katie's gasp and then feeling her arms wrapped around her body as she sat on the exam table in complete shock. She clung to Katie and allowed the emotion of the experience to wash over her. It was too much to hold in and keep to herself. With the freedom of the older witch's support, she expressed the heart-aching sadness.

She was just about to stop crying when the first of the severe pains began in her abdomen. Instinctively, she had known to expect them, but it didn't make them hurt any less, physically or emotionally. The Healer forced Katie away to examine his patient. With the loss of the loving touch and the increasing pain, Hermione had never felt such an overwhelming sense of powerlessness. Her own screams of anguish echoed in her ears and mixed with the shouted demands of the Healer for potions. She remembered strong arms holding her down as putrid liquid was poured down her throat and then nothing. Nothing but dreamless unconsciousness.

It felt like an eternity before she was able to open her eyes. Even the simple act of prying open her eyelids seemed to take longer than it should. They felt too heavy. She was exhausted long before she was able to make out the concerned figure seated next to the bed. Kingsley had pulled the chair as close to the edge as was physically possible without him actually crawling _into_ the bed. He held his head in his large hands, his eyes downcast to the scratchy blanket below.

Hermione could see just in the set of his shoulders how worried he was. How _frightened_ he must be for her. Everything had happened so fast and then she was unconscious. How long had she been out? How much worse did it all get? She reached out to brush her fingertips against the back of his hand. Startled by the unexpected touch, Kingsley tensed his shoulders and lifted his head. As soon as his watery eyes met hers, he sighed and dropped his head again.

He needed a moment to compose himself before he could look at her again. Worried about him, she tried unsuccessfully to rub her fingers on the skin of his hand. Once he understood what she was trying to do, Kingsley lifted his head and reached out to hold her hand in both of his. He didn't speak at first. Just kissed each of her fingers one after the other. Silent tears rolled down his cheeks that Hermione wanted desperately to wipe away. Her energy, however, wasn't enough to allow it.

"You gave us all quite a scare, Little Witch."

Kingsley was trying to be the master of his own voice, but he wasn't able to completely hide the tremble in his words. Too often in the past when he tried to bring up a difficult subject, he would try to include a bit of humor to make it all seem less serious. It was clear that he was doing what he could to make the moment she woke up in the scratchy hospital sheets less dire than the situation actually was.

"Kingsley, I'm so sorry."

"No, no apologies, love. Nothing that happened today was your fault. You have nothing to be sorry for."

His assurances broke his limited composure. He dropped his eyes back to the bed, but did not relinquish his grip of her hand. Tears fell at an even more rapid rate down his cheeks. A large hand clamped down on Kingsley's shoulder in a gesture of support. Hermione was surprised. In her worry about her wizard, she hadn't even considered the fact that they weren't completely alone in the room. She lifted her eyes to meet Dean's equally watery eyes. He looked so much like his son would look when he was older that she forgot to breathe for a moment. Looking at him was like looking decades into the future. Even though he was still holding her hand, an indescribable longing for Kingsley washed over her entire body. As much as she loved his younger self, he didn't possess her entire heart. Part of it still lingered with the wizard twenty years ahead in her past.

When Dean smiled at half his usual wattage, Hermione took a moment to survey the rest of the sterile room. Her father sat on the very edge of a small couch in the corner with Katie next to him. Regnault and Rodolphus lingered at the open door, just barely inside the room at all. She could see Thomas out in the corridor speaking in a hushed voice to someone just out of view. There wasn't enough space for anyone else to keep a vigil by her bed. Hermione felt all at once touched by the attention and very, very smothered. She wasn't sure how she was supposed to react and feel after such a horrible day.

How did one behave after learning they would never be able to have children? Or after they lost the one they were carrying? She wasn't sure how much time had passed, but she could already feel a change in her body. _Something_ was different. Just as she had just started to get used to feeling the difference in her womb, it was gone. It suddenly made sense to her why the term for infertile women had always been 'barren'. She felt so empty.

"How long have I been sleeping?"

"Just a few hours," Katie answered when it was clear neither of her men were in a position to speak. "We've been waiting for you to wake up. The Healer said that you should be fine as long as you didn't stay unconscious for much longer."

Katie rose to her feet and made her way to the empty side of the bed opposite from Kingsley. She carefully brushed the hair out of Hermione's eyes before kissing her forehead. As she began to stand back to her full height, Katie whispered directly in her ear.

"I am so sorry about the baby, darling. There was nothing anyone could do to save it."

Hermione couldn't respond beyond a tiny nod of her head. She ignored the tears forming in her own eyes. This wasn't the time to worry about her own grief when Kingsley needed her so much. There would be plenty of time later when she was alone to cry and grieve for what was lost. Too many people gathered in her hospital room needed her to be strong for them. Her mourning would come later.

"When can I go home?"

She directed her question to Aberforth who hadn't yet uttered a word. His blue eyes, so similar to his brother's, twinkled with unshed tears. Knowing how much he loved Hermione made her heart swell and her stomach sink. She hated giving the man who had already experienced so much pain in his life even more to worry about. Realizing he was being addressed, Aberforth rose to his feet and crossed the small area to her side. Katie stepped back to give him room.

"Not for a little while yet, lass. The Healers want you to stay until they know you're all right and that… well, that there aren't any lasting problems."

Every word he spoke was a struggle. Hermione trusted Dean to take care of his son as she pulled her hand out of Kingsley's to comfort her adoptive father. One touch of her hand on his arm almost broke Aberforth. He sniffed up his tears and tried to hide the trembling of his chin, but Hermione had already seen. Though she knew that he cared about her, the extent of his affection was a bit startling. It was different _knowing_ he loved her and then actually seeing it. She wished she could figure out some way to prevent the wizard from ever having to be hurt again.

Her thoughts went back to the morning they stood at the edge of the Black Lake and talked about his daughter. His sadness when he spoke of her disappearing had been palpable. Knowing now that _she_ was the one who was going to be the source of his pain made her wish she could spare him. What if she wasn't able to get back? There was still the very real possibility that she _wouldn't_ make it back. Her life was in constant danger in the seventies. She could very well die and no one would know. How many people disappeared without a trace? Every single day, it seemed, she was hearing about another.

"I want to go home."

She spoke in a whisper, but the room was quiet enough that she was heard by everyone. Regnault stepped forward from his spot near the door.

"I will find your Healer at once. Perhaps we can have you moved to the Manor under the care of the family's personal Healer."

" _No_ , Uncle. I want to go _home_."

Imagining spending a single moment recuperating from her ordeal in the bedroom that had come to be associated so heavily with Lord Voldemort was not at all what she wanted. The Hog's Head was the only place she wanted to be. Even if it meant having her dad hover around her, incessantly checking on her and forcing her to eat, she wanted to be tucked under her quilt. Perhaps she could even persuade Aberforth to let Kingsley stay the night. She wouldn't hold her breath, but there was always a chance.

Regnault knew better than to start an argument with his niece. It was truly a mark of how grave her condition was that he conceded immediately. He nodded, spun around on his heel, and marched out into the corridor. Only moments later his authoritative voice could be heard echoing down the corridor demanding that the whereabouts of her Healer be discovered. A tiny smile tugged at her lips. She began to understand what Rodolphus meant months earlier when he said that she was Regnault's favorite.

"Darling, the room is about to get even more crowded," Katie declared. "I think it best that Dean, Thomas, and I leave you now that you're awake."

"You don't have to go."

"No, Hermione, she's right," agreed Rodolphus. "We wanted to stay long enough to make sure you _would_ wake up. Now we can leave you in the capable hands of Kingsley and your father."

Her cousin kissed her cheek and ran the back of his hand affectionately down her cheek. Fear and worry was still written on his countenance, but he was doing a marvelous job of hiding it. Anyone who didn't know him as well as she did would think he was doing just fine. She could see that he was scared out of his wits even if his lips were curved into the familiar smile she loved so much.

"I promised Rabby and Sollie a report as soon as we knew anything. They stayed home with Bellatrix to await news."

"Do tell Bella that I'm sorry to report that I've survived. I know she will be sorely disappointed."

"Hermione!"

Kingsley's sharp bark of anger caught her off-guard. Ordinarily, he was the first one to join in the joking about Bellatrix. Her hatred for her husband's cousin was legendary within their social circles and without. He liked to tease her about the worst of Bellatrix's glares or insults. In that moment, however, teasing about her survival was not acceptable.

"I'm… I'm sorry, Kingsley."

She felt ashamed by her words. This was not the time. His fear and anxiety was still too fresh. Maybe there would never be an appropriate time for him to make light of the morning that could've easily killed the woman he loved. Rodolphus felt just as uncomfortable by the moment if his speedy exit from the room was analyzed.

Kingsley's family said their goodbyes soon after the uncomfortable display. They each promised to check back in on them later when everything was settled down. Kingsley stepped into the corridor with his parents for a moment to leave Hermione alone with her father. It was obvious that he was reluctant to let her out of his sight, but his mother insisted on a private word.

"That was unkind, lass."

"I know."

"That boy hasn't left your side since he got here. He's been half out of his mind with worry about you. These last few hours haven't been easy for any of us, but I've been worried almost as much about him as I was about you."

She hadn't realized it was even possible to feel worse than she already did until Aberforth's chastisement. He was right, however. There was a time and a place for making insensitive remarks and laid up in a hospital bed while her loved ones feared for her was certainly not one of them. When she was out of the hospital and feeling better, she would make sure that she made it up to Kingsley. He deserved better than that.

"I'm going to give you two some time alone. Someone needs to find Reg and make certain he's not about to get you thrown out of here for being a nuisance to the staff."

"You don't have to leave, Dad."

Aberforth placed both of his hands on each of her cheeks. After a kiss to her forehead, he stared at her with a smile.

"I'm never very far away, but you and Kingsley should speak alone. I feel confident leaving you in his hands."

Arguing with a Dumbledore after they'd already made up their mind was a lesson in futility. Selfishly, Hermione wanted Aberforth to stay because she knew that she could use his presence in the room to delay the conversation that she knew she was going to have to have with Kingsley at some point. He was a wizard who desired a family. If she was not going to be able to provide him one, he deserved to know up front. There was nothing to be gained by stringing the man along with false pretenses. He meant more to her than that.

Aberforth kissed her cheek one final time before stepping out of the room with a promise to return shortly. She watched him exit out into the corridor with a gnawing fear in her gut. What if this wasn't something that Kingsley could move past? Yes, he might have claimed years in the future that she was the witch he loved and that he would do anything to marry her, but was that the truth? Or had her absence simply made him _believe_ that he was capable of pushing aside his desires for a life of just the two of them together? It was a worry she wasn't sure would ever completely go away. What if she simply wasn't enough for him?

Kingsley lingered in the doorway before he returned. She was curious to know what his mother had to speak to him about that seemed to unnerve him, but she didn't want to push. He would speak in his own time. After a few tense seconds, he took a deep breath and reentered the room. Neither of them spoke until he was seated back in the chair next to the bed.

"Kingsley, I'm sorry."

"Please stop apologizing."

He leaned back in the chair with a heavy sigh. Hermione wanted to reach out and touch him, but he was just outside of her grasp. Her strength was still quite low. Whatever foul potions had been poured down her throat in the midst of her pain, she could still feel the aftereffects clogging her body.

"I keep thinking this is all my fault."

His almost silent confession startled Hermione beyond description. She couldn't understand what would possibly give him even a hint of an idea that he was responsible for the predicament she was in. He might have been the one who fathered the child, but it wasn't his fault that her body was too damaged to provide it a safe place to grow and develop.

"Why would you think this was _your_ fault?"

"I should have brought you to St. Mungo's last night the moment we learned you were expecting, but I didn't. Maybe if you'd been here sooner they could have saved the baby."

"Kingsley, no. There wasn't anything that could have been done."

"And instead of bringing you to see a Healer, I spent the night… _jostling_ you about."

Hermione had to bite down on her bottom lip to keep from laughing. It really was an inappropriate time to laugh and she knew that Kingsley wasn't actually making a joke. He likely would be angry and embarrassed if she laughed at his concerns that their nocturnal activities in the privacy of his bedroom were somehow responsible.

"Or maybe it's because you've been working so much lately."

"Kingsley…"

"No, no. I don't mean it's your _fault_ , but you've been on your feet so much at the shop and at the pub. Maybe if we'd figured out sooner what was happening to you, you could've stayed home and rested."

She wasn't sure why she was reluctant to tell him what the Healer told her about her damaged body. Certainly, she had some theories. Perhaps, she worried that if he knew that she'd been touched by Dark magic in such a profound way that he wouldn't want anything to do with her again. Maybe he'd leave her for someone less complicated and someone who was _pure_. Admitting that her past flirtations with the Dark side of their society was the reason why she would never be able to provide him the child he so wanted felt like it would be the final nail in the coffin of their relationship. How would he ever be able to forgive her?

"Did the Healer explain to you what happened to me?"

"He wasn't very forthcoming with a lot of information. Bit of an arse, really. He tried to ask me impertinent questions about what we did in our bedroom, but Mum threatened to curse him if he continued."

Hermione was grateful for Katie's interference. Though she wasn't naïve enough to believe that Kingsley's mother would never bring up what the Healer told her during her examination, she was glad that she was doing what she could to protect her son.

"Why would he ask me if I liked to curse you when we were alone?"

"I'm not sure."

She nibbled on her bottom lip, terrified that she was about to blurt out that she was lying.

"It's a bizarre question." He paused for a moment to gather his thoughts before speaking again. "I'm not ignorant in the ways of the world, you know. I know some people enjoy a bit of… well, I know that magic has its uses behind closed doors and there are some who enjoy employing it in some rather inventive manners. Was he wanting to know if I cursed our baby?"

Before she could offer up any kind of an explanation, they were interrupted by the abrupt arrival of Regnault with her Healer. Clearly annoyed by the manner in which he was being treated by her uncle, the Healer headed straight for the bed to begin his examination. There wasn't another opportunity to continue her discussion with Kingsley before she was forced to drink more potions to help her sleep and her body heal. She welcomed the unconsciousness this time and hoped that by the time she woke up, she would be able to figure out how to have a very uncomfortable discussion with her wizard.

* * *

December 23, 1977

 **9:15 am**

Kingsley wasn't the one seated in the chair next to her bed when Hermione awoke the next morning to her great surprise. In fact, there wasn't a sign of her wizard anywhere in the room. Rabastan sat alone serenely reading a copy of the Daily Prophet. Her movements must have been louder than she thought because her cousin didn't waste a moment folding up his newspaper.

"Good morning, Cousin. How did you sleep?"

"All right, I guess." She turned her head to look around the room as if the question of Kingsley's absence would be found scrawled on the wall. "Are you by yourself?"

Rabastan sighed dramatically and rolled his eyes. A giggle escaped out of Hermione's mouth before she could stop it. She adored when her younger cousin put on a show. He was very good at defusing tension in an uncomfortable room.

"Poor poor Rabastan. No one ever wants to see just him. Oh, no. I've been pushed aside my entire life for others." He raised his newspaper back up to hide behind and feign reading the articles. "Your father was dragged home by a rather irritable Madam Shafiq about an hour ago who said that he was an old man and would do no one any good if he died by not taking care of himself. Roddy is stuck working in his shop because his only competent helper somehow managed to get herself in hospital during his busiest time of year. Father is either berating the hospital's staff or disemboweling a few journalists."

Any ordinary person would have been bothered by his description of her uncle's activities, but they didn't seem strange to Hermione. She knew that Regnault had a lot going on in his life at any given time that didn't necessarily involve the rest of his family. Truthfully, her only concern was for the whereabouts of the wizard that promised he wouldn't leave her side.

"And if you're wondering about your wizard, I was worried that the sound of Kingsley's stomach growling would wake you up, so I made him go to the Manor for breakfast a few minutes ago. Rosie will take care of him. She likes him."

"Yes, I'm aware."

"Much more than she likes you."

"I'm also aware of that."

Rabastan folded down one side of his newspaper to shoot a cheeky wink into his cousin's direction. She rolled her eyes and laughed again. It felt wonderful to be normal, to not be treated like a china doll. He had always been good about treating her like she wished to be treated.

Just as he started to fold his newspaper up again to put away, a piece of a headline caught Hermione's eye. She wasn't sure what made her react, but she was curious why her last name was splashed across the front page. Clearly not expecting her to be agile enough to reach the paper, Rabastan didn't have a chance to pull the paper back before she grabbed it. Panic filled his eyes when her hand clenched the morning edition. A brief struggle ensued over control until Rabastan finally gave up.

"Father told me not to let you see the news this morning, but I think you have every right to know."

It wasn't just her name that was written in massive letters. A picture of her taken months earlier at one of the dozens of society parties she was always required to attend took up a large portion of the top fold of the front page. Sadly, it wasn't one of the more flattering photographs she had taken in the past. In this one, she not only did not smile, but she was glaring in the direction of the photographer. She could vaguely remember that night as being one that Salazar Selwyn kept catching her eye. The disgust that she had for the man showed clearly on the newspaper. It made her seem mean and unapproachable.

She ignored the Daily Prophet's attempt at a clever headline to delve right into the heart of the article. Her current location in a St. Mungo's ward was described and a series of allegations and speculations of why she was there were included. Each one seemed more ridiculous than the last, but the sickening part was the fact that there was a grain of truth in several. There was no mention of her miscarriage to her great relief. Kingsley didn't need that added pain to be bandied about freely by complete strangers.

"'Miss Dumbledore is believed to be a victim of Dark Magic, but the real question this reporter would like to know the answer to is whether or not she was a willing participant or not?'"

Hermione couldn't read anymore. Just the short passage that she read aloud made her angry and the smile that was usually present on Rabastan's face was gone. Who went to the newspaper with reports of her hospitalization? Did one of the staff members see their opportunity to make a little money by revealing her confidential medical information?

"I understand now what you mean about Uncle Regnault's whereabouts. This is…"

"Disgusting. He _will_ find out who is responsible and make them pay. Father does not suffer any perceived insult or injustice to our family lightly."

"Has Kingsley seen this?"

Rabastan responded at first only with a nod of his head.

"That was also part of the reason I sent him to the Manor. Rosie will slip him a calming potion in his tea. Otherwise, I fear he was ready to commit murder on your behalf. Naturally, he doesn't believe a word of it as truth. Loyal to a fault, that one. Do you think he was mis-Sorted? I sense a great deal of Hufflepuff in him."

She forgot her anger for a moment to smile. Kingsley's secret would never cross her lips.

"But not to worry unnecessarily, Father will sort it all out. And your father will be right alongside him cursing anyone who dares speak ill about you."

He rose from the chair to step closer to the bed. His hand found hers and he squeezed it affectionately. The jovial expression on his face was replaced with one a great deal more serious.

"I am very sorry for your loss, Hermione. Losing a child is a sadness I cannot begin to understand."

"I hope you never know it, Rabby."

Her cousin kissed her cheek and took the newspaper out of her hands.

"Now you must look at page eleven. Narcissa and her dear Lucy made the Society pages with a ghastly holiday soiree they held at their manor last night."

"I knew nothing about this. Oh, dear, my invitation appears to have gotten lost in the post."

"Mine too, I'm afraid. Sollie will be _crushed_ to hear we missed it."

They were still laughing over the pictures of the party neither of them were sorry to miss when Kingsley returned. Her cousin didn't stay long after his arrival. Only a few minutes passed before they said their goodbyes.

Hermione was nervous to be alone with Kingsley yet again. There was so much that needed to be talked about and none of it was good. Her fear that he would walk out of the room when he learned the truth about her damaged body was so strong that she could not think of anything else. Losing Kingsley was the worst thing that could ever happen to her, she'd decided long ago. Before they were together and a relationship with him was nothing but a promise of the future, she had been able to live quite easily without him. Just a small taste of a life with him was all it took before she couldn't imagine returning to a time when he wasn't a part of her everyday existence.

Kingsley also seemed ill at ease around her. Frustrated by his silence and the manner in which he just kept staring at her expecting her to say something first, Hermione rolled her eyes and pointed to the chair next to the bed. He didn't hesitate to cross the room in a few strides and take the offered seat.

"You saw the paper this morning?"

He nodded, but still didn't speak.

"Do you have any questions for me?"

"I refuse to believe any of that rubbish."

"Sometimes you are too much of a Hufflepuff for your own good."

The truth could be a little harsh, but this wasn't the time to spare his feelings. He deserved to know what the Healer told her and he deserved to know how much of what was written in the scandalous article was more than speculation and rumor.

"Yesterday morning when your mother brought me here, the Healer informed me in no uncertain terms that I was losing the baby because my body could not sustain the pregnancy."

"We can always try again. This doesn't have to be the end of it."

"No, Kingsley. We cannot try again."

Harsh truth was best given bluntly and without flowery adjectives disguising its meaning. Her wizard balked at the statement, but made no move to argue or speak over her. Knowing that it was best to rip the plaster off in one fell swoop, Hermione continued.

"Because I have been exposed to too much Dark magic, I will never be able to carry a child to term. My body will reject any pregnancy."

"But surely there is something that can…"

" _No_ , Kingsley. I am damaged."

Speaking the words she had been thinking aloud was difficult. She had known even before the Healer announced it in such a callous manner that there wouldn't be hope for a future child. And even if she was able to get pregnant again, she didn't think she could handle the possibility that she might lose another child. Hardly a day had gone by since the first and she was already unsure how she was going to be able to continue. How much worse would it be with a second or third?

"Was it the curse that scarred you?"

His large, comforting hand brushed against the scar hidden beneath her hospital gown. Though he didn't know the details of how she was cursed or why, he knew that something terrible had happened to her when she was young. Memories of that night coupled with the very real fear that perhaps it was Antonin's fault made her eyes grow misty with tears she couldn't afford to shed. Once she started crying, she knew she would be in real danger of never being able to stop.

"It might be," she answered. "We're not sure."

"Have you had a lot of other dangerous curses cast on you?"

She didn't even know where to start to answer his question. The truth was too difficult and terrifying. Thankfully, she was saved at the last second by her irritated Healer barging into the room with a purpose.

"I want you and your horrid family out of this hospital as soon as bloody possible, Miss Dumbledore."

"I can assure you the desire is mutual."

"You are going to take some accelerated healing potions and you will spend the rest of today in an enchanted sleep. If the gods are in our favor, you will be able to leave by midday tomorrow."

It was cowardly of her to be happy that her unpleasant conversation with Kingsley would have to be delayed again, but she was.

* * *

December 24, 1977

 **12:50 pm**

She was pronounced fit to leave the hospital shortly after breakfast on Christmas Eve to her great relief. The men in her life that she loved and adored, of course, were getting on her very last nerve. Every single one of them seemed intent to hover around her to make certain there wasn't anything she could possibly need. Finally overwhelmed past her breaking point, she lost her temper and sent them all away from her.

Regnault needed little persuasion to leave to head back to the London office of the Daily Prophet. He'd warned Hermione that there was a possibility a young reporter with a horrendous taste in clothing would take offense to his treatment of her by printing even worse stories about her in the future. He promised that he would do everything in his power to force the chit to print a retraction of her libelous story from the morning before. Rodolphus was easy to shame into going back to his shop and it didn't take much to encourage Rabastan to lend his brother a hand. Whether or not he actually donned an apron and assisted a single shopper was beyond her knowledge, but she didn't care. At least he wasn't sitting in the corner of the too-small hospital room cracking jokes about the others. Aberforth was offended by his dismissal though he tried not to show it. He exited the room muttering about how it was time to open the pub back up anyway as there were plenty of poor sods in need of a respite from their cantankerous relatives. She almost threw her breakfast tray at him in response.

Kingsley was a little harder to get rid of. On any other day, he would have leapt at the chance to return to his job at the Ministry without a backwards glance. Hermione reminded him that Moody was sure to be needing his help as the violence hadn't stopped just because she was in hospital. She finally had to bluntly tell him that she was exhausted of everyone coddling her and she needed some space. It hadn't been easy for him to accept that without offense, but eventually he kissed her cheek and promised her that he'd drop by the pub that evening.

"I hope I've seen the last of you, Miss Dumbledore," her Healer declared with a sigh as she exited her room.

"As do I."

There once had been a time in her life when she had nothing but respect for those who chose a medical profession. Her parents were well-respected dentists who frequently brought their colleagues into their home. She'd grown up around doctors and nurses. Her Healer might have been a competent professional, but his bedside manner could stand some improvements. Hermione fought the urge to curse him when she finally left St. Mungo's.

The Hog's Head was full of patrons surprised to see her throw open the front door and head straight to the back with a purpose. Her father most of all. Hermione didn't pay them any mind. She knew there had been rumors spread around that she was in far worse shape than she actually was. No doubt half of the customers drinking her father's fire whiskey only did so because they were hoping to get a first-hand account from the proprietor just what happened to his daughter.

She didn't know who the bastard was that leaked her _private_ medical records to the press, but she felt confident that Regnault would uncover the rat. Seeing him fume and shout at the hospital staff made her smile. He would not take his family's respectable reputation being impugned lightly. _Someone_ would pay for the lies and half-truths that were printed about his niece.

Having Regnault on her side and in charge of the investigation was a comfort. Hermione had enough to worry about. Not least of all was the fact that if she uncovered what she believed was the source of all of her fertility problems, Kingsley may never speak to her again. He was a forgiving man, but some things were simply unforgiveable. If he found… no, _when_ he found out what happened between her and Lord Voldemort, she wouldn't be surprised if he never wanted to speak to her again. Or if he cursed her.

There had been a lot of time between the end of the Second Wizarding War and the moment she was admitted to St. Mungo's two days earlier for Hermione to do extensive research on what happened to a person who was a victim of the Cruciatus Curse. She didn't believe that the one night she was tortured by Bellatrix in Malfoy Manor was enough to cause irreparable harm to her body. If she had been pregnant at the time of the torture, which she most certainly was not, she would have been at risk of losing the child, but nothing she read indicated that she wouldn't be able to conceive and carry at a later date. It took repeated exposures, dozens, possibly even hundreds, to be that devastating.

A possibility that she hadn't wanted to consider as she was forced to lay in the uncomfortable hospital bed was that maybe her problems stemmed from a much earlier attack. She still didn't know much about Antonin's spell. What if it was that horrific night in the Department of Mysteries that scarred her body? Antonin would never forgive himself if he knew. Though she was serious in her desire that he not speak to her again because of his hand in Silas' death, it was still painful to think about how much worse he would get as the future ticked closer.

She regretted kneeling on the floor of her bedroom the moment she did it, but had gone too far to quit. Forcing her exhausted and sore body to lay on the hardwoods was torture. A large number of books she did not want anyone, especially her father, to know about were stored underneath her bed with extensive anti-accio charms. Several minutes of searching by wandlight were required before she found the volume she was looking for.

It was a book she hated most of all, but never even considered getting rid of. To understand an enemy, one had to _know_ the enemy and learn what they were capable of. As she sat with her back against her bed and flipped through the ancient book with its crumbling pages and grotesque illustrations, she didn't hesitate to find the spell she needed. There had been a time when she was almost an expert on the obscene spell the Dark Lord placed her under. A nagging fear in the back of her mind when she was told by everyone she loved, plus Healers she hated, to rest wouldn't stop.

Hermione thought she had taken the time to read everything she could. Perhaps, in her quest to find a countercurse she disregarded the tiny black print at the bottom of the page. She had to squint to make it out.

 _Warning: This spell is not to be used on witches required to carry one's heir as it will cause barrenness, insanity, and hysteria._

She slammed the book shut. At least she finally had her answer. And now, she knew she couldn't keep the truth from Kingsley. He had every right to know what Voldemort did to her. She only hoped that he could forgive her some day.

* * *

 **9:30 pm**

The conversation that she knew they had to have was not appropriate for the pub. When Hermione had calmed down enough that afternoon that her hands no longer trembled when she held a quill, she wrote Kingsley a message telling him to meet her at his home when he left work. She wasn't surprised that he didn't return until long after it was dark. He was the kind of man who would want to know in great detail every little tiny thing that he missed in his absence. His tenacity could be exhausting.

Her shoes threatened to wear a hole in the rug in front of the fireplace as she paced back and forth waiting for his arrival. Over and over again in her head she rehearsed what she was going to tell him. It seemed like an absolute crap bombshell to drop on a person on Christmas Eve, but she didn't think this was news that was going to get easier with a delay. Better to get it all out in the open and over with.

"Are you feeling all right? Do you need anything?"

His questions of concern the moment he crossed the threshold should have been sweet. Hermione knew that she was being a horrible shrew by being annoyed with him, but it had been the thousandth time she'd heard the exact same question in just a few days.

"I'm feeling fine, but an entire bottle of fire whiskey would not go amiss right now."

"Is it safe for you to drink right now?"

"Just bring the bloody bottle, Kingsley!"

Instantly she felt guilty for losing her patience. To try to make up for it, she walked up to him and kissed him. In the craziness of her hospital stay, they hadn't even kissed on the mouth. It was only light brushes on her cheek or her forehead. They both melted into the affectionate gesture. Tension fell away.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "For everything."

He took her by the hand to lead her into the kitchen. An unopened bottle of Ogden's Finest was retrieved from its place in the cupboard. Only when they were both seated at the table and the warm liquid was making its way down to their bellies did she feel brave enough to speak.

"Do you remember that night I came to your parents' house looking for Tommy?"

"Of course, I do. You'd forgotten your cloak and you were crying. He's never told me _why_ you were there."

"He was helping me with a very serious problem I had. One I couldn't tell anyone else about."

She gulped down the rest of her glass and poured another. There was simply no way she was going to be able to get through the explanation without a great deal more to drink.

"You've heard the rumors about me having an affair with… well, You-Know-Who."

"Complete and utter tosh."

"Except it's true."

His eyes widened in disbelief. How long had he been convincing himself that the rumors about his girlfriend weren't true?

"I'm going to tell you everything, but please don't interrupt me until I'm finished. I don't think I could bear to keep repeating this."

She took his silence as assent. A couple of deep breaths and the details of the sordid mess came tumbling out of her mouth. For at least a quarter of an hour she described how Lord Voldemort assaulted her person at the dinner table in front of so many witnesses and how he cast the spell on her that removed all possibility that she would give birth to her own children. He didn't say a single word as she explained the purpose of the spell and the disgusting visions that she had every time a wizard in her vicinity had an inappropriate thought about her. Or when she explained how Thomas came up with a brilliant plan to help her that unfortunately, didn't involve a solution for _not_ inviting the Dark Lord into her bed. When she told him everything, described why the hateful wizard was so intent on ruining her, she didn't find the relief she expected. She only felt worse.

"If you hadn't learned that this spell was the reason why you can't have children, would you have ever told me the truth?"

For a brief moment, she considered lying to him. She thought about assuring him that she was always going to tell him the truth, but she couldn't bring herself to lie any longer. If it had been possible, she was never going to tell him about Voldemort.

"No, I don't think I would have."

Kingsley threw his empty glass at the wall. When it shattered on contact, Hermione jumped. That hadn't been the reaction she expected from him at all. Usually, he was very calm and levelheaded. Without speaking another word, he picked up the half-empty bottle of fire whiskey and stormed out of the room. She didn't even think about following after him until she heard the front door slam shut. By the time her still tired and sore body ran to the front of the house, the crack of his Apparition rang through the still night air.

* * *

October 7, 1998

 **7:35 pm**

The smell of Rosie cooking dinner assaulted Kingsley's nose the moment he entered his house. It was truly an experience he could get used to. Putting up with Rodolphus being in his guest room was a small price to pay to have the house-elf prepare meals for him every morning and night. She never allowed the Minister to leave for work in the morning without first feeding him a large breakfast. His robes were beginning to fit a little tighter than they used to. Another small price to pay.

"Rosie said she will let us know when dinner is ready," Rodolphus said from his spot in Kingsley's favorite armchair.

Kingsley was happy to help Rodolphus. Truly, he was. He even didn't mind the fact that the man was _still_ in his home after an entire month had passed since his pardon. Mafalda's visits were often pleasant and they never retired to the bedroom without first coating the room heavily in silencing charms. He had sympathy for the man. Returning to the home that had been the setting for so much pain in his life and the constant barrage of the newspapers must have been difficult. He was simply getting to the point where he worried that if the man didn't leave soon, he would never go.

"She's preparing some of your favorites. 'A treat for the wizard who works so hard', I believe she said. Clearly, she thinks I'm wasting my life away hiding in your house all day."

"Surely it can't be an exciting use of your time. Have you heard any more about your shop?"

"Father was able to purchase it back from the Ministry when all of my assets were seized. There's a very capable manager running it right now. I'd feel awful pushing him aside after he's worked so hard for so many years. Technically, it belongs to Jack now anyway."

Regnault Lestrange made sure before he passed away years earlier that his grandson and his mother were taken care of. Many of the businesses and properties he owned were transferred quietly to the child very few in the world knew was a Lestrange.

Kingsley poured himself a glass of fire whiskey before he sat down. His day had been far from uneventful. There seemed to be no boring days in his position. Or rather, there were no days where he wasn't constantly busy or in meetings. Plenty of what he did each day was mind-numbingly boring.

"Rough day?"

"Frustrating, I'm afraid. A former classmate I'd hoped to see the end of years ago has been making frequent trips to the Ministry demanding to see me. She's been making quite a nuisance of herself and bothering the poor witch who assists me something terrible."

"An old flame?"

He rolled his eyes at the teasing. Ex-girlfriends were easier to deal with than righteously angry spinsters with nothing better to do than demand unrealistic change from the Minister for Magic.

"Hardly. Sybille Selwyn has become quite the crusader for the convicted Death Eaters in Azkaban. The woman won't leave me alone. Half of the changes that have been made in the prison since the end of the war have been failed attempts to pacify the woman."

"She always did enjoy a good cause. I know her father still tries to convince anyone with half a fortune and a good name that she would make a fine wife."

Both men shuddered at the thought. Kingsley had to admit that though she had never been an unattractive woman, the years had not been kind to the serious woman.

"Dolohov was the only marriage contract she ever accepted, am I right?" Rodolphus asked.

"As far as I'm aware, but I really never knew her very well personally."

"Maybe the poor girl would've had a chance to be happy if her father hadn't cruelly torn up the contract."

Kingsley really didn't want to speak any more about Dolohov or a single member of the Selwyn family. One of his concessions to Miss Selwyn had been to allow prisoners in Azkaban to be able to send letters through the post. Because of that decision, it was rare that a week went by that he didn't get something obscene and foul from her older brother. Perhaps that had been the goal all along.

He hated that his mind often went back to that day he passed Salazar's cell. The demented wizard's words still haunted him when he had a moment to pause to think on them. At first, he had simply dismissed him as being delusional or just trying to hurt him. The more he considered it though, the more he realized that Salazar had never actually _lied_ to him in the past. He had always kept to a somewhat disturbing truth, but a truth nonetheless.

Quickly, before he could talk himself out of it, he made a decision. If there was one person in the world still living that Hermione would've confided in, it would have been Rodolphus.

"Salazar Selwyn said something to me the day that you were released from prison."

"The man is unstable, Kings. I wouldn't think too much on it."

"He asked me whether or not the Ministry was searching for Fenrir Greyback."

The change to Rodolphus' countenance was subtle, but the seasoned auror did not miss it. Though he tried to hide it, hearing Greyback's name affected him.

"Tell me what you know. _Please_."

Rodolphus sighed loudly in defeat. He eyed Kingsley's glass of fire whiskey hungrily, but he didn't move to pour one for himself.

"You know she made me promise never to tell you, right?"

"Then you can ask her for forgiveness when she gets back."

It was clear the older wizard was deliberating on his decision. After a short silence, he sighed again.

"Hermione came to see me a few days before she disappeared. She had been harassed for quite a while by the werewolf. Igor knew about it. That's why he gave her the locket she never took off. It was imbued with his heart's blood and several anti-werewolf spells to protect her."

"Except that locket was found lying on the cobblestones in front of Andy's shop the morning after she was believed to have disappeared."

"Obviously, the werewolf found a way to remove it."

He had to bite down the rise of bitter anger that was creeping up from his gut. Not once had she ever even mentioned the monster. Once when he asked her about the locket, she brushed it off as simply being an heirloom she was rather fond of and afraid to lose. Kingsley never had an inkling that it was for protection.

" _Why_ did the werewolf harass her?"

"I can only speculate. She never told me the full truth."

"She had a habit of that."

Rodolphus couldn't argue with the truth.

"That's all I know, but…"

"What?"

"There is someone who might know more than I do."

"I'm not listening to a single word that Salazar Selwyn has to say on the matter."

"I'm not talking about Selwyn."

Kingsley had a bad feeling about the words that were going to come out of Rodolphus' mouth next. Simply by looking at his flushed cheeks and how he couldn't meet Kingsley's eyes, he knew that the solution he was going to propose wasn't going to be one he cared for.

"It was common knowledge that Dolohov asked the Dark Lord for permission to kill Greyback, but I never knew why."

"No, Rodolphus. Absolutely not!"

"I think we have to seek out Antonin to find the answers we want."


	75. Chapter 75

_Author's Note: Yesterday I sat down and outlined the rest of this story in broad strokes. At present, it looks like we have anywhere from ten to fifteen chapters remaining. Of course, I could always be struck with a stroke of brilliance (or insanity) and it run a little bit longer than that. This is a rough estimate, so please,_ _ **please**_ _do not expect that many chapters. I could be wrong, but at the very least, it's an estimate._

* * *

Chapter Seventy-Five

December 25, 1977

 **2:50 am**

She wasn't sure how she managed it exactly, but at some point after Kingsley stormed out of his house, Hermione was able to fall asleep on the sofa in the front room. It had to have been a combination of the physical exhaustion her body was still experiencing from her ordeal with her miscarriage and the comforting warmth of the large fireplace that dominated the room. When she laid her head down on the sofa's cushions, she didn't expect to slip off into dreamless unconsciousness. Her mind was still full and her heart still heavy.

Where Kingsley ran off to was anyone's guess. Hermione took the fact that he did not leave his home without the remnants of the bottle of fire whiskey as a sign that at least he wasn't likely to run off to confront Lord Voldemort directly. Or rather, she _hoped_ that he wouldn't. The glint of anger in his eyes was one that she had never seen with such intensity before. It scared her beyond words. Her wizard was a dangerous man with a fiery temper and a penchant for heroics that could easily get him killed. She rolled her eyes when she considered how he was, yet again, so similar to Antonin. The key difference, however, was Kingsley's warm heart and his Hufflepuffic need to keep those he loved safe and happy. He _probably_ wouldn't want to break his mother's heart by throwing his life away in a spat of Gryffindor foolishness. But, she had been wrong before.

As it so often did where Kingsley was concerned, Hermione's mind travelled forward in the future over twenty years to the horrible day when the last remaining members of the Order of the Phoenix and Dumbledore's Army faced off against the Dark Lord and his nasty forces. It was a day she sometimes wished she could scratch out of her memory. She imagined the fierceness of Kingsley's visage as he tangled with the evil wizard in the Great Hall right before Harry got involved in a single duel. There had been such hatred and anger on Kingsley's face. At the time, she assumed it had only to do with those he had lost and the threat to the safety of their world that made him so angry. Perhaps, instead, he was remembering a horrific Christmas Eve night when the woman he loved admitted that the reason their child died was because of her involuntary involvement with the madman. That was enough to make any decent individual resort to a violent duel.

She could not be entirely certain where his justifiable anger was directed either. Was it at Voldemort for what he did to her? Or at her for keeping it a secret? Or, perhaps, worst of all, was he angry with her for being with the Dark Lord at all? If one had to get _technical_ , she had a choice in the matter of whether or not she went along with his plan. How simple would it have been to tell either of her uncles what happened to her? Or even her father? A countercurse could have been discovered or he could have been persuaded to cancel the curse. He wasn't at the height of his power when he chose to attack her. Enough pressure from powerful wizards or even the Ministry itself might have been enough to get him to release the curse before she invited him into her bed. The thought that she took the easy way out and kept silent ate away at her constantly.

One could argue that what Voldemort did to her was every bit as bad as what Greyback did. In some ways, yes, it absolutely was. The removal of consent was no small matter. But, the tiny voice in the back of her head that told her repeatedly that she hadn't done _everything_ to prevent the undesirable outcome was hard to ignore. Giving in to Voldemort's diabolical plan had been her choice, whether consciously or not, because it was _easier_. Fighting the Dark Lord or admitting the mortifying truth of what was happening to her to anyone in a position of authority who _might_ have been able to help her were unpalatable options. While there was no question what he did to her was wrong, she played her own part in its culmination.

What if Kingsley could not look past that fact? What if he could never look at her again without imagining her naked with the Dark Lord on top of her? He wouldn't even need to see the obscene photo that Voldemort kept as a means for blackmailing her into doing his bidding. Whatever his desires were for her, she had no idea. He hadn't made his intentions known yet. Every day she waited anxiously for the moment he would appear again in her life to make demands in exchange for keeping Kingsley ignorant of the past. Now, it was no longer necessary.

Her mind was a maelstrom of fears and anxieties. It made little sense that she would be able to relax enough to fall asleep, but she did. Only minutes before the witching hour, she was woken abruptly by the front door slamming shut. As her wearied eyes adjusted to the dimness of the room, Kingsley's swaying figure slowly came into view.

He was a complete mess. Blood dribbled down his chin from a split lip. There were rips in his robes and his shirt was missing half its buttons. His eyes threatened to slam shut every second with his own exhaustion. How he managed to Apparate without splinching himself in that terrible condition was a mystery. Clearly, his absence of several hours had not been uneventful.

"What is wrong with you?"

Though her question was sincere, Kingsley found a bitter sort of humor in it. His harsh laughter shook his inebriated body so much that she feared he would lose his balance. Without a moment's thought, Hermione leapt off of the sofa to attempt to catch him. He was never in any danger of falling. When her hands gripped his arm, he violently ripped his limb away from her. The sting of his rejection struck her right in the heart.

She didn't want him to see how affected she was by the gesture. If he couldn't find it possible to forgive her…

Hermione shook her head to dislodge the traitorous thought that that was even a possibility. They would get through this. They _had_ to. Kingsley would not have sent her back in time if they weren't able to patch up their relationship. He wouldn't have stared wistfully at her over a glass of fire whiskey as he spoke about his fondest hope of marrying Aberforth's daughter. It might take some time, but they _would_ get through this mountain of a bump in the road.

"What happened to your face?"

Kingsley dabbed at his swollen bottom lip that was still bleeding freely. He pulled his fingers away to stare at the crimson on the tips. Amused by what he saw, he snorted and touched it again.

"Tommy didn't like being disturbed in the middle of the night. Said that it didn't matter what my issue was with you, interrupting his sleep wasn't the solution to our problems."

"And he hit you for that?"

"No, he hit me after I hit him."

She rolled her eyes. No matter how much of her life had been spent in the presence of wizards, she still didn't understand the first thing about them. Why so many of them had to immediately resort to physical violence wasn't something she was sure she would ever understand.

"He wasn't really sleeping though. Took advantage of Mum and Dad being at Granny's to sneak in a girl. Got to see a lot more of Ona Higgs than I think she liked."

His smirk irritated his lip causing him to hiss out in pain. Hermione didn't even bother hiding her pleasure. He deserved to feel the ramifications of his actions. Why would he hit his brother anyway? She had a dozen questions for him. All hints of her previous exhaustion disappeared with his return.

" _Why_ did you hit Thomas?"

"Didn't appreciate him keeping a secret from me. I'm his brother. _That's_ more important than any of his friends."

There was a very distinctive expression Kingsley got on his face when the subject of his brother came around. Or, rather, when the topic of how much his brother loved someone _else_ was brought up. Hermione had really only ever seen it when Antonin was around or when the brothers had one of their usual arguments about Thomas' best friend. Kingsley's jealousy of Antonin went far beyond loving the same witch. No, Kingsley's inferiority complex was rooted in the earliest years of their childhood. The brother that he loved more than anyone in the world always preferred someone _else_.

He had never had cause to look at her that way before. Knowing that he was jealous of his brother's friendship with her, and not for the usual reason a man didn't care for his brother to be too friendly with his witch, made her heart clench. She hated when he was in pain. Hated when he struggled with whether or not he was good enough. How could he ever question his value and worth? She fought to keep from reaching out for him again. A second rejection would be too much to bear.

"I asked Thomas to keep my secrets. He was simply being a good friend."

"'Secrets'? So, there are more?"

Her reluctance to answer the question did not go unnoticed by the wizard who noticed everything. His scoff echoed throughout the room and his eyes rolled so hard that it looked painful.

"Of course there are more secrets. I should have known."

She felt the sudden urge to argue with him, but knew it was foolish. How could she in good conscience lie when she knew how much she was keeping from him? Some might say that the omission of truth was still a lie. It was another one of those grey areas she never could avoid.

There was no indication that Kingsley knew she was a time traveler in the future. Every single time she thought about revealing the entirety of her secrets, she hesitated and eventually decided against it. Assuming that she merely disappeared in time and would return to her true timeline at some point in the future, that still left her wizard completely alone for many, _many_ years. It wasn't fair to him that he should be asked to put his life on hold for simply the prospect that she _might_ return. No matter how hard she worked to remain positive about her future in the past, she knew that her life was in danger. Her disappearance might very well not end up in a travel through time. It could easily end up in a shallow, unmarked grave.

Enemies were everywhere. To forget that fact for even a moment was unwise.

"Can you answer one question for me, Hermione?"

A great deal of the visceral anger was absent from his voice when he posed his question. His booming voice that could easily carry to every corner of the house was much softer. Most of the fury was replaced with a deep and powerful hurt. Hermione would have preferred he remain angry. Seeing him in pain tested her resolve more than any other emotion. She wanted to do everything in her limited power to keep him from feeling any more pain. Hadn't they experienced enough already?

"Of course."

"Why don't you trust me?"

She was not prepared for the simple five word question that was anything but. How could she even hope to answer it satisfactorily? Of course she trusted him. She trusted him with her very life and more importantly, with the fragile organ that was her heart. Though she had made plenty of mistakes in the past, she didn't just give her heart away to anyone that asked. In twenty-five years, she had only loved four men and one she wasn't even sure counted anymore. She had been a child with Ron and the stress of war could make emotions seem stronger than they actually were.

"I _do_ trust you, Kingsley."

His scoff of disbelief made it clear that he felt otherwise. Hermione didn't know how she could convince him. Not without unburdening her heart and telling him literally _everything_. He deserved better than that. And besides, Thomas might have readily believed her story, but he wasn't just anyone. What if Kingsley thought that she was making fun of him by admitting to being from the future?

"I promise you, Kingsley, that there will come a day when I will keep no secrets from you."

"And when can I expect that blessed day to arrive? Because I'm growing weary of knowing nothing about the woman I love."

Hermione closed her eyes and sighed. There was no way to answer that question truthfully. Telling him that she couldn't tell him the truth until sometime in the year 1998 would be seen as a slap in the face. He would just assume that she was making light of the situation or trying to humiliate him in some way. The last thing she needed at three in the morning was to further enrage her intoxicated boyfriend. All she could hope to do was steer the conversation in another direction.

"Where have you been all night?"

"Why? Were you worried about me, Little Witch?"

She didn't like his mocking tone. He was back to being fully angry again. Somehow she got the impression that this was not going to end swiftly. Likely, they would be awake all night long to prolong the argument. She was exhausted just thinking about it.

"Of course I was worried about you! You just stormed out of here. I didn't know where you were."

"Afraid I was on my way to confront your lover?"

Later, when her mind wasn't so clouded with anger, she would remember how her feet seemed to move of their own accord. Ten steps towards Kingsley and she was close enough to smell the fire whiskey on his breath and saturating his clothes. Already the scent was leaking out of his pores. He would smell like the worst of the pub's regulars before the night was done. The palm of her hand slammed across his cheek, the slap echoing throughout the suddenly silent house.

His eyes widened with shock and then rage. For the first time in all of the years that she had known the man, Hermione was afraid of him. Using his full height to his advantage, Kingsley stepped forward to close all distance between their bodies. He loomed over the suddenly frightened witch. She didn't regret slapping him. No, she never would. He deserved that and worse. Throwing the past into her face was a low move.

"If you must know, I _was_ worried you would run off and do something rash that would get your sorry arse killed!"

"I have no fear of your _Lord_ Voldemort."

"Then you are a fool."

Great passion was not confined to the bedroom. They rarely argued, but when they did, it was explosive. Perhaps it was unhealthy. Hermione wasn't sure. She wasn't exactly an expert in healthy relationships. Kingsley was the first to come close. Maybe no one had a perfect relationship and they all lived on a sliding scale of 'Dangerously Unhealthy' to 'Perfectly Healthy'. If two people weren't unflawed on their own because they were human, how could anyone expect that they would be magically perfect together?

"Do you not imagine that I wouldn't do _anything_ to be able to go back in time to not be his victim? I never wanted anything to do with him, Kingsley." She refused to show any further fear. Drunk or not, Kingsley loved her and wouldn't hurt her physically. His barbed tongue, however, was anyone's guess. "I never wanted to meet him. Never wanted to speak to him. I foolishly hoped that he would find me uninteresting and just ignore me. How I _wish_ he would bestow all of the attention that he showed me on Bellatrix!"

She needed him to understand that she never once welcomed his attention. Voldemort was the one to make the first move. He was the one to make _all_ of the moves. When she first arrived and was forced to meet him at her debut party, she naively hoped that he wouldn't find anything the least bit interesting about her. She understood only when it was too late that she should have allowed him to read her the night they met. At least partially. It was a tragedy that she did not have enough control at that time in her history to let inconsequential memories in. He never would've sought to discover her secrets if he couldn't tell she had any.

"He cursed me, Kingsley. I didn't know what else to do."

The emotions of remembering the worst parts of her past were weighing on her. She still wasn't fully recovered. The horrible Healer at St. Mungo's wanted her to spend as much time in bed and off her feet as possible over the next few weeks. Unable to bear looking into his watery eyes, Hermione stared at her bare feet. If he couldn't forgive her, he wasn't the wizard she thought he was.

"I went to Fabian's flat. We finished off my bottle and part of one of his."

"And I'm sure that he had nothing but lovely, glowing things to say about me."

Kingsley sighed. He ran his hands across his bald head in clear frustration. His hair was charmed off regularly once it became clear that he would never have the same thick locks that his father was fortunate to possess. When he started to resemble his mother's younger brother Masud with his patchy clumps of thin hair, he resolved to remove it completely. Hermione would never forget the day he stepped out of the bathroom looking every bit the same as his future self. She'd almost fainted and then promptly showed him how much she preferred his new look with enthusiasm.

"Did you tell Fabian that the rumors he heard about me with _him_ were true?"

"No. Fabian already…"

"Hates me enough?"

He sighed again. This wasn't the first time they had had an argument about the elder Prewett twin. Likely, it wouldn't be the last either. She wished she could spend the rest of her time in the past as far away from him as possible.

"It's no one else's business. Let him continue to think it's all just a rumor."

"Are you ever going to forgive me for this, Kingsley?"

Unable to stand still any longer, he began pacing back and forth across the rug in front of the fireplace. Each moment that passed without an answer, Hermione worried more and more that the answer to her question would be negative. The worst of it was that she couldn't exactly blame him if he didn't want to forgive. Maybe she didn't have a choice whether or not to follow through with ending the curse in the manner in which it was intended, but she _did_ have plenty of opportunities to tell Kingsley about it.

Secrets were poison. She knew that. She knew that all too well. Her entire life was built on a major secret that she could only speak of in hushed whispers with Thomas and sometimes with her father. Too often she looked at Kingsley and wrote him off as being frustratingly or charmingly naïve depending on the exact situation. Maybe _she_ was the one that was naïve. Carrying the burden of secrecy was ruining everything.

"I'm going to bed. Granny is expecting us in the morning."

He exited the room without answering her question or even acknowledging it. Hermione didn't have to be intelligent to know that wasn't a good sign. Sliding into bed beside him wasn't an option she considered. Instead, she crawled back onto the sofa, turned her back to the fire, pulled a blanket over her exhausted frame, and allowed the tears she had been holding in to slip underneath her closed eyelids.

She fell asleep soon after with her decision made. She knew what she had to do.

* * *

 **8:30 am**

Even though she hadn't technically moved into Kingsley's home, Hermione was surprised to discover how many of her personal belongings were scattered around the charming home. Neither of them were terribly good about picking up after themselves. She might have insisted that her father keep his pub and their private quarters in the back neat and clean, but she didn't hold Kingsley to the same standards. To be truthful, she got to see him so rarely when he was working that she had other activities in mind that didn't include scrubbing the windows.

After a long shower in the upstairs bathroom, she took her time dressing for Margie's traditional Christmas brunch. If they didn't arrive on time, they _would_ be found. When she could no longer delay her next actions, Hermione breathed in deeply and stepped out of the spare bedroom. She swept through all of the rooms of the house picking up everything that belonged to her and shoving it into her beaded bag.

Kingsley was out of the shower and dressed before she lacked only his bedroom. Neither of them acknowledged the other, but she felt his eyes following her as she removed her clothes from the wardrobe. When he could finally stand it no longer, he barked out a question proving he was still angry from their argument in the middle of the night.

"What are you doing?"

"Removing all traces of me from your house."

She reached for the stack of books she had on the nightstand next to her side of the bed. A firm grip on her arm startled her. One glance in his worried eyes was all it took for her to realize he wanted her to stop.

"Why?"

"If you can't forgive me, Kingsley, how can we even hope to be together?"

It did not take long before both of their voices were raised in anger. He accused her of running away from her problems. She accused him of being unable to look past the past. They both accused the other of being unable to trust them. They might have continued on shouting until they were hoarse if the clock on the mantelpiece didn't start chiming the nine o'clock hour.

"We're going to be late."

"I might be unable to pull my head out of my arse according to you, Hermione, but I do know how to tell time."

Apparating on her own wasn't allowed for at least another week. Her magic still wasn't at its strongest. Instead, they crossed the lounge in a huff to floo to his grandmother's. Hermione wanted out of the house as soon as physically possible. She pushed past him to get to the pot of floo powder first. A single pinch and a shouted address later, she held her breath as she hurtled through the network of fireplaces to land in Margie's front room.

Antonin was there to catch her arm before she fell. She appreciated his firm hand even if she still wasn't speaking to him. Falling flat on her face with Kingsley arriving immediately after would send a message of weakness that she felt would not help her position in their ongoing argument. Instead, he appeared just in time to see Antonin's hand _still_ on her arm.

"Well, that didn't take you long, did it?"

"What is that supposed to mean, Kingsley?"

He rolled his eyes and gestured emphatically towards his biggest rival. Realizing how it all must look, Antonin released her quickly. The damage, however, was already done.

"Not only do you run away, but you run straight to Dolohov?"

"Get over yourself. Antonin helped me not fall. There was no running to him."

"Hey, Dolohov, I've got great news for you. Hermione's leaving me. No doubt she will be knocking up your door soon."

Several of the assembled guests gasped at Kingsley's announcement. Their shouts had brought in everyone from the dining room to witness the scene. Hermione saw Margie speak in a hushed voice to Thomas with pursed lips and an angry expression. He nodded once in agreement. His grandmother didn't waste any time directing her guests back into the other room.

Thomas had always been an expert at Charms. Before she even considered stepping away from Kingsley, a burst of green flew across the room just as she felt her wand leave her pocket. She couldn't imagine what he was doing with his grandmother's Christmas decorations. Not until they both tried to step away to find their feet charmed to the floor.

She could have strangled the impertinent wizard with her bare hands if he'd only been within reach. How dare he treat her this way! Did their years of steadfast friendship and mutual love and affection mean absolutely nothing? He was meddling in matters that were none of his business. His shoulder might have been one that she had utilized many times in the past for a good cry, but that was too far.

"Release us immediately, Thomas."

Anyone else who had known Hermione Dumbledore, in the past or the future, would have thought twice about crossing her when she was in a temper. There was a reason she had been able to face off against Death Eaters more than twice her size and age and live to tell the tale. She was no stranger to countless nasty jinxes and hexes she would gladly use on her _former_ friend when the enchantment wore off.

"I don't think I will, Hermione."

In a move that was born out of nothing but just complete desperation, Hermione turned her gaze on her ex-boyfriend. Her helpless, pleading eyes begged him to do something, _anything_ to get her out of her current predicament. Antonin simply held up both of his hands, palms out, in a show that he had no part in what was happening. When he turned on his heel to leave the room, she couldn't resist shouting out a weak insult.

"Bloody coward!"

An amused snigger from the one standing closest to her did not help matters. She fought the urge to curse the man until she remembered that self-control wasn't required. Her wand was across the room safely stowed away in Thomas' pocket. No matter how much she wanted to, she couldn't curse anyone until he released the spell keeping her firmly rooted in place.

"What is the purpose of this?" she demanded.

Thomas stepped closer to the doorway next to the fireplace where his younger brother and his girlfriend were frozen. All hint of the smile that had been on his handsome features moments earlier were gone. He was completely serious and appeared to be deliberating his words carefully.

"You are both being unreasonable."

"You don't know what you're talking about, Tommy," Kingsley retorted. "This is none of your business."

"The hell it isn't! I love you both and you are both about to do something drastic that you can't undo. I couldn't forgive myself if I didn't step in and do something."

"As loathe as I am to admit that I agree with _anything_ that cretin says, he's not wrong. This is none of your business, Thomas," agreed Hermione.

Nothing they said seemed capable of deterring the wizard who had set his mind so resolutely to the plan before him. Calling out to the other members of the family had not done any good. Not even Antonin, who seemed willing to do anything to help her when asked, wanted anything to do with the scene in the lounge of Margie's home. Thomas kept just outside of their arms' reach to make his final statement.

"You will both remain here until you can, quite literally, kiss and make up. I recommend you do it quickly as Granny already promised she wouldn't wait to serve the meal for you two. And we all know how irritable my baby brother gets when he is hungry."

Hermione glared at Thomas' back as he made his way toward the dining room. Though his plan might have come from his heart and his fervent desire to keep those he loved happy, she hated him for butting in. When he disappeared completely from view, she turned her gaze, not to the fuming wizard standing next to her, but to the clump of enchanted mistletoe hanging above their heads.

"How many times do I have to tell you that there is _nothing_ going on between Antonin and me?"

"You two have a history."

"Yes, in the _past_. I don't love him anymore and I don't want to start another relationship with him. I can barely stand to be in the same room with him."

"Is that why you were locked up in the kitchen at Andy and Ted's with him the night of Dorie's party?"

She wondered when he was going to throw that in her face. Months had passed since that night, but she knew, just _knew_ that he wasn't likely to let the fact that she spent any amount of time with her ex go.

"We were not locked up in the kitchen and Ted was with us the entire time."

"Guess it doesn't matter anyway. You're leaving me."

Most of the bite in his tone was gone to be replaced by a petulant whine. Years fell off of him in the moments after he spoke. He resembled the sixteen-year-old child he was when they first met more than the future Minister for Magic. She had to fight the urge to laugh. Sometimes he was adorable when he wasn't even trying.

"How can I do anything else, Kingsley?" She kept her tone soft and as non-threatening as possible. Truthfully, the fighting was getting to be too much for her. She was exhausted. "As much as I might like to, I can't change the past. And because of what happened to me, we can never have the future that you've always wanted."

It was a bitter potion to swallow. Families didn't necessarily have be made up of parents and their biological children. Hermione knew this, of course. She loved Aberforth every bit as much as she loved the Muggle man who actually fathered her. Harry was her brother even without the benefit of a single drop of blood in common. The Lestranges had their own part of her heart carved out and they certainly weren't actual relatives even if they didn't know that to be fact.

There were always other options available if they wanted to have children at some point in the future. She knew that. But, she didn't want to hear it just yet from anyone. Even well-meaning people that loved her had the ability to make her feel even worse than she already did. How many times had she heard someone tell her mother that there were other ways to have more children? The Grangers could adopt or have a surrogate. Her mother never contradicted these people who, whether they realized it or not, were invalidating her very valid sorrow about not being able to give Hermione a younger sibling.

" _I know they mean well, but I wish they would stop. Just because there are children available to adopt or medical breakthroughs that could help, doesn't mean that it hurts any less that I can't have a child again myself. Telling me about my options doesn't magically negate my pain and my sadness that I'll never be able to carry another child in my own body like other women."_

Hermione had been too young to truly understand what her mother was saying. Now, she understood all too well. She felt like she was a failure. Just one more way that she didn't measure up enough as a woman.

"'The future I've always wanted'? What are you saying, Hermione?"

"I'm damaged. You deserve someone who can give you children."

She didn't expect the feel of his protective arms around her back. Startled at first by the embrace, it wasn't long before she laid her cheek on his firm chest and wrapped her arms around his middle. Kingsley dropped several kisses into her curls.

"The only future I've ever wanted, Little Witch, is a future with you. I won't deny that that night before you… well, when we found out you were expecting, was the best night of my entire life. I never knew it was possible to experience such happiness."

"The Healer said that if it was even possible for me to get pregnant again, I won't be able to keep it."

"Healers don't know everything. Especially not that arsehole. I _hated_ him."

More of the tension broke with his statement. Hermione couldn't hold in a chuckle.

"And even if he is right and the only family we can have is each other, then I will _still_ count myself as the luckiest wizard in the entire world."

She did not doubt his sincerity. Walking away from him was not what she wanted to do. If it were completely up to her, she would never leave his side. The reminder of exactly the kind of man he was even after a long night of emotional and dramatic fighting whisked away the last remnants of her anger. They would get through this together.

"I don't want to leave you."

"Then don't. Better yet, let's finally do what we've been dancing around since I bought my house last year."

A sudden fear that he was about to propose marriage made her heart race. Even if that was what she wanted, she couldn't. Not when their future was still so unpredictable.

"Move in with me. _Officially_."

Hermione pushed herself back from Kingsley's chest to be able to look him in the eye. He wasn't angry anymore either. Likely, when emotions were calmer and they were alone again, they would have a more reasonable discussion. They would each make their apologies and their promises to try harder. It's what always happened when they had a spectacular row.

"I love you, Little Witch, and I've been out of my mind with worry about you the last few days. It's no excuse and I imagine I will have a great deal of atoning to make in the near future. I shouldn't have… Last night, I…"

"Shh, it's all right. I'm not blameless either."

"We're bloody awful at fighting, aren't we?"

She had to chuckle at his observation. There was truth in his words without a doubt. They still had a lot to learn about heated discussions and disagreements. Perhaps one day they would get it right, but mostly, Hermione hoped there wouldn't be cause to practice until perfection.

"Please don't… please don't ever threaten to leave me again. I don't think there's anything that we can't mend."

Her answer was to lean up on her tiptoes to kiss his mouth. A simple peck of forgiveness was all that was required to break Thomas' spell, but they didn't stop there. Only the sound of camera clicking distracted them from their task.

"What's that for?" Hermione asked when she saw Thomas standing nearby with his camera.

"A reminder of what you have to lose the next time you decide to do something stupid like leave each other. I'll make sure you both have a copy."

Kingsley released his hold on his witch to cross the lounge to his brother. Without saying a word, he enveloped his older brother in a tight hug of gratitude. Thomas returned the affection with relish. When the brothers broke apart, both of them were smiling.

"Now, both of you get your sorry arses inside the dining room. We've been waiting on you and I'm sure Granny has a few things to lecture you about."

* * *

 **6:55 pm**

It seemed that no matter how many times she repeated herself, Aberforth was not understanding what his daughter was trying to tell him about the plans for Christmas dinner that night. She was growing annoyed with his obstinacy.

"Why the devil would Reg come _here_ for dinner?"

"Dad, I've already explained this. Knowing I'm still recovering, he didn't think I would appreciate a large family dinner. The boys are spending tonight with their in-laws and he's coming here to spend it with me at home."

"The wizard never deigns to lower himself to enter my pub except when he has a nefarious agenda."

"I'm certain there is no nefarious agenda here." She rolled her eyes. "He's been worried about me and as I am apparently his favorite…"

Aberforth's sudden laughter caught her off guard. It wasn't a malicious sound, but he was clearly amused by the explanation.

"Just like your mum, you are. She could make even the most venomous of vipers tip their hats to her with hardly any effort."

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he realized he had made another embarrassing error. There were times that Aberforth played his part as her father too well. It was easy to forget that she wasn't actually his daughter with Roesia. Remembering himself, Aberforth cleared his throat and began wiping down the pristine bar again.

"Yes, well, have Kingsley set up the table in the parlor. You are to do _no_ lifting or spellwork, my girl. Healer's orders."

Christmas dinner in the back room of The Hog's Head pub was one of the best holiday meals Hermione could remember. The guest list was small. Only Kingsley and Regnault joined her at the table with Aberforth occasionally popping in to 'check on them' when one of Rosie's dishes was simply too delicious-smelling to resist. She appreciated the lively discussions between all three of the men she loved. It was pleasant to just sit back and watch them interact.

"I have a Christmas present for you, my dear," Regnault announced once the final course was placed in front of them. He pulled an envelope from his pocket and slid it across the table. "I had to call in a few favors, but I hope you will like it."

All the envelope contained was a picture of a fantastic home and a portkey. Confused, Hermione looked up to ask a question. Regnault answered before she could ask with a pleased smile.

"The Malfoys have generously allowed you the use of their home in the south of France for the next six weeks. It isn't the best time of year to visit, of course, but I thought you might appreciate getting away from it all for a little while. You can take decadently long baths and even longer naps. Read as long as you like. Stay off of your feet as much as possible. The house is fully staffed so you would not have to do anything."

She felt overwhelmed by the offer. To know that he cared enough about her to want her to take a holiday to relax and pamper herself meant a great deal.

"And were you aware, my dear, that up until a few days ago, Mr. Shacklebolt has not taken a _single_ personal day off of work in three years?"

"That doesn't surprise me at all actually."

Kingsley made a dramatic show of rolling his eyes to make her laugh. It was an argument they had had more times than it was possible to number.

"Alastor not only gave his consent to allow Mr. Shacklebolt to join you, but he _insisted_."

"He threatened me with disembowelment if I came back too early."

"I'm afraid it would mean missing Madam Shafiq's celebration that you love."

An excuse to be out of the country on the day she _knew_ Greyback would be hiding in the shadows watching her every move sounded perfect. She couldn't wait to leave. Ignoring the fact that her uncle would surely frown at her lack of proper dinner table decorum, Hermione hopped up from her chair. She threw her arms around her startled uncle's neck. It only took a brief pause before she felt the stoic wizard return the embrace.

* * *

October 8, 1998

 **8:20 am**

Kingsley Apparated them both to the same field that he and his nephew visited months earlier. When Rodolphus made the suggestion that they seek out Andromeda's assistance in finding Dolohov's whereabouts, he knew it was unnecessary. There was only one place that he knew he had to look to find his greatest rival.

Dean Thomas wasn't the stealthiest of figures. For being a product of a secret marriage, he clearly had not learned how to keep a secret like his father. Though he wasn't about to admit it to anyone else, Kingsley had known where Dolohov was hiding the week before his nephew went back to Hogwarts. After a casual request that he might get to see his new house before he left for school, the Minister knew that the young man's godfather was still living in his old house. Dean made a quick recovery with his partially true statement that he would rather his uncle see the house when it was restored to its former glory, but his eyes had already given away the subterfuge.

He would never understand why so many people in his life loved Dolohov enough to protect him. Sure, he could acknowledge that he could be blinded by his severe hatred of the man. Only a fool would actually _believe_ all of the rubbish he had to say about Dolohov. If there was nothing good or redeeming about him, he wouldn't have been able to carve a place for himself in Hermione's heart. She liked the broken ones, but she would've never loved him if he was nothing but evil. It seemed that Dean was taking an instinctive page out of his father's book by ignoring the worst traits belonging to the Death Eater and giving him the benefit of the doubt. Kingsley really wished his family would stop trying to adopt the stray.

This visit he was prepared for the feel of the wards against his skin when they passed the invisible barrier. If Rodolphus was unnerved, he did not make any show of it. He was a man with a past dealing with dangerous criminals too. Likely, Kingsley could learn a great deal from the older wizard if he really wanted to.

They walked in silence for several minutes closer to the location where the house was located. Still cloaked in an enchanted shield, it felt like they were walking through a misty field of nothing but grass. The area was quiet and if it did not have a history of belonging to the wizard he hated above all others, Kingsley might have even been charitable enough to call it pleasant. He hoped that his nephew would remove all traces of the previous owner at first chance. Dean deserved a happy home free from the violent echoes of the past.

He was prepared to be attacked at any moment. The only other time he'd been there, Dolohov hadn't waited long to make his presence known in the form of his wand in his godson's throat. Both wizards walked with a purpose, their wands at the ready for any ambush. When nothing happened, Kingsley was both relieved and annoyed. His frustration with life might have been eased slightly if he could injure the arsehole. Not enough that his nephew and his witch would never forgive him, but enough to put a smile on his face. Plenty of curses were painful enough without leaving any kind of _lasting_ damage.

The traditional English country cottage came into view abruptly when they crossed over the second set of wards. Dean's new home was indeed charming as both Hermione and Seamus described it. It would make a fine house when all of the repairs were completed.

There was no sign of the fugitive when they first arrived. Either he wasn't at home or Kingsley was wrong in his belief that his nephew was harboring his godfather. His instincts had served him well as an auror for almost thirty years. There was no reason to doubt his capabilities now that he had a position that kept him behind a desk more often than he cared for. Only meters from the front door, Rodolphus placed a firm hand on Kingsley's arm to get his attention. A flick of the man's light green eyes skyward proved their visit wasn't in vain.

Despite the light mist that was falling and the lateness of the year, Antonin Dolohov crouched on the roof with his outerrobes thrown off and his sleeves rolled up past his elbows. His back was to his uninvited visitors, but neither of them were naive enough to believe that he wasn't perfectly aware of their presence. Instead of cursing them or greeting them, he continued his task of nailing new shingles to the battered roof. Only when he was finished a quarter of an hour later did he even acknowledge that he wasn't alone. Even then it was only a slight nod to Rodolphus and a narrowing of his eyes to Kingsley. No one spoke until he climbed down his ladder to the firm ground.

"This is a splendid cottage, Antonin. How quaint and quiet it is too."

"What is it you need, Rodolphus? I'm not so foolish as to believe this is a social visit." He turned his full attention to Kingsley and smirked. "I thought you promised to drag me off to Azkaban the next time you saw me?"

"Who is to say that's not what I'm doing today?"

His initial response was a laugh that made the Minister's skin crawl. Mentally he began cataloguing all of the non-lethal spells he knew.

"You've known I was here. If you really wanted to arrest me, you would've shown up months ago with a team of Aurors. You never were capable of beating me one on one."

Sensing there might be violence between the two men, Rodolphus swiftly moved to stand between them. Kingsley was grateful for his presence. Without him, they might have descended to the lowest levels of violence. Of course, the day was still young. There was plenty of time for that to yet become a reality.

"We're only here, Antonin, because it's important that we ask you some questions. I feel, and Kingsley agrees with me somewhat _reluctantly_ , that you may be the only one who can help us."

He seemed ill at ease with Rodolphus' confession. Several uncomfortable beats passed before Dolohov motioned to the front door with his head. Before he could step inside, however, Rodolphus stopped him.

"I hate to be a terrible bother and I know I have no right to ask this, but I really would feel more comfortable if neither of you were armed with your wands."

It was one of the few times that Kingsley and Dolohov were on the same side in an argument. Neither man was excited about the prospect of relinquishing their wands. What Rodolphus was thinking even suggesting such an action was beyond both of their comprehensions. To ask a man to give up his wand, especially in the presence of their oldest enemy, was like asking him to give up his arm or part of his brain. It simply was not done!

"This is for Hermione!"

Only Rodolphus' mention of the name of the woman they all three loved stopped the bickering. Dolohov was the first to hand over his wand. Not to be outdone, Kingsley pressed his into Rodolphus' hand a moment later. Their host resumed his walk towards the front door but didn't resist making an obnoxious comment.

"Wand or no wand, it makes no difference to me. I've been making Baby Shacklebolt cry since we were small. If I really want to hurt him, I _will_."


	76. Chapter 76

_Author's Note: On the subject of Forgiveness, I have posted a short entry on my Tumblr. This has been brought up numerous times lately in both my personal life and in this story. For those of you who were disappointed that Hermione 'forgave too easily' and 'didn't make him work for it', I find that sad. I would apologize, but I wouldn't mean it. Withholding forgiveness in order to punish someone you love more severely is not love and it is certainly not forgiveness. If you are interested in reading my thoughts on the matter, Canimallow is my Tumblr._

 _And, as always, if you wish to ask me a question or to clarify something that you don't understand in the story, do not review from a Guest account and do not turn your PMs off. How can I answer your question if I can't send you a message? If you are too frightened to sign in out of fear that my response to you might be harsh, should you really be sending that review in the first place? Please don't be rude to any fan fiction author. We do this solely for the love of the writing._

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Chapter Seventy-Six

April 18, 1978

 **6:15 am**

A loud buzzing woke Hermione up from a disturbing dream she could not describe. She couldn't remember the details as they slipped through her fingertips like water. Something about fire or heat. It became less and less clear the longer the buzzing of the enchanted alarm clock continued. When she realized that the sound wasn't about to budge her boyfriend out of his sound sleep, she carefully leaned over his body to shut it off and laid back down.

There was a feeling of comfort feeling the warmth of Kingsley's arm laid next to hers in the bed. A sense of security and of relief. Hermione never felt frightened of the terrors that hid in the dark shadows when her wizard was by her side. He represented the promise of future stability. When day to day living grew difficult, she clung to the image of his older self, newly burdened with the responsibility of being Minister for Magic, sitting at the bar in The Hog's Head. She had to remain positive and optimistic in order to return to that man. His shoulders carried too heavy a load to carry alone.

Life after the pre-Christmas tragedy settled down into an easy, comfortable rhythm when they returned from France. Those six weeks would always hold a special place in her heart as some of the best days of her entire life. They both took the time required to heal their relationship and her body. Healing their hearts would likely never be complete in their lifetime. The loss of not only the physical representation of their love, but of the hope of the future they dreamed of was not something that they would be able to bounce back from immediately.

Neither of them wanted to leave their temporary sanctuary to return to the dangers of their home. Not even Kingsley was anxious to get back to fighting the perilous fight. It had been all too easy to enjoy the experience of living in a country that wasn't at war. More than a few times they had to persuade the other that going back home was the best decision. But even with the reminder that they had family and friends they loved, it was all too tempting to stay away.

Kingsley's soft snores proved that he hadn't heard the alarm or felt the subtle shaking of the bed when she moved. She had been surprised to learn how sound of a sleeper he was when they first started sharing a bed. Tiny sounds always woke her up. She hadn't always been like that, but spending the better part of a year in a tent on the run for her life changed a lot. It saddened her to think that she had very valid reasons to not be able to sleep. The thought that the time would come when the last bit of innocence that allowed him to sleep through anything would disappear was even worse.

Knowing he could sleep the day away if left to his own devices, Hermione gently brushed the tips of her fingers down the bare skin of the back of his arm. He shifted a little in his sleep at the touch, but kept on sleeping. She walked her index and middle fingers up and down his arm until she saw a flickering in his tired eyes. Her actions were helping him wake up but not nearly fast enough. He could be a grumpy, old bear when he was woken up in a less than gentle manner. Instead of getting discouraged, she leaned across the bed to kiss the pulse point on his neck. A smile gradually appeared on his mouth as she increased her kisses. When her tongue swiped his skin in the very place he liked it, she was rewarded with a satisfying groan.

"Don't start anything you don't intend to finish, Little Witch."

"Who said I was planning on stopping?"

Emboldened by her declaration and suddenly very awake, Kingsley spun around quickly in one motion from lying on his stomach to his back. Her giggles only increased when his hands clamped down on her hips and dragged her across his body. She suddenly didn't care whether or not he was late for work. His body held no secrets about his desire for her.

Returning to a place in their relationship where they were comfortable together in bed had not been an easy journey. Even when her body was fully healed there was some hesitancy to return to as full and active an intimacy as had existed before she revealed one of her biggest secrets. Trust had to be rebuilt. She wasn't foolish enough to believe that they were completely done dealing with the ramifications of Voldemort's spell and her obsessive need to keep that fact silent. Weeks, even those incredible ones spent in France, were simply not enough. This was an issue that she knew they would deal with for months, more likely _years_. Slowly, they would get there.

Kingsley's large hands slid up her thighs with a confidence she adored. Gone, at least, were the days of nervous touches and awkward mistakes. They were working on the emotional aspects of their relationship, but absolutely _nothing_ was wrong with the physical. She loved the warmth his touch left behind in her skin. Even in the coldest parts of the winter, he was always warm. She lovingly referred to him as her personal furnace when she needed him to share the gift of body heat.

He gripped the hem of her nightgown. Without needing permission or requesting assistance, the wizard pulled the garment up over her head, leaving her completely exposed to his gaze. Hermione was certain she would never grow tired of seeing how his eyes always widened and his pupils always dilated when he saw her naked flesh. He stared at her each time like it was the first time he was seeing her. To his eyes, there was nothing more beautiful.

"You don't want to be late to work," she teased.

"I will take as long as I want to this morning, thank you."

To prove he meant what he said, Kingsley deftly flipped them both so that her back was on the bed and he was hovering above. Careful not to squish her with his much larger frame, he set to work proving with his hands and his mouth that there were more important matters to attend to than the Auror Office in the Ministry of Magic. She decided very quickly that she hoped Kingsley would sleep through his alarm every morning.

When she realized he was sincere in taking his time and she wasn't sure that she could handle much more of his practiced kisses and deliberate caresses before losing the last bit of sanity she could claim, she ran her bare feet up the back of his legs. He groaned again into the bare skin of her neck. Each move of her hips and legs tortured him with the exquisite warmth he craved. The thin fabric separating his skin from hers proved a more frustrating barrier than anything else. Hermione hooked her toes in the waistband of his pajamas and attempted to pull them down. They didn't move very far. Understanding what she craved without needing the verbal confirmation, Kingsley removed his mouth from her flesh to remove his hateful garment. Only when he was as naked as she was did he renew his affections.

She was certain she would never grow tired of seeing the man in his most natural state. How one being could be molded as perfectly as her wizard was a mystery she would rather enjoy than solve. He was all smooth, firm muscles that just begged to be touched. There was a very valid reason why she had a history of attraction to Quidditch players.

The wizard was a devil who thrived on teasing her beyond her endurance. He could be absolutely maddening when he wanted to be. Assuming that he would need to speed up his attention in order to get ready for work on time, she expected that once the clothes were completely off, he would immediately set about proving to her his intentions. Kingsley had other ideas in mind.

He kissed down her bare body from her neck, stopping every few inches to pay special attention to the strip of flesh with a delicious swirl of his practiced tongue. Minutes were wasted moving from right breast to left and back again. She grew increasingly irritated. Mornings, except for the laziest of Sunday mornings when neither of them had anywhere to go, were not supposed to be so slow and _thorough_. Despite knowing that he would continue to infuriate her frustrations each time she huffed out an impatient groan, Hermione couldn't stop herself. He knew how to whirl her up into a frenzy with very little effort. When his mouth kissed down her belly with no clear intention of stopping, she had had enough.

"Kingsie, _please_."

She could feel his smile against the skin of her abdomen. He was enjoying the power he held over her. This was nothing new.

"Please 'what', my darling? What is it you want?"

He leaned back on his elbows to be able to look her in the eyes. The wicked grin on his face only served to irritate her further. Was he really going to demand she tell him in great detail what she wanted him to do? His playful moods weren't always fun, especially when she was annoyed.

"If you don't stop messing about, I will have to kill you."

"But if you kill me, won't that make fulfilling your desires all that more difficult?"

Groaning again in frustration would only encourage him to continue. That, too, was a lesson she had had to learn over the length of their relationship together the hard way. Kingsley lined his hips up with hers. With a firm grip on her thighs, he pried them apart far enough that he was able to move between them. Not content to cease his torture, she almost slapped him when he slid his tip up and down her folds without ever actually proceeding any further. His self-control was impressive even as she panted and bucked her hips up in a fervent plea.

"Kingsie, _please_."

He laid his body on top of hers to whisper in her ear.

"Tell me what you want, Little Witch."

"I want to feel you inside me."

A single snap of his hips was all it took to comply with her wishes. She was grateful because she couldn't bear his teasing any longer. Before he made another movement, he whispered again.

"All you ever need do is ask."

The lead-up to the actual act took much longer than the act itself. Only minutes later Kingsley collapsed on top of her while they both caught their breath. When they were both breathing regularly and Hermione took another look at the clock, she gently pushed her wizard off.

"Go take a shower and I'll get breakfast made."

"Want to join me?"

She laughed with a roll of her eyes. Another push was needed to get the incorrigible man to put his feet on the floor.

"Tempting offer, but I think not. You'll be late to work _and_ you will be hungry and grumpy. No one should have to suffer your mood just because you lingered too long in the shower."

His prominent pout made her laugh again.

"Go be a good boy and I'll make you something extra special for breakfast. _And_ , tonight when you get home, we can fill up the bathtub and make the water slosh over the sides for as long as you want. I won't even make you clean up the mess this time."

Satisfied with her counter-offer, Kingsley jumped off the bed and headed straight for the shower. She didn't linger long in the empty bed. Once she had her nightgown back on, Hermione made her way to the kitchen to prepare his 'extra special' breakfast. Experience taught her that if she wanted her wizard to be happy, 'special' didn't mean unique or unusual. It simply just meant _more_. He truly was a man of simple needs.

"I'm washed and dressed. Even paid special attention to cleaning behind my ears."

Neither of them loitered long in the shower if they were alone. There was little point, in her opinion. Kingsley stood behind her at the cooker with his hands on her hips watching every move she made. It was difficult to flip a pancake with him as a distraction, but somehow she managed. She filled him up a plate that would've killed most men and pushed him towards the table.

"Eat and I'll go take a quick shower. Don't leave until I get to say goodbye."

His fork was already in his mouth, but a reply wasn't necessary. He understood her wish that he remain until she was done. Though he never came right out and asked if there was a specific reason _why_ , Kingsley knew that she didn't feel comfortable showering when she was alone in his house. He must have assumed that it was a normal fear of most women and she didn't give him any reason to believe there was further cause to worry. Being completely naked and enclosed in a small, noisy space was just about as vulnerable a position as a person could be in. Ever since learning that Greyback followed her to his house, Hermione waited to bathe until either Kingsley was home or she was back at her father's pub. It seemed safer.

She knew he was running low on time, so once she was out of the shower, Hermione slipped on a bulky bathrobe and quickly charmed her hair dry. There would be plenty of time for her to dress when he was gone. The shop didn't open until nine. She was in no rush.

"Thank you for breakfast. I have to run. May be late tonight."

"That's all right. Remember what I promised you about the bathtub."

A low growl in the back of his throat proved he hadn't forgotten. He wrapped his right arm around her waist, pulled her against his chest, and thanked for the meal by taking her breath away for another time that morning. Kingsley grabbed another pancake in his bare hand and winked. The moment he released his grip, she left the breakfast dishes on the table where they lay. She poured herself a cup of tea and stood at the kitchen window overlooking the back garden. The front door open and closed. Only a minute or so later, it opened and closed again.

"Did you forget something, love?"

The words slipped out of her mouth the moment she heard the door to the kitchen open. Kingsley was notorious for exiting the front door and then turning right back around to retrieve something he'd forgotten. It was a quirk of his that Hermione _usually_ found endearing. When he struggled to locate the missing item, however, and he was forced to call upon his girlfriend for assistance in retrieving whatever it was, she found it somewhat less endearing. How a man could catch Dark wizards without batting an eye and assist his superior aurors with solving intricate crimes, but somehow couldn't find his own socks was a mystery she was sure she would never solve.

"How very kind of you, Miss Dumbledore, but I fear that is a sentiment I am most assuredly unable to reciprocate."

She felt the teacup and saucer slip from her fingers and land on the floor of the kitchen with a deafening crash. Paralyzing fear and blinding rage battled within her as she spun around on her heel to face the unwelcome intruder. This was her home! Being caught off-guard by the evil wizard anywhere was bad enough. To not be safe in the private sanctuary she shared with the man she loved was something completely different.

Lord Voldemort found her discomposure amusing, if his smirk was something to go by. Not bothered by the fact that he was not wanted by the lady of the house, he stalked across the kitchen in only a few strides. Hermione was still too startled by his sudden appearance to urge her legs to move from the spot they were frozen. Like a wild hunter trapping its prey before it played with the doomed creature, the Dark Lord stood before her, physically trapping her in front of the kitchen sink.

"My Lord, this is _unexpected_."

"I do not make it a habit to stand outside hidden in a garden waiting until the little lady is alone in the home."

"I cannot imagine why you would do so for me."

The grin that present on any other wizard's face would have weakened many a witch's resolve, instilled only distress and dread in its target. Experience had taught Hermione that any time that man smiled, she did not want to be present. _Terrible_ things happened when he was pleased.

"You will assist me with a project."

She knew it was only a matter of time before he came calling. Even if months had passed with no indication that he was even aware she was still alive, Hermione _knew_ he was not through with her yet. Kingsley knew about the curse and the night she wished to forget. Regnault knew the false history she'd created to lie to the Dark Lord. Beyond just fear for her existence, what could he possibly offer to get her to do his bidding? She was about to ask him just that when the kitchen door opened a second time.

Fenrir Greyback's eyes never left hers as he stepped inside the kitchen. Instead of getting closer, he stood by the doorway and leaned his back against the wall. Hermione couldn't breathe. The two men, monsters really, that she feared above all others were standing only feet from her and there was no escape. Kingsley wouldn't be coming home for hours. There was no one to come to her rescue.

"I have no doubt after the _unpleasantness_ of a few months ago that Mr. Shacklebolt is already aware of our previous entanglement."

"He is."

"Then I must find some other incentive to ensure you do as you are told."

Voldemort crossed his arms, narrowed his eyes, and put on quite a show of thinking the problem through clearly. She felt her fear increase with every passing second. A flash of movement, a tug around her neck, and Hermione stared with open-mouthed horror at her locket over a foot away from its usual place around her throat dangling from the tips of his fingers.

"But…"

In her abject horror, she wasn't even able to formulate a coherent response. How was it possible that he could remove the locket? It was supposed to be impossible. To satisfy her curiosity, she'd had several people of varying levels of magical strength attempt to over the years. Most of them were satisfied with the lie that she was afraid to lose such a beautiful piece of jewelry and wanted to make certain that the spells preventing removal were working.

"Oh, please don't doubt Igor's impressive spellcasting, Miss Dumbledore. Any other would be unable to remove it from around your pretty neck."

Voldemort studied the locket carefully. He seemed intrigued by the carved runes and intricate designs in the silver. All Hermione could think of was she was standing in the same room with the very creature that locket was supposed to protect her from, and she was completely undefended. She knew without even trying that brandishing her wand would be a quick ticket to having it removed from her possession. As the werewolf and the frightened witch engaged in a fierce staring match, the Dark Lord seemed completely oblivious to the rising tension in the room. Or, more likely, he simply did not care.

"Beautiful piece of jewelry. I can feel the power emanating from it."

"May I have my locket back?"

"Not just yet. I think I will hold on to it for a little while. Just until you understand the seriousness of my request."

She didn't doubt he was capable of causing her great harm if she didn't comply. More than a few times in her life she had witnessed his intentions firsthand. He would stop at nothing to get what he desired. Only a fool wouldn't trust that fact. Whatever he wanted from her had to have been serious.

"How many days until the Full Moon?"

"Four."

Both Hermione and Greyback answered his question as one to his great amusement. Of course they would both know when that cursed day was. Hermione lived her life based around the cycle of the moon.

"How utterly charming and in sync you both are."

Voldemort stepped closer to her, blocking her in even further. She feared what his next move would be. When his hand slipped into the pocket of her robe and back out a half second later with her wand clenched between his fingers, she thought again that she would be sick. Leaving her _completely_ defenseless around the monster that haunted her nightmares was not how she expected the rest of her morning to end up. And she had been having such a lovely morning too!

She could hear her heart beating in her ears. Though she normally tried to keep her fear under control when Greyback was near, there was simply no way she would be able to manage that feat without the protection of the locket and her wand. She was as weak as a baby kitten around him without them. Even a physical fight would leave her woefully outmatched.

The Dark Lord stepped back from Hermione several feet. He turned his head in Greyback's direction. No longer was the werewolf calmly standing with his back against the wall. He was stamping his feet and pacing back and forth like a caged animal. And just like a big cat waiting for the door of its cage to be opened for him to pounce, a short nod from Voldemort was all that was necessary.

Greyback stepped over the kitchen table in his haste to get to his prey. Dirty dishes left over from breakfast crashed and clattered to the floor as his dragonhide boots kicked them out of his path. His eyes never left Hermione's. She felt frozen in fear. There was nowhere for her to go.

"Draw no blood, Greyback. We want to frighten the girl, not hurt her."

If that was his goal, he met it the moment he entered the kitchen. His warning to his pet wolf did not provide much comfort. There was a lot that could still be done without drawing blood. Hermione feared for the worst. Would Voldemort even bother to stop him if he went too far? Somehow she doubted it.

Both of Greyback's hands went straight into her thick curls on either side of her head. He gripped her hair as he took his time smelling the air around her and running his nose along the skin of her neck. Deep growls of contentment could be heard in the back of his throat. He hadn't been able to touch her without severe pain since the day he cornered her between two buildings in Knockturn Alley. It felt like another lifetime ago.

The monster kept one hand in her hair as he used the other to untie the flimsy belt at her waist. Memories of that horrible night long ago when he ripped her clothes from her body came rushing back with such a ferocity that she worried both her brain and her heart would burst. Just how far was Voldemort going to allow him to go in the name of 'frightening her'?

Her robe slipped off of her shoulders, but stopped before it fell further. There wasn't any need for it to be off completely. Enough of her flesh was on display to satisfy the creature's curiosity. His eyes raked her bare skin, making her sick to her stomach. Perhaps if she vomited all over him, Greyback might let her go.

She detested the similarities in his expression to Kingsley's. Just as her boyfriend had only a short time earlier, Greyback appreciated what he was seeing. His eyes widened and his pupils dilated. There had been little time when he was attacking her the first time to really look at her. Unlike Kingsley, his leers didn't fill her with excitement and anticipation. Only dread and abject terror.

It was a desperate act to seek out Lord Voldemort for help. Even she was aware of it as she turned her eyes away from Greyback's to the cold, dark eyes belonging to the hated wizard. Voldemort wasn't even paying attention to what was happening across the kitchen. His focus was entirely on her locket. A few seconds after her robe was ripped open, he looked up from the locket, saw her standing there exposed, rolled his eyes, and went back to his examination.

"I've been dreaming of what's under your robes. Didn't get to see much last time. Glad the reality wasn't a disappointment."

"You're disgusting."

His laughter chilled her to her core. How could he make light of that horrific event? He didn't give her much time to be indignant, even internally, about his behavior before she was startled to feel his free hand on her bare skin. His right hand never left her curls. It was his manner of keeping her stuck in the place right where he wanted her. The other roamed freely over every square centimeter he could touch.

Only minutes passed. Maybe three or four, though it felt much longer. Feeling emboldened by his position of power, Greyback focused his attention to the base of her neck where it met her shoulder. As he had done that horrible night so long ago, he lavished the skin with his tongue. When his teeth lightly brushed the skin and she feared that he might actually bite her, Hermione tried to push him away.

Her burst of spirited anger only caused him to laugh harder. She amused him. The pressure of his teeth increased. It wouldn't take any effort at all for him to break the skin and draw the blood he wasn't allowed to spill.

Just as she was about to call out for help, Greyback was forcibly removed with a flick of Voldemort's wand. The incensed werewolf flew backwards into the kitchen table, further scattering the dishes. When he tried to stand back up to his feet, the Dark Lord cast another spell to keep him down. Hermione didn't waste the chance to pull her robe back up and tie it as tightly as she could.

"I think that's enough proof that I'm serious."

Voldemort dangled Hermione's locket in front of her face from the tips of his fingers with a mocking smirk. She snatched it back quickly and put it around her neck before the monster snarling on the floor could break through his magical restraints. A calming feeling fell over her as she felt the magic of the locket. She hadn't realized how much she missed it until it was gone. It was a feeling she didn't want to experience again.

"The next time I have cause to remove your locket, Miss Dumbledore, you can rest assured that I will not be giving it back. Nor will I be protecting you from the ravages of that being."

He twirled her wand between his fingers in a dramatic reminder that he still held all of the power. Greyback might not have been able to touch her, but _he_ was still in charge.

"What are you asking me to do, my Lord?"

"Nothing terribly difficult, I assure you. Something you should be able to accomplish quite easily."

Hermione's mind raced to all the various possibilities. He hadn't asked her for the names of recruits since the debacle of Silas Selwyn. Either he no longer trusted her to put forth the right names or he knew that she wouldn't be able to keep doing the same thing for much longer. It didn't matter which.

"I want a Shacklebolt on my side. One with my mark on their arm. They are an influential and well-respected family who could help bring others to my cause. You will deliver me one."

"Kingsley would _never_ agree to that."

"I suppose then it's lucky for you that there are _two_ Shacklebolts."

Thomas knew what the future held. Once she started explaining how the war would escalate and then begin again years later, she couldn't stop. His best friends from childhood might have been an easy recruit, but Thomas would never agree either. He would have even less reason to join the Death Eaters than Kingsley.

Would he even be willing to entertain the idea to keep her protected from Greyback? The more she thought about it, the more she knew that if he asked, he might. Thomas was as honorable a man as she knew. His past might have been marked with a few questionable activities involving dangerous people and large sums of money, but he was still a good man. If she told him everything about Greyback, explained to him what kind of danger she was truly in, he very well could be just foolish enough to cast his lot in with Voldemort.

She could never even hint to him that that was something she wanted. It wasn't. Thomas' future was a mystery to her. The longer she knew him and the more she loved him, the worse her fears grew that he would not have the happy future she hoped he would. Throwing the man that was as close to a brother as she'd ever had, even including Harry, to a dangerous, deadly fate was not an option. She would take her chances with Greyback before she ever asked him.

"No. Absolutely not."

Voldemort did not seem surprised in the slightest by her refusal. His grin made it seem as if he was even _expecting_ her to say what she said. At the very least, he didn't move towards her to remove the locket again. It might have been a small victory, but she was going to accept it without hesitation.

"Yes, I did think you wouldn't be quite so amenable to that request at first. I will, of course, provide you some time to rethink your decision. The older young Shacklebolt has plenty of friends in my service that are already trying to recruit him. It may turn out that I won't even need your assistance in the end."

She hardly doubted that he was going to just let the topic drop like that. Waiting for Kingsley to leave the house that morning and concocting a plan to bring Greyback in wasn't something that he did on the spur of the moment. This was something that had required a great deal of planning and forethought.

"Until you are able to successfully convince at least one of the Shacklebolt boys to join me, I will give you another task."

Of course there was another task. There was _always_ another task. She tried not to allow herself to feel any relief at his promise to give her time before forcing Thomas to do something drastic. It was likely that his second task wouldn't be pleasant either.

"Your uncle has created some kind of resistance group."

"I don't know anything about that, my Lord."

"Oh, I have no doubt that he doesn't trust you enough to give you _all_ of the details, but I doubt you are unaware of its existence. Has your young wizard been running off at odd hours?"

"He's an auror. His hours are unpredictable."

She had had a suspicion that Kingsley was getting mixed up with the Order of the Phoenix. Perhaps not as an official member, but involved nonetheless. Fabian and Gideon Prewett were famous in the future for their brutal murders in the service of what they believed to be the side of Light. There _had_ been an increase in mysterious owls at strange hours since they returned from France. If she hadn't known Kingsley better and they were a normal couple, she might have feared he was having an affair. But, they weren't normal. He was more likely to join a gang of rebellious fighters than he was to cheat on her with another woman.

"I need names."

"Names, my Lord?"

"Yes, find out the members of this group. I want their names."

"For what purpose, my Lord?"

Voldemort narrowed his eyes in clear annoyance. He did not like being questioned. That was a lesson she _should've_ learned years earlier.

"I wish to know my enemies."

"Are you going to kill them, my Lord?"

"Perhaps not at first, but eventually, if they continue down the path they are currently on, I will eliminate the threat. Find the names of the members by whatever means necessary."

"What if I am unable to do so, my Lord?"

In a single movement, he tossed her wand across the room to land at her feet as he released his restraining spell on Greyback.

"Then I will remove your locket and quite literally, throw you to the wolves."

Greyback grinned at her as he rose to his feet, his anger forgotten. Both men swept out of her house moments later. She held her breath until she heard the click of the front door.

Her legs gave out from underneath her, forcing her to fall to the kitchen floor. Knowing that she wouldn't have the necessary strength yet to stand back up, she sat on the cold tile to process what she just happened. The clock on the wall proved that only ten minutes had passed since Kingsley left for work. How was that even possible? Time ceased to pass in the moments she feared for her life.

She didn't know what to do. Of course she knew the names of the Order members. They were permanently engraved on her memory. Each of the poor souls who didn't survive the first war were discussed frequently around the kitchen table in the basement of Grimmauld Place. This wasn't the same as giving Voldemort the names of those she knew would eventually become Death Eaters. Whatever names she gave to him of Order members would most certainly result in their deaths. She couldn't live with that on her conscience.

As the fear that plagued her from the beginning of her unexpected visit began to dissipate, she could think a little more clearly. She needed help. This wasn't something that she could possibly do alone. The problem with asking for help, however, was that it seemed to her that there was only person she possibly _could_ ask for help. Before she could talk herself out of what she had to do next, Hermione summoned a quill and parchment.

 _Dear Uncle Albus,_

 _I_ _must_ _speak to you soon about a very urgent matter. Please respond with a time that will be convenient for you._

 _Sincerely,_

 _Hermione_

* * *

October 8, 1998

 **8:45 am**

Rodolphus and Kingsley followed Dolohov inside Dean's house silently. They all knew how their reluctant host operated. He wasn't a man who spoke more than he believed was necessary. It still was too much for Kingsley's taste, but he would have been content to live in a world where the arsehole never spoke.

They were led straight to the small kitchen. The guests took an immediate seat at the table that dominated the middle of the room while Dolohov took his time filling a kettle. He didn't mind making his guests wait. Knowing that he actually needed some answers from the man was the only thing that had kept Kingsley from cursing him when he continued fixing the roof. Years of working with informants in his job as an auror taught him more effective methods than physical pain. If Dolohov wanted to continue to play his little power games, he would let him.

"Have you been doing a lot of work around this cottage, Antonin?"

Rodolphus had never been able to bear sitting in the middle of an awkward silence. Part of his generous and kind nature prevented his being comfortable in such circumstances. He was another one that would've made a fine Hufflepuff.

"There's a lot that needs to be done," Dolohov answered. "It's been sitting vacant for a long time."

"Yeah, that's one of those unfortunate consequences of murdering people and going to prison."

His rival didn't even turn around from the counter where he was preparing their tea to acknowledge his less than charitable remark. A sharp look from Rodolphus wasn't enough to make Kingsley feel guilty. He meant what he said. The cottage could've made a fine home if its owner hadn't been stuck in Azkaban. He had been the master of his own destiny.

"My godson has been allowing me to stay here while he's at Hogwarts. Just until I'm ready to leave the country. There's not much else to do to fill my time. Maybe by the time he's done with school, it will be livable again."

"Are you planning on being here _that_ long?"

The words came out of Kingsley's mouth before he could stop himself. His understanding was that Dolohov would leave the country for permanent exile when he was ready in exchange for not denying that he sent Hermione back in time to prevent suspicion from falling on the true culprits. Or really just Aberforth. Dolohov might have suspected that the Minister was part of the plot, but he didn't have proof. He was willing to go along with the plan because of his love for Hermione.

"I will remain here until I can assure Hermione will be safe if… _when_ she returns."

"So you believe Hermione might be in some danger, Antonin? Someone might wish to harm her when she returns?"

"I don't just _believe_ it, Rodolphus. I _know_ it."

He wasn't forthcoming in his suspicions on just who or what might be waiting to harm Hermione when she returned. If he had secrets, they always had to be pried from him with force or gentle persuasion. Rodolphus met Kingsley's eye across the table as Dolohov set their cups down in front of them. An unspoken conversation passed between the two men. Kingsley nodded his silent agreement that Rodolphus be in charge of furthering the discussion along. Otherwise, their meeting might get violent.

"Antonin, I understand this might be something of a delicate subject to breach with you, but we have some questions that we hope you can help us with. It is all, of course, solely for the benefit of Hermione. We want to know that we have all of the facts we need to do what we can to make certain nothing terrible happens when she returns to us."

"Quit dancing around it. What do you want to ask me?"

" _Why_ was Fenrir Greyback bothering Hermione?"

Dolohov sighed deeply, but didn't seem surprised by the query. He took a deep drink of his tea before starting to answer.

"Greyback tried to claim Hermione as his mate right after New Year's in 1972."

It was such a blunt statement spoken so quickly that Kingsley wasn't sure how to process it. Rodolphus, on the other hand, appeared to understand the severity of the issue in an instant. He covered his shocked and open mouth with his hand and just stared unblinking at Dolohov, waiting for more revelations.

Kingsley didn't know a lot about werewolves and their mating practices. To be truthful, it wasn't a subject that interested him. He had no reason to care what a werewolf did behind closed doors. Other than his friendship with Remus Lupin, he never gave the creatures much thought as long as they weren't out ravaging the countryside each Full Moon.

"He wasn't successful," continued Dolohov. "But it became an obsession for him. Once a werewolf picks a mate, they don't give up."

"Forgive me for my ignorance…"

Dolohov rolled his eyes dramatically at the beginning of Kingsley's statement, but he did not deter him from continuing.

"… but what does that mean exactly? How does a werewolf claim a mate?"

"Kings, this may not be easy for you to hear."

"No, fuck that, Roddy! What does it mean?"

He hated the other two men for meeting eyes across the table. It was all right to have silent conversations when he was included. Otherwise, it was just rude. What weren't they telling him? Hermione was a beautiful woman who only grew to be more beautiful as she grew older. He couldn't exactly blame another man, even one who was a wolf part of the time, for finding her desirable. Rodolphus turned his sympathetic gaze back in his direction as he began what was certainly an abridged explanation of the process.

"When a male werewolf decides to mark a mate, there is a process that's required. Usually it is done just as the Full Moon approaches for maximum effect, but not always. An act of submission is required and there is a _biting_ of the base of the neck during… well, _ahem_ , during…"

"Spit it out, man! During the what?"

"She was raped, Shacklebolt! The werewolf followed her home from your grandmother's house after he stunned me in the back. While I was unconscious in the snow, he was _raping_ her."

Kingsley didn't doubt the man's words. He had no reason to lie and if there was one thing that a relationship with Hermione taught him, it was that she was a woman full of secrets. Part of that was his fault, he knew that. She had to lie to keep the truth about her origin a secret. But _this_? How could she never tell her about Greyback? His hand clamped down on the teacup still half-full of steaming tea. He hurled it, saucer and all, against the furthest wall in the room. As the sound of the crockery smashing reached his ears, he rose to his feet. He couldn't sit in that room for another moment. He feared he would go mad.


	77. Chapter 77

_**Author's Note: Thanks to the glitches that FFN has been experiencing lately, many of you probably didn't receive the update notice for Chapter Seventy-Six. I hate when the site messes up. This is a just a friendly reminder that I always announce my updates on the Facebook group The Death Eater Express and my Tumblr. If it happens again that update notices aren't being sent out, you can always find out in those two places. Plus, in the DEE we have fun features like a Spoilers Thread where you can discuss your theories on what's going to happen in this story and many other wonderful Death Eater stories. There's also an insane number of story recommendations to check out. And the people are pretty great. (Not that I'm biased or anything.) ;)**_

* * *

Chapter Seventy-Seven

April 26, 1978

 **5:00 pm**

Albus Dumbledore made his niece wait a solid week plus a day before he even bothered to respond to her message. It was an underhanded tactic of his, she was certain. Just one more way to hold his perceived power over her head. He wanted her to be made aware, if she wasn't already, that he held possession of all the cards. Hermione tried to ignore the anger that seeped into her very blood at his continued manipulations.

Though he might have said many times in the past that he cared deeply for his only niece and wished they could develop a closer relationship, he didn't make that possibility easy for her. He was a man who did not understand how to have a relationship with someone without it benefiting him in some way. The fact that she was firmly on Aberforth's side in all family matters, past or present, did not help either. His relationship with his only living sibling was strained and prone to dramatic bouts of frustration.

If it were up to Hermione, she would have been content to never see her 'uncle' again. Many of his actions and choices in the past made her sick. To condemn an innocent child to a lifetime of misery, abuse, and neglect so he would latch on to the first adult who showed him any positive attention was unconscionable. It spoke of the abhorrent behavior he always displayed when he was around his younger brother. She could have been quite happy to not have him in her life at all.

Unfortunately, thanks to the meddling of Lord Voldemort, Albus was probably the only person she knew who might be able to help her. Giving up the names of the Order members wasn't something she wanted to do. She _could_ , if desperate enough, but it was hard enough to stomach the fact that she was the extra push that several of her acquaintances needed to give their lives over to the Dark Lord. What might have been different in his life if she'd tried harder to keep Antonin away from his master? Would Silas still be alive if she hadn't given his name? And what of sweet Augie who had been nothing but a friend to her over the years? Without her meddling, would he have been content to keep his silences in the Department of Mysteries for the rest of his life? She could hardly imagine that his future would be filled with much joy.

She would never forget the moment she finally remembered where she'd first heard Caradoc's name and seen his face. Moody had been so proud of the picture of some of the members of the _first_ Order of the Phoenix. The wizard who had only recently been relieved of his prison in the bottom of his trunk wasn't a man that was easily ignored. Hermione politely spoke to him each time she was addressed in the house. At the time, the poor souls in the old picture were just names and tragic stories. Though she was sad to learn that so many of them weren't alive to fight again, she didn't have a personal attachment to any of them.

It had been an ordinary Wednesday. Caradoc came sweeping into the shop several minutes late with his apologies that it had been one of his grandmother's bad days. Something about the defeated expression on his face as he spoke about the woman who helped raise him and who was rapidly losing her grip on reality triggered a memory. She had seen him in Moody's picture years earlier. Knowing how much he loved Gideon and how much he despised the violence that was happening around them, it hadn't been a far stretch to assume that he was a member of the Order. Hermione sifted through the fates of the Order members she had catalogued in her head.

Caradoc would be another victim to Voldemort's wrath. Details were scarce, but according to Moody, he would disappear at the end of the war. No one had seen any indication that he survived whatever happened. So many people disappeared in those days that there wasn't any need. Sometime after she vanished and after Gideon and his brother were brutally murdered by a gang of Death Eaters that included Antonin, Caradoc would fall too.

The thought of knowing that if she was able to return to the future that her friend wouldn't be there waiting for her made her choke down tears that threatened to overpower her. He was too nosy to not ask about a sudden outburst of emotion and he was entirely too inquisitive to believe any lie she might tell him. So, she did her very best to keep calm until it was time for her to go.

Once she said her goodbyes and slipped out into Diagon Alley, she found the first dark corner she could hide in. Everything that she had somehow been able to hold in came bursting out of her in a torrent. Life and experience had made her hard in many ways. She was less prone to the tears that had seemed to plague her since she was a scared first year with no friends tucked away in a girls' lavatory with a troll. But when it came to the thought of losing Caradoc…

Of course her grief was short-lived. At least her ability to express it anyway. Within moments of opening the floodgates she wasn't sure how to close, an unwelcome intruder pushed in on her solitude. Greyback was never far from her. The incident with her locket being removed only made matters worse. His stolen touches in her kitchen only emboldened his behavior. He wanted to be close by for the moment when she would eventually no longer have Igor's protection.

Their exchange didn't last long. He'd come prepared with his dragonhide gloves. One rub of his hand across her cheek was enough to sate his appetite for the short-term. As soon as she realized he was only inches away, Hermione tempered her sorrow, made some cutting remarks to the werewolf that only made him laugh, and rushed away. She had to continue her depressing thoughts about the future of one of her best friends when she made it home.

When one entire week passed without any news from her uncle, Hermione had just about given up that he would ever be willing to help. Their past was riddled with uncomfortable exchanges and unfair accusations. Perhaps, on _both_ sides, if she allowed herself to really dwell on the facts. Albus Dumbledore was used to people being in awe of him and adoring him. He would settle for the awe if that was the only option, but he preferred to surround himself with people who believed him to be all-powerful and within his thrall. Hermione knew too much about him to adore him as he wished. As long as she was clear in her assertions that she was _always_ on Aberforth's side, the uncle and niece really didn't have much to do with the other.

There existed a tremendous amount of fear on her part that she would not be able to complete Voldemort's 'project'. Giving up the names of the Order members to essentially have them murdered off by the madman wasn't something her conscience wanted to do. She had been hoping that Albus would have given her an alternative. Or at least some kind of plan to thwart the request. Knowing that the punishment for not complying with his wishes was the loss of her protection and another attack by Greyback, she couldn't think about anything other than her fear.

Kingsley worried that she was sick and wanted to drag her back to St. Mungo's. Though she appreciated his level of concern and how much he loved her, she wished he would stop. She couldn't tell him that she was being asked to sell out some of his very best friends. How could he forgive her if she was the reason why someone he cared about was murdered? Everyone who joined the Order of the Phoenix knew there was at least some level of risk involved in their decision, but this was completely different. This wasn't getting caught in a crossfire or getting hurt when out on a mission. This was a systematic targeting that would be entirely her fault.

When the owl carrying her uncle's invitation to the castle for tea arrived at the kitchen window, Hermione was surprised. Even though her pride wanted her to make him wait just like he made her wait, she didn't waste a second replying that she would be there when he asked. Albus didn't give her any other choice. There was only an hour's notice between the time the note arrived and when she was expected.

The castle's inhabitants hardly paid her any mind as she made her way through the familiar stone corridors to the entrance of the Headmaster's office. Easter had come and gone. All of the students were preparing themselves for the most difficult part of their academic year as finals were quickly approaching. Most of the ones she encountered in her walk were so engrossed in their respective books that they didn't even look up.

She was only steps from the gargoyle that protected Albus' office when her anxiety about the coming meeting coupled with a student's engrossment in his textbook caused a head-on collision. Hermione went sprawling to the ground straight on her arse. Both parties were temporarily stunned by the unexpected encounter. The student, clearly a sixth or seventh year at first glance, stuttered out his apologies as he retrieved his fallen book from the floor. When he held out his hand to help Hermione back to her feet, she reached for it. At the last second, she ripped her hand away and refused his help.

Remus Lupin's cheeks flushed an even brighter red when his hand was rejected. Though she felt extremely guilty about the rude act, Hermione knew she would only hurt him if their skin touched. Igor's locket protected her against _all_ werewolves. Not just Greyback. How was she to explain away the extreme pain and red welts that would pop up all over the skin of the young wizard who was just trying to be a polite gentleman? He had already had enough pain in his life. She didn't need to add to it all.

"I'm very sorry. I wasn't looking where I was going."

Hermione climbed to her feet on her own. It hurt her heart to see the confusion and humiliation still on the face of the man who would grow up to be her favorite teacher. She loved Remus. Even if they didn't _technically_ know each other in the past beyond a few chance encounters over the years, she wanted nothing more than to sit next to a roaring fireplace with him to share a cup of tea and a lively discussion like they used to. Seeing him at the beginning of his life when she knew there was so much more pain to come to him before he died tragically too soon was too hard. She might have been selfish, but she couldn't bear being around him while knowing what the future held.

"No. It was my fault, Miss Dumbledore. I was reading and I didn't see you there."

He looked as if he would have welcomed a giant hole opening in the floor beneath his feet. Unable to bear the continued embarrassment, Remus stepped forward to walk past her towards his destination. When he grew closer to Hermione, she could see his nostrils flare. It was an involuntary act she'd witnessed Greyback commit countless times. Remus' brow furrowed and he stopped walking. With a deep, fortifying breath, the young werewolf rotated in place to meet her face to face again.

"May I ask you something, Miss Dumbledore?"

"Of course. Anything."

There was a struggle that took place within him as he considered his next steps. The tension that hung thick in the air only grew denser. She worried that allowing him to ask a question wasn't the best idea.

"When I went to the Magical Menagerie that time with my dad and all of the animals… well, did you _know_ what I was then?"

She knew it took a great deal of courage on his part to even hint to the fact that he was a werewolf. Their society was not kind to those damned with the curse he had been inflicted with. Experience would prove that if the wrong person knew his secret, he would be shunned or worse. Unsure where he was going with their discussion, Hermione simply nodded in the affirmative.

"You were kind to me that day. I haven't forgotten that. You didn't have to be. Most people wouldn't have been."

"Most people are too blinded by their own fears to see what's really in front of them."

"Thankfully, I've met some people who feel the same way. They don't make me feel like I'm some kind of monster."

"I'm glad to hear that."

Remus opened his mouth like he was going to say something else and promptly shut it again. He repeated his action at least three more times before he finally gathered up enough courage to say what was clearly weighing heavily on his mind.

"Miss Dumbledore, this may seem unkind and that is not my intention, but I can feel the magic coming off of your necklace. It makes me… Actually, it makes me want to run far away from you as fast as I can."

"I have made a very serious enemy, Mr. Lupin. One that is quite dangerous. Perhaps you know a little bit what I'm talking about?"

He nodded his head. There was no reason to go into detail. They both were painfully aware they were discussing Fenrir Greyback. Each of them carried their own scars from the beast.

"I didn't grab your hand when it was offered because I didn't want to hurt you. Any… well, _you know_ who touches my skin will be in excruciating pain."

"If you wear that for protection from him, why do you smell like _him_?"

It was clear that he was skeptical of her answer. She could certainly understand why he was suspicious. The realization that just the single touch of her cheek with the tips of his gloved fingers was enough to leave enough of him behind that others like him could tell made her queasy. She didn't want _anyone_ to know about Greyback and their history. Or their future. It wasn't as if he was likely to just start leaving her alone after all. He was dangerously tenacious.

"To be completely truthful, he follows me around. I never know when he's going to just pop up to frighten me. He cornered me when I was leaving the shop this afternoon. He wears dragonhide gloves so the protection spells don't hurt him."

She wasn't sure why she was being so candid with Remus. Certainly, she hadn't been that open with anyone else since the night she was practically ambushed by both Ted and Antonin in the kitchen. Greyback was a topic that was better left unspoken about. If too many people were aware of the dangerous situation she was constantly in, it wouldn't be much longer before Kingsley learned at least partial truths. She wanted to keep him protected as long as humanly possible. _His_ safety was far more important than her natural need to unburden her heart to a sympathetic ear.

"You know he won't stop, right? He's not going to ever leave you alone."

"Yes, I'm afraid that's true."

"I don't know a lot about, well, _that_. Haven't ever wanted to do it myself, but I know enough to understand that it's the wolf's instinct to never give up. Not until it gets what it wants."

The change in the conversation was subtle, but not lost on Hermione. At first, she assumed that they were just talking about Greyback's interest in her. Then, she assumed that the poor kid had the wrong idea about sex. The more Remus spoke, the clearer it was that he understood there was more to the situation than she let on. She feared that he knew Greyback's intentions the night he attacked her in the pub. That was a secret that she didn't want anyone else to know.

A day would come when Remus was friends with Kingsley. She wasn't sure if it was before or after she disappeared. If it was before, she didn't want him to let slip to his mate that his girlfriend was being pursued by a dangerous werewolf. No good would come out of that interaction. If it was after, Kingsley would be safe, but she still would prefer he not know the extent. Hopefully, if she was able to make it back to the future she came from, she would be able to sit down with a much more mature and hopefully calmer Kingsley to explain.

"He'll have the urge to mark you until either he's dead or you are."

She knew that terrifying fact without needing clarification. In the early days when she knew very little about the mating habits of werewolves, she naively assumed that Greyback would eventually give up. The more research she did and the more questions she asked Svetlana Karkaroff through her younger brother, the more she knew that would never happen.

"How can you tell that he wants to do that?"

Remus' cheeks flamed red again and he dropped his eyes to the stone floor. It was a subject that he clearly wasn't comfortable with, but she couldn't be arsed to care. This was _her_ life. She needed to know more and hadn't had a chance to ask another werewolf their perspective.

"I don't know how to explain it exactly, Miss Dumbledore, but I can tell that he's marked you already as his. Not _completely_ though. There's a lot about instincts that I simply don't know how to explain or understand. You've been touched by a wolf, but I can't tell who it is exactly. I just assumed since you smelled… well, I just assumed."

"I didn't want him to…"

"No, no, no. Please. You don't have to explain anything to me. It's none of my business."

This was bad. The thought of Remus knowing such a personal secret of hers wasn't something she relished. Would he look at her differently in the future? She knew that she wouldn't ever get to see him again if she went back to 1998 as she planned. That was a tough realization to encounter, but one she knew was best to acknowledge. _She_ might not get to see him again. Remus, however, still had her third year to come. And then all of those times she saw him again after he left Hogwarts during the war.

What would he think of her? The most rational assumption would be that she was the daughter of Hermione Dumbledore. Most people were likely to believe that her parents being Muggles was a cover for the woman who disappeared. Or maybe they would think she was really a witch with magical parents who was somehow adopted by Muggle dentists. The fact that her age wouldn't match up perfectly wouldn't matter to them. It was hardwired in a human's brain to believe the easiest theory. Math wasn't a requirement. In fact, Greyback assumed that she was her own child when he dragged her into Malfoy Manor.

But, if he understood that she was actually the same person he'd met years earlier, would that change how he looked at her? She didn't think she could bear it if he knew her deepest secret. The humiliation was immeasurable. A horrifying understanding took hold in her mind. No matter what happened, he could not keep the knowledge she'd unwittingly given him that day. There was too much at stake. Kingsley must be protected, she kept reminding herself.

Before her good sense could prevail and she could talk herself out of what she was positive was a rash act she would likely come to regret, Hermione unclasped the locket. Remus' eyes studied her movements carefully as she allowed the ornate necklace to slip from her fingertips to the floor. Only her utmost trust in the fact that Remus would _never_ hurt her allowed her the peace of mind to relinquish control of her protection. With it on the floor, she didn't have to worry that she could harm him on accident.

"I shouldn't have told you all of that," she blurted out, suddenly even more embarrassed than she already was. "It was wrong of me to burden you with that knowledge. I'm very sorry."

"It's all right. Maybe I'm the best person you could've told. I know how dangerous Greyback is. What he's capable of. I'm only sorry that you're aware too."

"Thank you."

With big tears in her eyes, Hermione threw her arms around Remus' neck. Though startled at first by the unexpected affection, he placed his arms around her back to offer whatever comfort he could. There had been many Remus hugs in the past. Or rather, _his_ future. Knowing that this would be the last one she would ever get to experience, Hermione cherished each passing moment. It wasn't long enough. It never could be. Understanding that she was likely making the poor wizard exceedingly uncomfortable as he didn't know her at all, Hermione released her grip.

"I'm so sorry, Remus."

She stared into his familiar eyes and noted the obvious confusion present. Without fear that he would be harmed from the locket, Hermione placed her hand on his cheek. He looked as if he was about to ask a question, but wasn't sure were to start.

" _Obliviate_."

The whispered spell threatened to catch in her throat. Years earlier she made herself a promise that she wouldn't ever use a memory charm again. They were too brutal, too terrible. She would never be able to forgive herself for what she did to her parents. But, she had to remind herself that without casting the spell she did, they would likely be dead. Sometimes, one had to put their convictions aside to protect those they loved the most.

"I am so sorry, Mr. Lupin. I wasn't looking where I was going."

Remus blinked several times. Hermione bent down to pick up her locket with one hand and his discarded book with the other. When she pushed the book into his arms, he took it reluctantly, still perplexed by what was happening.

"I'm running late to visit my uncle. Good luck on your NEWTs!"

She rushed away from the terribly confused werewolf before he could utter a single word. It was wrong to remove his memories of their conversation. She knew that and likely wouldn't be able to sleep for days to come as she analyzed her decision over and over again in great detail. Later, she would be able to justify it to herself that she was just doing what was necessary to protect Kingsley. If he knew about her connection with Greyback…

The gargoyle burst to life at her arrival. Thankful that she wouldn't have to suffer more frustrating delays at her uncle's hand, Hermione rushed into the circular stairwell. She cleared her cheeks of all traces of tears before she entered the office she hated. It wouldn't do to come in with evidence of weakness on her face. Albus would sense it in a heartbeat. Much like she had to do when in the presence of Lord Voldemort, she prepared herself for the onslaught of the impertinent man's Legilimency. He had no shame.

"Good afternoon, Uncle Albus. Thank you for agreeing to meet with me."

The Headmaster gave his niece a perfunctory kiss on the cheek that they both loathed. Neither of them cared much for the other, but were willing to keep up the necessary appearances when required. He led her over to the armchairs near the fireplace where a tea service had been set up.

"I am pleased you were able to join me on such short notice, Hermione."

"Yes, well, it would've been preferable to receive your invitation sooner. After all, it was over a _week_ ago that I owled you telling you I had something important to discuss."

She wanted to curse his condescending smirk from his face. Their relationship was irrevocably tarnished the day he accused her, unfortunately, _correctly_ , of being Lord Voldemort's mistress. The fact that he thought so little of her to believe without hesitation that she'd willingly climbed into bed with the horrible madman was all the proof she needed of how he truly felt about her.

"Unfortunately, my dear, this is a busy time of year. Lots to do around the castle, I'm afraid. You remember."

"I don't want to be here just as much as you don't want me to be here, Uncle."

Albus sighed softly, but not quietly enough that she didn't catch the exasperated sound. He poured them both cups of tea as a means of distraction.

"I need help."

"And your first instinct was to come to _me_ for it? What a novel idea. Seems like you have another uncle who would be better suited for the task. After all, it's no secret that Regnault would cut off his own arm to bring a smile to your face."

Hermione was startled by the level of bitterness she detected in his voice. There had been snide mentions in the past of Regnault being her favorite uncle. She always discounted them as the ramblings of an obnoxious old man. Now, it seemed there was more to it than that. Was the great and powerful Albus Dumbledore actually _jealous_ that he wasn't first in her affections? She almost laughed at the absurdity. He had had plenty of opportunities to be a part of her life. To be a more loved and appreciated family member. The choice had always been his. _Not_ calling her the Dark Lord's whore would've been an excellent first step.

"Yes, Uncle Albus. You were the _first_ person I thought of."

"I'm pleased to know that whenever you desire something, you think of me."

It was almost embarrassing how petulant the wizard sounded. Yes, perhaps she should have made a better effort in the past of being a part of his life. They were, after all, family. It was just as much her fault as it was his that they weren't closer. She still allowed her own anger about his treatment of Harry to color their interactions.

"I'm in trouble, Uncle. _Big_ trouble. And yes, you are the only one I know that can help me."

He was fighting a battle within himself. That much was clear. Albus stared into his teacup for longer than was necessary to formulate his response. She could tell that there was a lot on the subject that he wanted to say, but was unsure how to articulate. Hermione realized with a sickening clarity that she would have to come clean with him about certain aspects of her life that she never wanted to announce to anyone, let alone him.

"The day I was here that you asked me to spy for you and I told you 'no', you made reference to rumors you'd heard that I was You-Know-Who's mistress. I lied to you when I said it wasn't true."

His eyes flicked up to meet hers. She'd gotten his attention.

"Whoever told you about what happened that night at my uncle's manor was telling the truth."

"And if you were willingly Tom's mistress, what makes you believe that I would ever want to help you with anything? I don't have to tell you what he is capable of. You already know."

"Indeed I do. All too well."

Hermione pulled her beaded bag out of her pocket. The book she hated above all others was retrieved moments later. She wasn't sure what compelled her months before to slip this particular book in her bag, but she was thankful that she had. The exact passage describing the vile curse she had been under was permanently etched into her memory. She could've recited the details of it without even glancing at the writing. With it flipped open to the necessary page, she held it out for Albus. He took his time setting down his teacup before accepting the offering.

"I didn't do so _willingly_. Are you familiar with that curse?"

"I have heard it spoken of in whispers amongst wizards I would like to never see again."

She sipped at her tea, allowing him time to read through the disgusting words. When he was finished, Albus snapped the book shut. His cheeks flushed the faintest pink and the twinkling in his eyes was absent. All that remained was rage.

"And you are saying that Tom inflicted this curse upon you?"

"Yes, sir."

"Why?"

"He wished to know my secrets."

There was an insistent pressing against her mind. Albus clamored for entrance without permission. Hermione briefly considered pushing him away with a slap to the face. Instead, she allowed him to see only what she wanted him to see. She and Thomas practiced every single week without fail. They both knew how important it was that she kept her skills sharp.

She showed him the moment Voldemort cast the curse on her in the library of the Lestrange Manor. She showed him taunting her, telling her that he wanted to see in her mind without breaking her. She showed him exactly what the Dark Lord saw in her mind without telling him that it wasn't real. She even showed him the moment that horrible Healer told her that she would never be able to have children because she had had too much exposure to Dark Magic and the moment when she read the side-effects of the curse. Albus needed to understand that no matter what happened in the past, she would _never_ be on Voldemort's side.

"Roesia stayed in the country?"

"Yes, and she married a Muggle. I didn't know he wasn't my biological father until after they both died."

"Aberforth said that he had to go to Sri Lanka to find you after Roesia's death."

"He was keeping my mum's secrets, at my request. I never wanted Regnault to know. I didn't want him to get hurt. Unfortunately, I had to tell him the truth because You-Know-Who started blackmailing me."

A silence fell over the two as he worked to process all that he had learned. There appeared the tiniest hint of a softening in his demeanor towards her. At the very least, he no longer looked at her like she was a harlot in league with the devil. Small comfort.

"How do you need my help? What's happening now?"

"I'm being threatened again. He knows about your resistance group. He's demanding that I give him names of those involved or he's going to…"

"Going to what, child?"

" _Literally_ throw me to the wolves. Greyback wants me. I trust I don't have to explain to you in what manner. If I don't provide him with names, he will remove all of my protections against the monster and allow him to do with me as he wishes."

He didn't immediately respond. It heartened her slightly to see the rage still present in his countenance. Albus Dumbledore was angry on her behalf. She appreciated that fact. What she was asking was huge, she knew that. Of course he would need some time to think it over. She was asking him to essentially give up innocent lives in exchange for hers.

"What does Tom wish to do with these names?"

"I asked him if he wanted to kill them, but he said not yet. Or rather, he might if they continued in their movements against him."

Albus rose to his feet. He walked over to the nearest window to look out over the grounds. The sun was setting. Soon, darkness would fall over the area completely.

"Clever boy, Tom. Clever."

He turned his attention back to his guest after several minutes.

"He knows that if there is one person in the world that I can't deny, it's you."

Hermione fought to keep her jaw from dropping to the floor. What on Earth was he talking about? He made it sound as if he she was the person he loved most of all. How could that be possible? Most of the time, when he wasn't implying she a Death Eater slag, he was making it obvious that he thought she was a huge disappointment. There was no love lost between them. _Was_ there?

"Please give me a little more time to consider my options, Hermione. This is a serious request. It seems that no matter what our actions, _someone_ will be harmed."

* * *

August 4, 1978

 **2:30 pm**

Friday mornings were always spent working at the shop with Caradoc and Rodolphus unloading the weekly shipment. It was imperative that Hermione was there each and every time new owls arrived. No matter how much she tried to teach the men over the years, neither of them were able to fully put their newest arrivals at ease. When she spent six of the best weeks of her life in France with Kingsley, she asked Marjorie to accept the owls each week in her stead. Madam Shafiq gladly filled in, leaving no one in that shop, man or beast, in any confusion as to who was in charge. Caradoc and Rodolphus were grateful for her help, but more than a little excited to send her back to her quill shop when Hermione returned.

After a quick lunch with Thomas during the Wizengamot session break, she snuck off to Knockturn Alley to peruse some questionable books to add to her collection she still kept hidden under her bed at the Hog's Head. It wasn't a surprise to turn around from the shelves holding the potions texts to find Fenrir Greyback leaned up against the wall. He found his games frustratingly enjoyable. If he could catch the witch off guard, he considered it a success.

Beyond just simply being present to catch a whiff of her hair and to terrify her with promises of the future, he demanded an update on the 'project' she was working on for Voldemort. Her uncle had yet to provide any names. Each time she was approached by Greyback for a report, which was about once or twice a week, she told him that she was doing everything that she could to figure it out. She promised names would be discovered soon. Satisfied with his usual efforts at stalking his prey, Greyback left the bookshop with promises to see her very, _very_ soon.

The moment she got back home, she scribbled off a note to Albus asking for an update. _Some_ amount of delay completing his project was to be expected, but the Dark Lord would not wait forever. She worried that he was growing impatient. It had been over three months since that horrible morning in her kitchen. Almost as soon as the owl flew out the window towards its destination, she was startled by the knock at the door. She certainly wasn't expecting anyone at that time of day.

Following Voldemort's intrusion, she asked Kingsley if it was possible to use the Fidelius Charm on their home. Lots of other people were doing it as the war progressed. She didn't give him specific examples of _why_ she thought it was necessary. Only reminded him that he likely had made some dangerous enemies as an auror and her history with Voldemort made her a target as well. He sought out assistance immediately to complete the difficult spell. Dean was selected as their Secret Keeper with the simple caveat that under no circumstances was Antonin ever to be given the location. Both Hermione and Dean rolled their eyes as he made his promise.

She wasn't worried about who she would find when she opened the door. Simply curious. There were only a few people in the world who _could_ be there. Rabastan, however, wasn't one she expected. He stood on the other side of her front door with the largest grin she'd ever seen on his face. Without even asking for an invitation, her cousin stepped across the threshold. Hermione didn't mind. His arrogance made her laugh.

"This is a surprise, Rabby. What do I owe the honor?"

He held up a bottle of champagne with an even larger grin,

"I tracked your father-in-law…" Hermione rolled her eyes, but let him continue. Most of the people in her family and Kingsley's seemed to conveniently forget that they weren't actually married. "…down at the Ministry. Begged him to tell me your pesky secret so I could deliver the most wonderful news in person. Shall we open this?"

Hermione ushered him into her cozy kitchen for some glasses. Her cousin was practically floating on air he was so excited. She had her suspicions of what he was there to tell her and desperately hoped she was right. Rabastan, ever the rakish imp, refused to divulge anything until their glasses were filled.

"You, my dear Hermione, are going to be an auntie."

She didn't even bother setting her glass down before throwing her arms around him. Though the champagne sloshed out of the sides and all over Rabastan's shoulder, he didn't mind. Simply laughed and hugged her back. She knew that their journey to parenthood had not been an easy one. Silas predicted it years earlier when he said that their families were too interrelated to marry. Hermione and Solveig had had many heartbreaking conversations over the length of her marriage. Both women had suffered losses.

"The Healers assured us that everything looks _perfect_ this time," Rabastan declared when they broke apart. "It's not like the others."

His grin dimmed somewhat when referring to the babies that hadn't been born. Their first loss had come only weeks after Hermione's. More followed. She wasn't sure the exact number and wouldn't ask. That was too personal.

"How is Sollie?"

"Terrified, honestly. Afraid to move too much. Rosie has her team of house-elves catering to her every need and want, but there are entire days she won't leave our bedroom."

"I will come visit her very soon."

She reached for her cousin's hand to give it a reassuring squeeze. Determined not to lessen the joy of such an occasion, Rabastan forced her to drink a fresh glass of champagne.

"We learned today that it is a little girl."

Rabastan was an attractive man. Even in his most awkward age when he was leaning over the pub's bar to try to chat up his cousin, he was handsome. Age had only improved him. Regnault frequently said that each passing day he looked more and more like his mother who was frequently referred to as a great beauty. None of that mattered. The sheer joy on his face at announcing he was having a daughter would have made even the homeliest of men gorgeous.

"Are you not disappointed it's not a boy?"

"Psh! Of course not! Let Roddy and Trixie worry about providing the heir. Little boys are horrible creatures. I want nothing but pretty little girls that look just like their mother. I want to spoil them and ruin them so they can never love another wizard as much as they love their papa."

She laughed at his exuberance, knowing perfectly well that he was serious. Any girl would be fortunate to have him as a father. As she thought that, Hermione pushed away the nagging reminders that she had never met a Lestrange at Hogwarts. Their little girl would have been in second year when she was in first.

"I'm so happy for you, Rabby. You were right. This _is_ wonderful news."

Their celebration was interrupted by a tapping at the kitchen window. An owl sat patiently waiting to be recognized. Hermione placed her glass down on the kitchen table to cross the room. After untying the note from the bird's leg and offering it a treat, she unrolled the parchment. Written in a familiar scrawl was only two words.

 _Benjy Fenwick_

* * *

October 8, 1998

 **9:12 am**

He couldn't breathe. Even the very air around Dean's cottage was threatening to suffocate Kingsley. The collar of his shirt was too tight. His robes were too heavy. He wanted to rip everything off and just try to catch his breath. Instead, he settled for stomping around the grassy field nearby. Rocks and plants alike were crushed under his heaviest dragonhide boots. He was angry enough to stomp a few throats if they somehow ended up under his feet. Wasn't terribly particular about _which_ throats. Maybe he could even trip Dolohov at some point.

When he woke up that morning knowing that he was going to seek out Dolohov with Rodolphus, he'd expected it to be unpleasant. It usually was when that horrible excuse for a wizard was involved. So many possibilities occurred to him as to _why_ Hermione was terrified of Greyback. Except, perhaps, for the one that should've been most obvious.

She feared the Full Moon. It didn't take him long to figure that one out. He might not have been a Ravenclaw, but he was no idiot. On those nights, she never wanted to do anything but stay inside. She clung to him tighter whether she was conscious of it or not. They would sit on the sofa and talk or read or listen to the wizarding wireless and she would make certain that her body was always touching his in some way. When they were in bed, she snuggled up against him with a purpose. Most nights they started off embracing and as the night progressed, they'd end up drifting apart to their own sides of the bed. Not on nights of the Full Moon. If he tried to move, she pulled him back. Each time a wolf howled in the distance, her entire body tensed.

He should've figured it out even without her telling him. The anger that he felt coursing through his veins wasn't towards Hermione, but towards himself. What had _he_ done to make it so she wasn't comfortable sharing such a horrible secret with him? He wouldn't have told anyone. He would've been better able to understand her fears.

"She was protecting you."

Dolohov's words forced Kingsley to stop with his aggressive pacing. He hadn't even heard the man exit the cottage behind him. Just as Hermione used to tease him when she snuck up on him, he was woefully falling down on the job of self-preservation. If he was so distracted that his biggest rival was able to sneak up on him, he was in grave danger. Curious about the meaning of his words, Kingsley spun around to face him. He had come alone, but no doubt Rodolphus was watching them through the windows, prepared to break up the bloodshed, if necessary.

"How do you know that?"

"Dorie's birthday party. Right after Andromeda and Ted bought their house. We were in the kitchen with Ted and she said that she wouldn't tell you the truth because she didn't want you hurt."

"And why were _you_ talking to her about that?"

"Because I was trying to convince her that she needed to tell you the truth!"

The confession surprised Kingsley. What purpose could he possibly have had in trying to get her to tell him what happened to her? What angle was he playing? Was it some sort of sick game or manipulation he was playing?

"Why?"

"Because I thought you had a right to know. She was afraid that if you knew, you would try to track Greyback down. She thought you would get hurt. And she didn't want you to know because she didn't want you to think she was broken."

"I would never think…"

"I know! Neither would I. If anything, it just proves how strong she really is. Not like either of us really needed a reminder."

Kingsley snorted involuntarily. Immediately, he wished he hadn't. Especially when Dolohov sighed out a chuckle. He didn't want the wizard to get the wrong idea. They would never be friends. _Never_. Any action that could remotely resemble a thawing between them should be avoided at all cost.

"Why did you care if I knew or not?"

"Look, Baby Shacklebolt. I loved Hermione. I _still_ love her. From the moment I saw her in her father's pub, I loved her, and I'm certain, more certain of anything in my entire life, that I will love her until the day I die. If it's possible to love after we die, I will _still_ love her."

"Not really sure this is making your case."

Antonin rolled his eyes. Part of Kingsley wished he hadn't said anything, but old habits were hard to break.

"I love Hermione, and I want her to be happy. If that can't be with me, then she deserves a better man. The _best_ man."

"And you think I'm the best man?"

It was Antonin's turn to snort. Kingsley wasn't annoyed. He almost chuckled too.

"Absolutely not. Tommy was the best man. He was my brother in every single way but blood. I loved him too. _He_ might have been good enough for her. Maybe."

"Too bad their chemistry was complete shite."

Both men snorted out another laugh at the memory of Hermione kissing Thomas the first Christmas they were all together. Each one of them desperately wanted her to choose him as the wizard she liked the best. Tommy had been the better choice, the _safer_ choice.

" _But_ , Baby Shacklebolt, you're a better man than I am. You deserved to know the truth. How can any relationship be successful if anyone keeps secrets? I've learned that one the hard way."

There seemed no reason to argue with the man. He seemed sincere, after all.

"Now, that's not to say I wouldn't slit your throat in a heartbeat if she told me we could be together again if you were dead."

"I wouldn't expect any less from you."


	78. Chapter 78

***Actual line of Moody's dialogue from Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix. I did not write that and will claim no ownership. It all belongs to JK Rowling. Quote is in italics.***

* * *

Chapter Seventy-Eight

August 5, 1978

 **1:15 pm**

Her weekly lunch with Regnault the day after Rabastan's news was a happy experience. Even though the weight of her other uncle's note still hung heavy on her mind, Hermione pushed it aside to revel in the joy that was radiating off of Regnault. For a man who was usually so stern and solemn, he was almost as overjoyed at the prospect of having a granddaughter as his son was a daughter. There was such happiness during their meal as they discussed the future that she couldn't shake the feeling that something bad was about to happen.

Life hadn't exactly been kind of to her over the years. Each time she believed she and those she loved were about to finally get what they deserved, something horrible would happen to derail their hopes. She hated how negative she felt, but she didn't know how to stop. Her thoughts fixated on the night that she and Kingsley celebrated _her_ pregnancy. Each of them had their joy stolen from them almost immediately. She feared that she would never be the kind of person that embraced the positive without fear that it would be taken away.

Regnault walked her to the front of the restaurant when their meal was over. A bright smile on his face always reminded her that there was a great deal more to the austere wizard than she would've ever guessed years earlier. She was glad to be proven wrong at times. Her uncle looked twenty years younger. The resemblance with his older son was remarkable and if the glances he got in his direction from the other witches in the vicinity were any indication, Hermione wasn't the only one who noticed.

"We must all have dinner at the manor together very soon. Owl me a night next week when your young wizard will be free."

With a promise that she would and a kiss to his cheek, they parted ways. Between Rabastan's visit the day before that ended in them both drinking way too much and Kingsley coming home to find them giggling over atrocious names on the Lestrange family tree that he refused to name his daughter and preparing for her usual lunch with her uncle, Hermione hadn't had a chance to really stop and think about the implications of the note that Albus sent her. That was part of the reason she hadn't said 'no' to Rabastan when he suggested opening another celebratory bottle or two. She hadn't wanted to think too much about her next steps in the project she had been given.

Knowing that she needed to actually think about her next steps, she decided to enjoy the relatively warm weather. There was no sign of approaching rain in the skies. She began walking down Diagon Alley. Lots of other people were out enjoying the weather. When someone called to her to wish her a good day, she politely smiled and nodded her head, but did not stop to talk.

Somehow, she was going to have to get Benjy Fenwick's name to Voldemort to satisfy her end of the agreement. One name was not going to be enough, she knew. His appetite for new Death Eaters had been voracious and she had no reason to believe that this would be any different. If anything, he would likely want _more_ Order member names so he could remove them from existence.

" _Benjy Fenwick, he copped it too, we only ever found bits of him…"_

Hermione had been in the same room when Mad-Eye Moody showed Harry the picture of the first Order of the Phoenix. For whatever reason she could not explain, his statement about the demise of Mr. Fenwick stuck out in her mind. She had only heard it in passing as she hadn't been invited into the conversation. It was a fact that certainly was sad enough, but not one that she really dwelled on at the time. Many of the people in that photograph, Harry's parents included, died soon after it was taken.

Her path had crossed Benjy's a few times over the years. His years at Hogwarts had already ended at least two years before she arrived in the past. He was a likeable man, always ready with a joke and a smile. They had never carried on an entire conversation, but she knew who he was and had even helped his girlfriend pick out a kneazle kitten for his birthday once. He was proof, yet again, that good did not always triumph over evil. If she had had her choice, she wouldn't have wanted to ever meet him. Being powerless to change the past was a fate she wouldn't wish on her worst enemy.

Would she be responsible for his murder? And more than that, would she be responsible for even more murders after his? The blood on her hands could never be washed off. Even if she was able to return to the future, she would never be able to forget that _she_ was the tool that was used to bring about the destruction of so many families who deserved better. She desperately wished she could go back in time to the night she met Voldemort at her uncle's manor and make herself seem the most boring of all people he'd ever met. In hindsight, she knew it was a mistake to completely shield him from her mind. _That_ had been a costly error.

As her mind continued to wander down dark paths, her feet carried her closer and closer to Knockturn Alley. Perhaps, she thought, it should say something very telling about her that when she was bothered in this timeline, she often found herself seeking out the darkness of the corner of Wizarding London she had been told to shun as a brand-new witch. She struggled with her own darkness all the time. Honestly, she had since childhood. There were many times during the war that she grew frustrated with the Order's distaste for stooping to their enemy's level. If the Death Eaters weren't bothered by attacking with deadly intentions, neither should they.

With her mind set on the eventual murder of a man who only wanted to bring peace to the world, Hermione didn't bypass the entrance to Knockturn Alley. She had grown to feel very comfortable in that part of London. Even if it had been several years since Antonin lived there while they were together, it still brought her a measure of comfort to return to its dark and dank borders. Maybe it made her feel better that surely she couldn't be the only one in the immediate vicinity contemplating the murder of an innocent man.

She ignored the bookstore she usually went into. There were enough volumes in her beaded bag already to raise some uncomfortable questions if Kingsley ever became brave enough to dig around in there. The very thought seemed to horrify his delicate sensibilities. What if he discovered something _feminine_ he didn't want to know about? But, there was always the possibility that he would discover the odd collection of Dark tomes she kept and ask many uncomfortable questions.

Instead, she walked confidently into Cobb's and Webb's. It was a curious little shop that carried many items that might have once terrified her when she was naïve. Now, she understood the greyness of magic. _Intent_ was the key factor in determining if something was Dark or Light. That was a lesson she learned first from Igor and then several more times throughout her experiences living in a dangerous timeline that wasn't her own.

The proprietor of the shop knew her face well. Most of them did. A Lestrange was a customer that was welcomed and fawned over. Their massive stores of gold in Gringotts was no well-kept secret. Just by looking at the clothes that each member of the family wore it was easy to see their wealth. Hermione had gotten over her aversion to fine clothing and expensive jewelry long ago. It was easier in the long-run to just do as Regnault wished on the more insignificant parts of life. Save up her energy for the fights that really mattered. Like who she was going to marry.

"Is there anything in particular I can help you find today, Miss Dumbledore?"

"No, thank you. I am just browsing today."

He nodded to her and allowed her to begin her wanderings through his tightly packed aisles. There was never any way to be certain what kinds of magical artifacts one might discover on a trip to his shop. She was usually never in the market for a specific item, unless it was nearing a loved one's birthday, but she enjoyed rambling through and seeing what there was to be had. Many might have felt the space confining, but she reveled in it.

It was as she was pretending to examine a shelf full of magical daggers that she first became aware she was being followed. With Greyback an almost constant shadow, she had grown used to the feeling. She would have assumed it was the werewolf if not for the fact that her heart wasn't racing and she did not feel any fear whatsoever. Usually, she could tell that her stalker was nearby.

To test out her theory that she was being followed, Hermione made an abrupt right turn down one aisle and then a series of several more sharp turns. The footsteps that they did not even try to mask never wavered in their pursuit. If she had been just about anyone else and from any other family, she might have written it off as a nosy shopkeeper making certain she wasn't stealing. Neither Mr. Cobb nor Mr. Webb would ever risk insulting her by lumping her in with the unwashed masses. She made another sharp turn at the vials of what she assumed to be poisons, but wouldn't actually take a closer look at, and waited. There was a dark corner that she could easily hide in.

Perhaps maneuvering herself into a position where she could be easily trapped hadn't been the greatest of ideas. Too late she realized her error. If this person meant her any harm, they would have more than enough opportunity to do so. She pulled her wand out of her pocket, ready to curse and run, if necessary.

"You can put that away, love. I'm not here to hurt you."

Benjy Fenwick was the absolute last person she ever expected to just randomly appear in front of her astonished form. Even though his name had been on the forefront of her mind since the night before, she never actually thought she would see him. Why was he following her? She had a dozen questions and wasn't sure where to start.

"Why are you following me?"

It seemed as good a place to begin as any. Instead of being insulted that she accused him of behaving like a creep, Benjy just laughed. He found the whole incident amusing. His prominent dimples appeared on his face when he continued to smile. Clearly, he wasn't aware that the leader of his Resistance group had given his name as a lamb for slaughter.

"So you're the one who is going to turn me into You-Know-Who for being a very bad boy, are you?"

 _Or_ she was mistaken. Even as he admitted that he knew what she was tasked with doing, his smile never faltered. Hermione began to seriously wonder if there might not be something wrong with the man. Who gets that excited about being in constant danger?

"How do you…?" She wasn't even sure how to proceed.

"I had a long chinwag with your uncle last week. Interesting discussion. He let me in on the secret that you've found yourself in a bit of trouble."

"You could try to at least pretend like you're not happy about the fact that I'm in fear for my own life."

"Yes, well, what's that old saying? 'If you lie down with dogs, you get up with fleas.'"

His continued smiling even as he made implications that what she was experiencing was well-deserved made Hermione angry. She wanted to curse her uncle's minion and run out of the store. Considering her family's long patronage of the establishment, she felt certain that the owner would be more than willing to simply make Fenwick _disappear_ , if she asked. Suddenly, their meeting felt a lot less friendly than she first assumed. How dare he? The wizard was a bit braver than she expected.

"Well, I _was_ feeling tremendous amounts of guilt over what I was being asked to do, but now, strangely, I'm not feeling so guilty."

She got the impression that Fenwick would've chortled even louder than he did if he wasn't trying to keep the volume level of their tête-à-tête low. His body shook with the suppressed laughter.

"You'll have to forgive me if I find the very idea that I'm on the same side as the 'Darling of the Death Eaters' a bit unbelievable and funny."

"I don't want _anyone_ to get hurt."

"Then perhaps you should have worked a little harder at not making enemies with more powerful wizards. In my experience, witches like you are nothing more than an attractive ornament for their useless, wealthy husband's collection. Debutantes rarely get their hands _dirty_ with politics and violence. What makes you so special?"

Hermione scoffed and rolled her eyes. If he only understood how much she desired to simply _be left alone_. She would have been content and happy to go through the time she was stuck in the past completely ignored and unknown. Life would've been easier. Certainly, it would've been less messy and painful.

"I truly wish I knew, Mr. Fenwick. Now, will you be so kind as to explain to me why you've chosen to corner me in a dark corner in a Knockturn Alley shop? I cannot even begin to fathom what you desire."

"I merely wished to look the person who was going to turn me in and put my entire family in danger in the eye. Wanted to see if you were worth all of the trouble."

She couldn't even be angry. Not even if his attitude was less-than-welcoming. She _was_ going to turn him into Voldemort. Though she knew his death wouldn't come immediately, she knew it would come. It would be painful and completely unnecessary. No, in the grand scheme of things, she absolutely was _not_ worth all of the trouble. What value did she have in that society anyway? She didn't belong. Her contribution to the war had already happened in her past.

Maybe she could run. Greyback wouldn't give up, but if he couldn't find her, she could buy some time. But no, she reminded herself, that would never work. Voldemort would turn his attention to Kingsley or to other members of the Shacklebolt family. He would use those she loved to hurt her even more. Running would never be a viable option.

"I didn't expect my uncle to tell anyone else what was happening."

"Your uncle isn't a coward."

Briefly, she considered retorting that he had no clue what he was talking about. There were plenty of times that Albus Dumbledore would prove himself to be selfish and afraid. No one was perfect.

"Albus thought it best that we be aware of what was happening. A few of us discussed how we could help save an _innocent_ life. Though, I won't deny that I'm beginning to suspect the old man's brains might be addled. He might love you, but you are certainly not _innocent_."

Whatever bitter, angry tirade the man was going to continue was cut short by the sound of the bell above the door tinkling. Another soul in the same building made their clandestine, impromptu meeting even more dangerous. Hermione was about to push past Fenwick when she heard a voice raised.

"Get out! We do not serve your kind here."

The darkened shop lit up with a bright red flash. A heavy thud proved that the stunner had hit its mark. Were they under attack? Or was it just a simple robbery? Hermione spied the back door only steps away from where they were standing. She briefly considered running out of it until her heart began to race. Heavy footsteps moved through the shop in her direction. Moving entirely on instinct, Hermione pulled on Benjy's robes to shove him deeper into the shadows. To his credit, he didn't fight her.

"Stay there," she whispered. "Whatever you see or hear, do _not_ move."

"Miss Dumbledore…"

"No. Stay silent."

Trusting that he would do as she commanded, Hermione quickly vacated the back corner of the shop. She was only able to make it one aisle over before Greyback's massive, unyielding form blocked her in. The smile on his face caused her stomach to swirl in equal parts disgust and fear. He was in the mood to play and she wasn't.

"Skulking in the back of dark shops, are we?"

"Was it necessary to stun the poor man? He had the right to deny service to monsters if he so chooses."

His smirk remained firmly on his lips. Undeterred by her remark, Greyback stepped closer, forcing her to take a step backwards into a cluttered shelf. Magical implements of varying degrees and shapes rattled. Remembering her own protections, Hermione held up her hands in a warning to the beast. If she had to, she would touch his skin. He snarled softly and stopped moving. The smile disappeared until he took a deep sniff of the air.

"Doesn't smell like the auror. Sneaking a few kisses with the mystery wizard in the back, are we?"

"What I am doing here is none of your concern, Greyback."

"That's where you're wrong, little girl. _Everything_ you do is my concern."

Greyback pointed his wand in the direction of the corner where Benjy Fenwick was hidden. Hermione didn't know how he would fare in a fight against the werewolf. Instinct told her that it wouldn't be good. She felt her heartrate increase and despite always trying to keep her fear under control around the monster, she wasn't able to contain it. How would she explain any bloodshed in the shop? Kingsley would find out about it. Any official report from the Ministry with her name on it would find its way into his hands.

"Ahh, someone important, is it?"

"Just drop your wand, Greyback. There's no need to harm anyone else today."

"Take it off."

Her stomach dropped. There was no need to ask him to clarify his request. She knew what he wanted. He was bargaining Fenwick's life for her locket. There was no mistaking his intentions. Could she do it though? She wrestled within her mind her options. If she refused to take the locket off, Greyback would hurt and possibly kill Benjy. If she took it off, she couldn't be sure what would happen next. Maybe he would simply taunt her and touch her like he did in her kitchen. Or, more likely, he'd use it as an opportunity to drag her away from the shop and find a quiet place to finish what he'd begun years earlier.

She was already going to give Fenwick's name to Voldemort. Wasn't that bad enough? Her conscience wouldn't allow her to bring any additional harm to the man. She would _not_ stand idly by with her locket around her neck while the monster of her nightmares ravaged the innocent man. Knowing she would come to regret her decision, but fearing there wasn't another option, Hermione reached for the clasp of the locket. Greyback's lips curved into an excited smile as he began to stamp his feet in impatience.

"You are not to hurt anyone else in this shop, Greyback."

He didn't hesitate to agree. All of his focus was on her shaking hands as she struggled to remove the bane of his existence. Every moment that passed only made her nauseous stomach even worse. Her fear was its own entity.

"Take. It. Off."

The beast was growing impatient the more she struggled.

"The Dark Lord said that you would be mine if you failed to give up any names. It's been _three_ months and you still haven't."

"It's taken some time to figure it out. My uncle doesn't trust me."

"He said he would give you one more week."

Hermione let go of the locket at his announcement. When he realized the dreaded silver ornament was still dangling from her neck, Greyback growled. It was a sound she never wanted to hear again.

"I have a name. How can I speak to him?"

"Give the name to me and I'll make sure the Dark Lord hears it."

She gathered up enough courage to actually laugh in his face. Was he seriously expecting her to trust him with that task? He must have thought her mad or stupid.

"And have you track down the wizard and kill him before the Dark Lord hears about it so you can claim I didn't do as I was asked? I don't think so, Greyback."

"Fine. I'll speak with him and let him know. Now, take it off or I kill the one you're hiding in the back and you have to figure out how to explain that to the auror."

Experience had taught her not to question him when he set his mind to something. The fact that he wasn't technically allowed to touch her under the terms of her agreement with Voldemort was a small comfort. She had to convince herself that she would be all right before she removed the locket. Her fingers slipped as she worked the clasp. Finally, she felt the locket slide down the front of her robes. The clang of it hitting the wood floor reverberated in her ears.

The werewolf pinned her against the shelf in seconds. His hands reached for her body in much the same manner as they had in the kitchen. Though she was more prepared for what was happening, it didn't make her feel any less sick. He nuzzled her neck and swiped his tongue over her bare skin.

"You might be able to provide a name this time, little girl, but you won't be able to keep this up forever. You _will_ be mine. You have been promised to me."

Hermione was dizzy with terror. He was a monster possessed and would not easily give up. When his lips pressed against hers, all of the memories of that night came rushing forward. She struggled to remember how to breathe. Greyback pushed his entire body against hers, crushing her further into the shelf.

Just as soon as it began, it was all over. The werewolf stiffened against her lips and crumbled to her feet in a heap. It took her a few moments to understand that the danger had passed. She lifted her eyes to meet the frightened and determined eyes of the Order member she was destined to doom. Benjy held his wand tightly in his right hand. His left hand held an empty jar.

"Dried mistletoe. Not the best at paralyzing a werewolf, but it will do in a pinch. There was a jar back there. Couldn't just use a stunner on its own. They're too powerful."

She managed to squeak out a 'thank you'. Greyback laid unmoving on the floor with his eyes wide open. Eerily appearing like a corpse, research had taught her that no stunner could keep a werewolf down long. She hastily put her locket back on and stepped over his still body. It would be best to be long gone before he came back into consciousness. He would not be happy.

"I understand now why you asked your uncle for help."

Benjy's voice was soft, soothing. Very different from what it had been only a short time earlier when they were alone. There had been a great deal of anger in his voice. Now, all she heard was sympathy and that emotion she hated above all others: pity.

"I volunteered."

Hermione stared at him with wide eyes, silently pleading with him to explain his words. He shrugged his shoulders and smiled again.

"It's only a matter of time before I'm exposed anyway. I've been reckless. Made some enemies that I shouldn't have. This might surprise you, Miss Dumbledore, but sometimes my mouth can get me into trouble."

She appreciated his attempt at humor even if she didn't really feel like smiling.

"Give my name to You-Know-Who. Buy yourself some time. Hopefully, we can figure out how to end all of this soon. I don't care what you've done in the past, _no one_ deserves to have an arsehole like that follow them around."

"Are you going to tell my uncle what you saw today?"

He shook his head.

"No. This isn't my story to tell. I'll tell him that we spoke. Nothing else."

"Thank you."

Benjy urged her to leave the shop before Greyback was unfrozen. Hermione didn't require any further encouragement. She wanted to put as much distance between herself and her stalker as physically possible. Once she was back out in the limited sunshine that shone between the dark buildings of Knockturn Alley, she did not stop moving until she was past the anti-Apparation barrier. Home was the only place she wanted to be.

Later that night, long after she and Kingsley had gone to bed, she lay awake rethinking the events of the day. She had begun the day with so much guilt over what she was being tasked to do by Voldemort. He was forcing her to be the instrument of death in an innocent man's murder. If he was trying to make her heart as black as his, he was very close to succeeding. Perhaps his end game was to make her believe that she belonged amongst his Death Eaters. She was a murderer, after all. Even if indirectly.

The rest of her life she would have to live with the knowledge that because of her poor decisions and her mistake, she was responsible for Silas' murder. Many who knew all of the details would try to convince her that she was taking too much on herself. Thomas, the only person she could truly confide in, told her over and over again that she was doing nothing but feeling sorry for herself. Silas wouldn't appreciate it. Though she knew he was right, she couldn't shake the darkness bleeding into her soul.

Self-preservation was natural, but when it took on a form of actively taking the lives of others, she was no better than the monsters she hated. Benjy had given her a gift that afternoon. More than just protecting her from the unwanted advances of the werewolf. He'd given her permission to excuse herself for the part she was playing. Yes, he was right. Even without her interference, they would reveal themselves on accident. The burden of their safety could not be laid at her feet. As the war grew more heated and more dangerous, there were going to be more opportunities for Lord Voldemort and his Death Eaters to learn the identities of those who would dare to rise up against them. Soon, she would no longer be necessary.

It helped assuage her guilt somewhat. Maybe it would be possible to even forgive herself one day.

* * *

November 5, 1998

 **9:02 pm**

Kingsley stepped inside the Three Broomsticks more tired and defeated than he had felt in a very long time. His searches kept turning up nothing. From the moment he and Rodolphus left Dean's house a month earlier, the three wizards had been on a hunt for Greyback. Dolohov, apparently, had already been searching and found nothing. The hope was with Kingsley's influence in the Ministry, they might be better off. More resources, more leads to follow.

So far, that hadn't been the case. If Greyback hadn't actually died the day of the final battle, he was doing a damn good job at covering his tracks. They hadn't been able to find a single clue that the beast even still breathed. Few subjects over the course of their lives had ended in complete agreement, but Kingsley and Dolohov agreed that the monster was only biding his time.

Hermione might not ever be coming back. Though he tried to keep those depressing thoughts to himself, the Minister was not a fool unable to discern reality from fantasy. There was always a possibility, no matter how much he wished it wasn't so, that the night she disappeared, she became just another victim to Voldemort's madness. People disappeared all the time. Rodolphus had also been making inquiries into the disappearance of one of his best mates. Caradoc Dearborn's vanishing had long been believed to be one of the many that didn't have a happy ending. Even as Rodolphus turned over stone after stone further confirming that Caradoc didn't survive, he refused to give up hope. He likely would spend the rest of his life searching for his friend. Until he held the broken body in his arms, the Head of the Lestrange family would not quit searching.

Kingsley wished he had a small measure of the determination that his witch's cousin had. As each day passed that he wasn't able to find where Greyback's hiding place was, he was losing hope. Or, perhaps more likely, he was still unable to forgive himself for the part he played in forever altering Hermione's life. _He_ was the reason why she was even in the past to begin with. If he hadn't stolen the time turner from the Department of Mysteries and given it to Aberforth, she wouldn't have been forced to endure all of the pain and misery that she did in her sojourn to the seventies. And if she _was_ dead, there was absolutely no one else to blame for it but himself.

He needed a drink, or several, and the opportunity to sit and wallow in his misery for a little while. His usual place to drink was the Hog's Head, but he didn't want to be near Aberforth that night. There was a legitimate fear that he would blurt out everything that he'd learned about Hermione and Greyback. Aberforth would not rest until the werewolf's head was mounted above his bar. Though he would be a formidable ally to have in the search for the creature, this wasn't his secret to tell. Kingsley was the reason that Hermione had been forced to keep so much to herself. He couldn't be angry with her anymore for all of the secrets that existed between them. She only kept them because he made it impossible for her to be honest.

No one bothered the Minister for Magic. Something in his face scared the other patrons away from his corner near the fireplace. Only Madam Rosmerta was brave enough to face him. Even that was only to drop a single glass and a full bottle of Ogden's Finest in front of him. She had come to learn his moods over the years. Knew when it was all right to flirt shamelessly, when he needed a sympathetic ear, or when he just needed to be simply left alone. She offered a comforting squeeze to his shoulder and headed back to her bar. No explanation required.

The night before had been the first Full Moon since they began their search for Greyback. Under the guise of trying to be a more involved Minister than had existed before, Kingsley sought out the Head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures to discover if there had been any known sightings of dangerous werewolves. He wanted to see if there was some sort of enclave or hidden cave that werewolves were known to gather. The Head had been absolutely worse than useless. Simply waved him off with assurances that they had everything under control, thank you very much.

Dolohov knew of places that Greyback had frequented in the past. Remembering the time that Remus spent amongst the werewolves during both wars, Kingsley uncovered the hidden reports he made to determine location. Putting aside their personal disdain for the other hadn't been easy. Several times in the previous month Rodolphus had had to physically stand between the men to prevent further violence. Only the constant reminders that they were doing something to ensure Hermione's safety and well-being kept them from ripping the other's throat out with their bare hands. Frustration at finding nothing made their conflict even worse.

The waiting for December was interminable. Part of him felt like every single day that passed was at least as long as a year. He _needed_ to know if the waiting was all done in vain. If Hermione didn't show up in this year on the same day that she disappeared, he would know that she was really gone. The closure of knowing one way or the other was necessary. Hunting Greyback was _supposed_ to provide a worthwhile distraction, but it was proving to be just as infuriating. He wanted to feel the beast's bones crunch beneath his hands. He wanted him to feel pain unlike any he had ever experienced. The darkness inside Kingsley was crying out for vengeance.

He was in the middle of his third glass and his countless pity party when a chair across his small table scratched across the wood floor. Kingsley didn't even bother to look up until some brave soul deposited themselves in that seat and scooted it under the table. One glance up from his glass and he sighed.

"Not exactly the kind of greeting one wishes to have when they sit down for a drink with an old friend. Do you mind?"

Sturgis Podmore at least made it seem like he was asking for permission to pour from Kingsley's bottle into his own glass. The man enjoyed his fire whiskey more than just about any other person that he'd ever known. Some might have been inclined to show at least a little bit of shame for the vast amounts of alcohol he consumed, but not Sturgis. Many wondered if he even had the possibility to feel shame.

The only time he ever seemed to be embarrassed was when the topic of Hogwarts was brought up. There were plenty of people whose parents chose to educate them at home. It certainly was not uncommon and nothing to be ashamed of, but for whatever reason, Sturgis hated when the subject of school was brought up. Perhaps, Kingsley always assumed, he still held some jealousy and resentment that he didn't get to experience the same kind of schooling that so many others did. When he was asked how he came to be such an ardent supporter of Albus Dumbledore without ever being his student, Sturgis would puff out his chest and proudly declare that he owed his life to the Headmaster. No other details beyond that were ever forthcoming.

"Shouldn't you be off pestering poor Hestia?"

Sturgis' sharp bark of laughter seemed out of place at the solemn table Kingsley had grown used to. Six months in Azkaban during that year that so much of the Ministry was denying Voldemort's return had irrevocably changed the man in many ways, but one thing remained the same through the years: his unwavering love and admiration for an unimpressed Hestia Jones. They had been perpetually on and off for years.

"Hestie is in one of her _moods_. Threw all of my robes and books out the front door."

"Again? Ever think that maybe your relationship is a little unhealthy?"

"All the time. But, one cannot help who one loves. Besides, the making up is usually worth it. Hestie does that thing with her tongue… well, surely you remember."

The waggle of his eyebrows elicited an eyeroll out of the Minister. Hestia had been Kingsley's first serious girlfriend after Hermione's disappearance. It had taken him five years to declare himself ready to try to move on. They tried to make their relationship work for two solid years, but in the end, they both were aware that no relationship could be successful with the ghost of a third still lingering between them. Kingsley still felt guilt about breaking the poor girl's heart over a decade later.

"I still maintain that she can do better than you, Podmore."

"Oh, without a doubt! Just please try not to encourage her to start looking."

Sturgis ran his hand through his straw-colored hair as he laughed. A slight darkness at the root of the man's hair seemed odd. Kingsley had never noticed it before and swiftly decided it was the dim light causing his tired and inebriated eyes to see something that wasn't there.

"What are you doing here anyway, Kings? I mean, besides scowling at any poor sod who dares to look in your direction."

"I was _trying_ to enjoy an evening alone."

"Trying to find the bottom of that bottle? I think we both know what you'll discover down there."

Kingsley didn't want advice against drinking alcohol from a well-known drunk. Certainly he would never try to wriggle out of the man the _cause_ of his appetite for fire whiskey. They all had their pains and nightmares from the past. A man who spent half a year having the happiest feelings and memories fed on by soulless beings in a dank, dirty cell should know better than to ask a man why he was drinking.

"This is about G… _Granger_ , isn't it?"

He grunted and took another deep sip from his glass. Satisfied that he'd discovered the source of his friend's frustrations, Sturgis refilled Kingsley's empty glass with an obnoxious grin.

"I thought so. 'Course, I imagine that she's been on your mind a lot lately. Tell me, Kings. How do _you_ think Dolohov stole a time turner?"

It was clear by the teasing lilt to his voice that Sturgis didn't believe that Dolohov had anything to do with Hermione's disappearance. Truthfully, Kingsley didn't care if he knew the real facts. He trusted Sturgis with his life, and it wasn't exactly like the Minister had been able to keep his bloody secret much of a secret.

"Remember when we first met Hermione at Grim Place?"

"Of course I do. It was a bit of a shock to see her. I know I didn't know her as well as you did, but it was still a shock."

The story came tumbling out of Kingsley's mouth. He'd told the complete details only to Andromeda. Aberforth knew because he was directly involved in the scheme. Everyone else he spoke to about Hermione's disappearance had only been given partial truths. It felt freeing to be able to share the burden of his secrets with a trusted friend. They discovered as the night wore on exactly what could be found at the bottom of a bottle: nothing. So, with a single wave to Rosmerta, they set about an exploration of the bottom of a _second_ bottle.

"Maybe my opinion doesn't matter much in the grand scheme of things, Kings, but I know there are plenty of people who met that sweet girl so many years ago that were thankful they did."

His words might have been slurred, but Kingsley appreciated the sentiment.

"Your brother loved her. Always went on and on about how much he wanted her to marry you. Bloody terrified that you'd muck it up and somehow she'd get back with Antonin. Might have been his best mate, but he wanted Hermione with you."

"I didn't know you knew my brother."

"Small world, mate. Tommy was one of the good ones. Willing to help out complete strangers for no other reason than he felt it was the right thing to do. The man was fearless too. He'd walk up to a more powerful wizard, poke him in the chest, and then tell him what he was going to do whether he liked it or not. And damned if the arsehole wouldn't do what Tommy said!"

Sturgis' laughter gave way to a more reflective expression.

"Wish I'd known Dean Thomas was his during the war. Would've done everything I could to keep him safe. Killed anyone who tried to hurt him. Still owe his old man one."

The wizard knocked back the rest of his glass in one swallow. Feeling the urge to give Sturgis a modicum of privacy during what was clearly a private moment, Kingsley stared down at the table. The second bottle was more than half empty. There was simply no way they could continue at that rate. Both men were swaying in their chairs, at risk of tumbling to the floor.

"Podmore, I think I'm drunk."

"Shacklebolt, I _know_ you're drunk."

Both men laughed until tears ran from their eyes. The tension from their serious discussion was broken. Kingsley tried to stand up to his feet, but found the world to be a bit too swirly to his liking.

"I have a meeting with the Liechtenstein Minister for Magic in the morning."

"Hope you have Hangover Relief potion at home. Might cause an international incident if you vomit on his robes."

"I need to go home."

Sturgis was steadier on his feet. Clearly, the wizard had more experience with heavy drinking. He leapt up from his seat, dropped several galleons on the table, and caught Kingsley by the arm before he fell.

"Let's take the floo, shall we? Can't have the Minister splinch himself trying to get to his bed."

Kingsley wasn't in a fit state to argue with the man's suggestion. It wasn't as if he was wrong either. His choices were to risk splinching or risk having his granny find him face-down in the middle of the pavement. The woman wouldn't let him live that one down if she did. He allowed Sturgis to lead him towards the massive fireplace. Sturgis had long ago been given the Secret. With his hand firmly clenching Kingsley's shoulder, he called out the address.

Whooshing through the Floo network while intoxicated was a terrible idea. Kingsley stumbled out of the fireplace just as he emptied the contents of his stomach all over the rug. With a wave of his wand and a roll of his eyes, Sturgis cleared up the mess. They didn't make it further than the sofa before Kingsley was pushed down on it.

"Accio Hangover Relief."

A single vial of the substance flew across the house to land in Sturgis' outstretched hand. He set it down on the table next to Kingsley's head. It hadn't taken the Minister long to stretch out his long legs and prepare for a night in front of the fire. Sturgis conjured a bucket to sit on the floor within easy reach.

"Thanks, Podmore."

"You're welcome, Kings, but trust me. I didn't do this for you. Goldie would never forgive me if I let anything happened to you. She scares me a lot more than you do, mate."

Kingsley drifted off to sleep moments later.


	79. Chapter 79

**Author's Note: If you haven't already, there is a new Additional Scene posted on the Additional Scenes story on my profile. This one is from Silas' perspective. I would highly recommend reading that before you start this chapter as it will clear up any confusion from Chapter Seventy-Eight. I think several of you didn't catch a very important plot point at the end of the last chapter.**

* * *

Chapter Seventy-Nine

May 19, 1978

 **9:35 pm**

Life had become simply an exhausting game of waiting. Time seemed to fly by quickly as well as simultaneously creep along. Hermione was used to waiting, but that didn't mean she liked it. Every day she waited for Kingsley to get home safely. Some days he was home earlier than others. Even though she knew he would still be alive many years into the future, she didn't worry any less. There were a lot of injuries that wouldn't kill a man that were painful enough.

She also waited for the encroaching date of her disappearance to arrive. The exact date wasn't known to her. Thanks to Aberforth's slip-up in the early hours of her travels through time, she had a basic idea when she would disappear. Waiting to discover if that was due to her violent death or because she was able to make it back to the future grew increasingly frustrating as the days wore on. Her time turner hung beneath her clothes any time she left the safety of her home. She was never sure if she would have to spin it to find an escape for any of the thousands of dangers she seemed to stumble upon every day.

Waiting for Greyback to swoop in and figure out a clever way to remove her locket kept her up at night. He'd already done it once. The promise of injuring, possibly killing, an innocent man had been all the incentive that she needed to remove the locket herself. If he tried the same tactic with someone she loved, she would be powerless to resist. Too much of her existence had been spent in the destruction of others. Saving a life would have to come first.

The latest bit of waiting was courtesy of the damned project Lord Voldemort forced her to complete. Once she informed Greyback that she had a name for the Dark Lord, she expected a visit. She wasn't looking forward to seeing the werewolf at any time, but especially not after he was stunned in the shop mid-grope and unwanted advances. Part of her was surprised that he hadn't already found some dark corner to back her into yet. He would be furious.

Voldemort liked to keep people waiting. It was another show of his prodigious power. Make them wait. Make them worry. Make them so afraid for their very lives that when he made his appearance, they would be terrified into doing whatever was asked of them. Hermione understood his manipulations. Unfortunately, she'd been on the wrong side of them more times than she cared for. Days passed waiting for him to show up to claim the name of an Order member. Weeks passed. Every moment made her grow ever more fearful. Would he finally show to ask even more of her? Or, perhaps in his anger at being bested by his desired mate, Greyback lied to his master?

None of the possibilities were comforting. There really wasn't anything else she could do except wait for the next horrible moment of her life to commence. So, she tried her very best to go about her daily life ignoring the black cloud that always seemed to follow her around. Pain and misery would arrive when it arrived. She didn't know how to stop it. Better to keep on living in the moments between the events that gave her nightmares.

Three weeks after the incident with Greyback and Benjy Fenwick in Knockturn Alley, Hermione stood behind the bar at The Hog's Head drying clean glasses. Business had been booming for years in her father's pub. She liked to think that she had something to do with the improved clientele and the growing pile of galleons in her adoptive father's vault. A purpose in life was necessary to keep one from going completely mad. Hermione had found hers in helping out those she had grown to love. As she set each clean glass down on the bar top, a defiant white kneazle would knock it to the floor with his oversized paws.

"Bad kitty!"

It was a game her kneazle Cyrano liked to play. Hermione hated every moment. Truthfully, she wasn't the biggest fan of the animal to begin with. There was a very valid reason why her cousin's gift to her had not made the move from Hogsmeade to Kingsley's small London home. He was not invited.

"Ach, don't be so hard on him, lass. He's only having a bit of fun with you."

Clearly pleased with the amused proprietor coming to his defense, Cyrano rubbed his body against Aberforth's with a deafening purr. Her pet had long ago adopted her dad as his person. The wizard laughed and began scratching the traitor behind his ears.

"You're only encouraging that vile behavior. I don't see him doing the same to you when you're trying to clean."

If Hermione was one hundred percent honest with herself, she was never going to form a tight attachment with the kitten Rodolphus gave her shortly after she arrived. He reminded her too much of Crookshanks. Every time he interacted with her, she was reminded of the loss of her cat. She didn't know what happened to him after the Death Eaters attacked Bill and Fleur Weasley's wedding reception. Her worst fear was he managed to get himself caught up in the violence or that he was an annoyed Death Eater's target for spell practice. Even as she tried to remain hopeful that he would just show up one day completely unharmed, she struggled. It wasn't Cyrano's fault, but she struggled with letting him into her hurting heart.

The fact that soon after he'd arrived in her life he'd latched on to Antonin hadn't helped matters either. He would've abandoned her in a second if it meant spending more time with her ex-boyfriend. It had been a sore point of contention before she had warmed up to Antonin. Almost as if she called him forth with the power of her mind, the front door to the pub opened while she thought about her past. Cyrano mewled loudly, swished his tail hard enough to knock another glass to the floor, and hopped down. He didn't stop moving until he was rubbing his body and head against Antonin's legs.

It was a routine that had once been familiar. The formidable and terrifying Death Eater crouched down to scratch the feline behind the ears and under his chin. When their greetings were exchanged, Cyrano allowed the wizard to pick him up to hold him in his arms. Hermione fought the urge to roll her eyes. How a person could knowingly and willingly murder a human being in cold blood and then bestow such gentle affection on an animal was beyond her understanding.

"We expecting company, lass?"

The question was asked in a low, aggravated tone. Aberforth's opinion of Antonin had not improved since they stopped dating. His opinion would always be that his daughter could do much better than waste her time on the wizard. Though he hadn't liked him before the night Hermione came home with red marks on her wrist, that incident put him firmly against the man. Nothing was likely to ever change his opinion.

"No, I wasn't. Would you mind terribly if I slipped into the cellar long enough for you to throw him out?"

"Not in the slightest."

Hermione made it a point to meet Antonin's eyes as she exited the room. She wanted there to be no doubt in his mind that she was aware he was there. It might have been petty, but she didn't care. When she told him that she never wanted to speak to him again after he savagely murdered Silas, she meant it. Too long she turned a blind eye to what she knew he was doing.

She waited in the cellar for several minutes. There was always something to keep her mind and hands occupied with when she was down there. Aberforth wasn't the best at organizing his stock. When all of the liquor crates were stacked neatly in their corresponding rows, she made a note of what they were running low on. Before she helped him make changes to the establishment, he only cared if there was an ample supply of fire whiskey. His rough clientele rarely wanted anything else. Since the changes were made, he was attracting more customers that required a little bit more of a variety.

When she was convinced that Aberforth would have already been able to _encourage_ Antonin to leave the premises, she climbed the ladder through the trap door in the kitchen. As she carefully lowered the door back down to the floor, a soft cough behind her made her drop the heavy slab of wood with a bang. Antonin sat patiently at the kitchen table still scratching Cyrano.

"What are you doing here, Antonin?"

"I need to talk to you."

"I was hoping my dad would throw you out."

"Don't think he didn't try. Took a lot to convince him to allow me to wait for you. He told me to tell you, however, that he will be in here in a second if you scream."

He rolled his eyes and she followed suit. Her frustration with her father would have to be dealt with later. She couldn't leave the dangerous man alone in their home just so she could yell at Aberforth for not getting rid of him. Instead, she sat down in the chair across the table from her uninvited guest. She knew his determination was set on having a conversation with her and no matter what she tried, he would not leave until he was ready.

"What do you want?"

There was a time when he would've been insulted and hurt by her sharp tone. Interactions between the two of them for the last couple of years had made him immune. He simply sighed.

"The Dark Lord sent me to speak to you."

Of all of the reasons why he would be sitting in her dad's kitchen, that wasn't even in the top one hundred. As much as it had been possible, they tried to never bring up the fact that he was serving Voldemort in his Inner Circle. There was an unspoken agreement between them that they try to ignore that fact when they could. Antonin's fear that Thomas would learn what he was really up to was foremost in his mind. More than once Hermione had made the snarky remark that if he was so afraid of his best friend learning what evil deeds he was doing, maybe he shouldn't have started doing the evil deeds in the first place. It was an argument that never had a satisfactory conclusion for either one of them. Thomas was no idiot. He might not have brought it up around either of his two best friends, but they all knew he was aware of more than he let on.

"Why would he send you to speak to me?"

"I don't ask a lot of questions when I'm ordered to do something. That's an excellent way to get…"

"Crucio'd?"

She spat the bitter word out. Her experience with Death Eaters in the future had already taught her that they were quite liberal with their usage of the torture curse. And, her experience in the past proved that that hadn't been a new method in the nineties. She would never forget the visit she made to Antonin's new flat where he was trembling so hard from exposure to the Cruciatus Curse that he struggled with holding his wand in his hand.

"He ordered me to speak with you. Said that you had a name to give me."

For yet another time in her life, Hermione wished she was strong enough to go ahead and snuff out Voldemort's life right then. Of course he would find it amusing to force Antonin to be the go-between. It didn't take an evil overlord to know that the former lovers weren't even on speaking terms. No doubt he chuckled to himself when he gave Antonin the order that no matter what, he was to retrieve information from the witch. Perhaps he was hoping the wizard would fail in his quest and he would get to torture him for it. Briefly, she considered allowing that to happen. Antonin had made his decision to follow into the footsteps of Darkness Incarnate. But, the obnoxious reminder in the back of her mind of the young wizard she once loved wouldn't allow her to be cruel. She might not have the same feelings that she once did for her ex, but she also couldn't stand to be the indirect instrument in his pain.

"Benjy Fenwick."

"Who is that? What is the Dark Lord's interest in him?"

"You're too afraid to ask your _master_ his plans but you think I'll tell you instead?"

It wasn't as if she was surprised he would ask. There was a very valid reason why he was placed in Ravenclaw. His insatiable thirst for knowledge was either his greatest asset or his most fatal of flaws. She thought about keeping him in the dark for no other reason than it amused her to make him suffer. There was still a great deal of anger and bad blood between them after all. Echoes of old feelings might still linger in the deepest, darkest parts of the heart, but that didn't mean she could ever approve or ignore what he was willingly spending his life doing. Even if Silas hadn't been cruelly murdered, there would have come a time when she couldn't ignore what he was doing any longer. At the last moment, she decided to take pity on him instead.

"I'm providing names to the Dark Lord of those who are in my Uncle Albus' resistance group in exchange for my protection."

"Your protection from what?"

"Do you really have to ask?"

He furrowed his brow, clearly cataloguing all of the potential dangers she might be in. Sadly, that wasn't the easiest of tasks. Their world had grown quite dangerous since those relatively carefree days they used to spend rambling across the Hogwarts grounds together. Moments after starting, he narrowed his eyes and sighed.

"Greyback?"

"Very clever of you. Yes. Your master has discovered how to bypass the spells Igor placed on my locket to keep anyone from being able to remove it but me. He proved it one very memorable morning when he and the werewolf decided to drop by my home unexpectedly."

The scowl disappeared from his face to be replaced with a familiar expression of concern that tugged at Hermione's heartstrings just a bit. A glimpse of the naive, young wizard he once was peeked out for just a brief few moments.

"Were you hurt, _daragaya_? What happened?"

"Nothing as severe as what you're worried about, thankfully. Just bad enough to keep me from sleeping at night for a little while."

"And the Dark Lord is threatening you with that if you don't continue to give him names?"

"Yes, though as it turns out, Greyback has discovered a very simple method to get what he wants anyway."

She wasn't sure why she said what she did. Antonin would demand to know more without a doubt. Each second that passed changed him back into the hardened criminal he had become. It was almost like meeting his eye across the Department of Mysteries all over again. His service with the Dark Lord coupled with the loss of his mother's moral guiding molded him into a completely different person. Maybe there was a time when he could've made the right decisions and they could have worked their relationship out, but that train had left the station long ago. He was a practical stranger to her now.

" _How_?"

His one-word question was just as chilling if he had chosen to be more eloquent. He was a man of few words, only speaking when it suited his purposes. Broody silence was more the order of his day when they were teenagers. Now, it was more apt to be dangerous silence.

"What do you even care, Antonin? It's not like we are even friends anymore."

"That was entirely your choice, Hermione. I never wanted that at all."

"Maybe you shouldn't have become a Death Eater and this wouldn't have been a problem."

She knew she was petty in her remark. Honestly, she was growing tired of being around all things and all people that reminded her of the war that was raging outside the safe walls of her father's pub. It was exhausting continuing to play the dangerous games that kept her alive for the time being. Especially when she was aware that a time might very well come when nothing she did or said would protect her from her fate.

"Didn't seem to bother you when Karkaroff became one."

Apparently, she wasn't the only one interested in being petty. How many _years_ had passed and he was still clearly jealous of Igor? Hermione didn't understand how one person could hold on to such negativity and anger for so long. Surely it had eaten up his insides by then. That was no way to keep on living.

"Must it _always_ come back to Igor? Have we not moved past that yet?"

"You were with him for _months_ after he took his Mark. Do you know what he does for the Dark Lord?"

"Antonin, stop."

"No! He brews poisons for him. Horrible, disgusting poisons used to _kill_. Still love him?"

It didn't matter how much time passed. Antonin would never get over his inferiority complex when it came to Igor. She couldn't be sure if his hatred for the older wizard began the night that she had grown so exhausted of feeling undesirable and unwanted that she responded to his owls when she knew she shouldn't have or if it began earlier than that when he watched her receive flowers in the Great Hall on the first day of the new term. After all, he had made quite a dramatic exit when he left dinner to go hide in the library. Regardless of when his hatred and insecurities began, it was clear it would never end.

"Last week, the Dark Lord sent us on a mission together. Want to know what we did?"

"Antonin, _stop_."

"The Dark Lord sent the two of us to Kent. You read about the Muggles that were murdered in Kent?"

Hermione's traitorous eyes began to tear up with every frantic word he uttered. Of course she'd read about the Muggle family slaughtered in Kent. It was all over the news, both Muggle and Magical. A couple and their three children were found dead in a blood-filled house of horrors. The worst part of the incident was there seemed to be no _reason_ for the violence. There were no signs of a robbery and from all accounts, they had been a kind and popular family. The small village where the carnage took place had been rattled. No one could understand why something that tragic happened. They had no discernible enemies, except, apparently, for two Death Eaters that she'd once loved.

"The Dark Lord wanted Karkaroff to get his hands dirty. Said he spent too much time hiding over cauldrons instead of out there in the thick of it. There's a feeling running through everyone that your Igor is something of a coward. Doesn't ever want to go with us."

She didn't want to hear anymore. It had been easy to forget how brutal and prone to violence the two men were when she wasn't around. Antonin had a long history of violence. Somehow, maybe because he'd managed to finagle his way out of a life sentence in Azkaban, Hermione was able to convince herself that in the grand scheme of Death Eaters, Igor hadn't been _that_ bad.

"Our orders were simple. Find a Muggle family and eradicate them."

"For what purpose?"

"A soldier doesn't ask."

"You mean a mindless puppet doesn't ask."

Needling the dangerous man wasn't the smartest course of action. She'd learned that lesson the hard way a time or two. Antonin was a prideful man. He didn't appreciate it when he thought someone was making fun of him or questioning his abilities. Teasing him, even maliciously, for his chosen path in life was one of the faster ways to stoke his ire. Not caring that she would never be able to look at him the same way again, he continued his tale.

"The Dark Lord wanted us to kill at least four. We happened to luck out with five. Didn't know the youngest child was hiding under a bed until Karkaroff had the sense of mind to cast _Homenum Revelio_. Oddly, he wasn't completely useless."

"Please stop."

"No. We were allowed to use magic only to restrain and contain them. Everything else had to be done by hand."

He described in great detail how he and Igor targeted a family returning home from an evening out. How they blasted the lock off the front door and trapped the family inside with magic. How they tormented the terrified father with threats of harming his wife in ways no woman would ever want and settled instead for slitting the throat of the oldest son while they screamed and begged for mercy. How Igor had been reluctant to join in the violence at first, but once the first stream of hot, pumping blood struck him in the face, he'd gotten over his shyness. A lust had taken over him. She would never understand how she made it through his sick, macabre story without crying or striking out at him.

"Karkaroff conducted himself admirably. Even the Dark Lord said so. We will probably find an opportunity to repeat our actions later this week."

"If you think any misguided, lingering love on my part will keep me from reporting you both to the Ministry, you're sorely mistaken, Antonin."

"No, I know you better than that, _daragaya_. You won't say a word to anyone."

"And why are you so confident in that fact?"

Antonin dropped an irritated Cyrano to the floor. He leaned over the small table so his face was only inches from hers. The madness she remembered was back in full-force. Or it had arrived finally.

"Because if you do, I will tell the Dark Lord that Caradoc Dearborn has joined your uncle's little group and he will order his execution."

Hermione struck Antonin with a spell under the table that sent him flying backwards into the wall. She kicked the chair out from underneath her feet to stand up strong with her wand pointed at him, keeping him stuck. Instead of being angry or frightened, her ex was merely amused. The smirk that crossed his face at the action was so indicative of how he used to stare at her when they were naked that she felt her stomach twist. Where had the wizard she once loved gone?

"Dearborn needs to be more careful. He wasn't as stealthy on one of their ridiculous missions as he thought he was."

"You were mistaken, Antonin."

"No, I wasn't. I was close enough to see his face. The only reason why I spared him was because of how you feel about him. Otherwise, I would've struck him right in the chest with an Avada."

"You son of a bitch!"

The overwhelming desire to cause him pain took control of Hermione's body. She had a dozen painful, but perfectly legal, curses on her tongue. It had been a long time since she had to duel anyone and her dad's tiny kitchen wasn't the greatest of arenas. In the split second that it took for her to release his confinement spell to cast another, Antonin was able to break free. He pushed the flimsy table out of his way. Two steps were all that were required to get him close enough to grab the wrist of the hand carrying Hermione's wand with one hand and her throat with the other. He pressed his body against hers, forcing her to bend backwards on top of the cooker.

" _Never_ insult my mother again."

Antonin spat his words in her face. He squeezed her throat tighter. A very real fear that he wouldn't release his grip came over Hermione. Breathing was impossible. As she began to feel light-headed, Antonin was forcibly removed from her body. She gasped for air, watching her ninety-four year old father toss the _twenty_ -four year old across the room. Aberforth held him against the wall with his forearm pressed against his throat.

"If you _ever_ even _look_ at my daughter with an unkind expression, I will murder you, boy. I'll make it hurt and make it last for days. Do you understand me?"

When Antonin hesitated in replying, Aberforth pressed his arm firmer against his neck. It was Antonin's turn to struggle for air. He nodded his head when the words would not come. Hermione understood in that moment how dangerous her father actually was. Even the very air around them was crackling with raw magic sparking out of him in his rage. If he ripped Antonin from limb to limb with his bare hands, she wouldn't have been surprised. Neither would her ex if his wide and frightened eyes attested.

Disgusted by the wizard, Aberforth knocked him down to the floor. Antonin scrambled to get up with his own fury and murderous intent on his face. One look from Aberforth and he cowered.

"Get out of my pub. Don't _ever_ come back."

The Death Eater ran out of the room in an instant. He wasn't about to test the mettle of the proprietor's words. When he was gone, Aberforth turned his full attention on his daughter. Hermione was still in complete shock over the whole event. Everything had happened so quickly. There was hardly time to react or to process it when it was over.

"Are you all right, my girl?"

She burst into tears at the affection and concern in his soft tone. Aberforth enveloped her in his arms and held her tight until she couldn't cry anymore. He patted her hair and whispered soothing words of comfort. When she finally stopped, he gently pushed her from his chest to wipe the tears from her face with a handkerchief.

"Now, I'm all for there being honesty in a relationship," he began. "But knowing the history of that arsehole and Kingsley, I imagine the outcome of your wizard knowing what happened here tonight could get rather ugly."

"Kingsley would try to kill him."

"Yes, and either get himself killed in the process or locked away in Azkaban. Neither of those are good options."

Aberforth pointed his wand at Hermione's neck. Immediately, she felt relief. Whatever marks might have been left by the irate man disappeared. He repeated the same spells on her wrist. When those were done, he kissed the unmarred skin and pulled her back against him for another tight embrace.

"I will keep your secret. _This_ time. If there is a next time, Dolohov will be dead by my hand."

She agreed with a nod and he kissed the top of her head.

* * *

December 25, 1978

 **6:55 pm**

The rest of 1978 passed in a blur. It seemed that the closer she got to the time she knew she was going to disappear, the faster time seemed to speed by. There were aspects and moments in her life that she longed to hold on to forever. Others she wanted to forget.

More times than she was comfortable with since the night that Antonin attacked her in her father's kitchen, she had received an owl carrying nothing but a newspaper clipping. She would untie the scrap of parchment from the creatures' legs, feed them treats, and unroll to read. They were always articles about brutal and horrific murders of Muggles. Some of them came from the Daily Prophet, others from entirely Muggle publications. Above each article, written in distinctive handwriting that she knew belonged to her irate and jealous ex, was only one single word: Karkaroff. Antonin wanted her to know every time Igor was involved in some dangerous plot against Muggles. It made her sick to her stomach. Each time, the parchment ended its existence in a burst of flame from the tip of her wand.

They had to keep meeting in secret since that night. Voldemort continued to send Antonin to her to discover if she had any new Order names to provide. Though it made her angry and sad to do so, she had provided more than just Benjy's name. To his credit, Benjy Fenwick had become another ally she could rely on. He would randomly appear in Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade, catch her eye, and motion to a private corner to have a conversation.

Because it would look suspicious if she was constantly visiting her uncle at Hogwarts and then providing him with names, Benjy became the go-between. Once it was clear that Voldemort wasn't aiming for immediate execution of those names that she provided, Hermione felt a tiny lessening of the guilt in her gut. Instead of Benjy being attacked and removed from the equation, he quickly discovered that Voldemort was more interested in _turning_ him over to his side.

A pattern of Antonin reaching out to her became part of her routine. He would find her and advise her that the Dark Lord wanted another name. She would send a coded message to Benjy. Within days, she would get a visit from Benjy where he would give her the next name that had been decided upon. She would then get back in touch with Antonin to pass on the name.

Greyback had been suspiciously absent in the process. Despite the violence that their first visit descended into, Hermione suspected that Antonin had something to do with him no longer popping up at random intervals. She continued to find the purple thistles on the pavement just outside of the boundaries of the Fidelius Charm protecting the home she shared with Kingsley. While walking down the Alley, at random times she would feel the prickle of fear that his presence always brought. She knew that if she turned around, she would see the beast. But, he stopped approaching her.

With Benjy's help and Albus' blessing, she had given up several names. Some of them were completely false names just to buy Hermione more time and to keep it all from seeming a little _too_ easy. But, many of them were real names belonging to real people that she'd met. A few were still alive to fight the second war. Many more perished at some point before the night Voldemort attacked the Potters. Benjy even told her to give the name of his girlfriend, Dorcas Meadowes. He had a dangerously cavalier attitude about the entire experience. There was a significant amount of disregard for his own safety, an arrogance that made him think he was never in any trouble.

Just a few days before Christmas, Hermione with a lump in her throat that made speaking difficult, met Antonin in the darkest corner of The White Wyvern in Knockturn Alley to give up a familiar name: James Potter. She almost wasn't able to utter the name. Even though she knew that Voldemort was more interested in _recruiting_ the Pureblood Gryffindor only recently admitted to the Auror program, she could hardly breathe as she gave up Harry's father's name. It was, she decided the moment James' name fell out of Benjy's mouth, a secret she would never tell _anyone_. Especially not Harry. Even if the secret of her having to denounce Order members became public knowledge, she would _never_ reveal that she denounced Harry's father.  
Living with herself in the days following her unpalatable task hadn't been easy. Kingsley worried about her when she seemed sullen and withdrawn. He hadn't been much better himself. Between stress at work and the realization that the one year anniversary of the morning their entire lives changed, neither of them were looking forward to the holiday season. It hadn't escaped either of their attentions that in a perfect world where pain didn't exist, this would've been the first Christmas they got to share with their child.

"Weird that Dolohov wasn't at brunch this morning," Kingsley declared as they walked through the front gates of the Lestrange Estate. "Not that I'm complaining, but he's _always_ there and Mum can't ever say no to him."

"I don't know. Maybe he has a girlfriend."

Kingsley scoffed in amused derision at the very idea. To be fair, Hermione really didn't know about Antonin's personal life. She didn't _want_ to know. Thomas could potentially answer any questions she might have had, but she didn't care enough to ask. It suited her purposes that Kingsley didn't ask any further questions. Aberforth already admitted that he told Marjorie if Antonin was there, the Dumbledores would not be there. The same applied to her Hogmanay party. Margie cared more about her oldest friend and her just-as-good-as granddaughter-in-law to include the Death Eater stray.

"Is it going to be _everyone_ tonight? Or just us?"

"I'm not sure. Uncle Regnault didn't tell me. Just sent me his customary owl informing me that dinner would be served promptly at seven."

"Your family is odd. You know that, right?"

Hermione shrugged her shoulders. Just because neither the Lestranges nor the Dumbledores discussed every single thought that was in their heads, unlike both the Shafiqs and the Shacklebolts, didn't necessarily make them odd. The families were certainly different than what he was used to, but Hermione loved them all the same. It had taken some time to figure out her place in the family. Now that she had, she adored _almost_ every member.

Rosie greeted Kingsley at the front door with her brightest smile and fussed over him as he entered. For Hermione, she hardly spared a second glance. She carefully removed Kingsley's cloak with a gentle spell and yanked Hermione's off with another. Whatever she had done to offend the overly proud house-elf was clearly not something that would be easily mended.

"Will it just be us this evening, Rosie?"

The house-elf turned her head to narrow her eyes at Hermione before answering.

"No. Master Reggie has invited the Blacks and the Malfoys and the Selwyns."

Hermione bit her tongue to keep from saying something uncharitable about the others guests. It had been such a pleasant change of pace to spend Christmas completely alone with Regnault, Kingsley, and Aberforth the previous year. She should've known that her uncle who loved to entertain would make certain that this year was much more elaborate.

Kingsley slipped his hand into Hermione's as they followed the head house-elf down the corridor. He leaned down without stopping to kiss her on the head. She appreciated the nonverbal assurance that she wouldn't have to spend the evening by herself. They were a team and he wouldn't leave her side.

"Cutting it a little close to the hour, aren't we, Hermione?"

"Happy Christmas to you as well, Uncle."

Regnault kissed her cheek and shook Kingsley's hand in greeting. It had been her fault that they were running _almost_ late. She hadn't wanted to come to dinner. Christmas brunch had been lovely, as always, but even that she didn't want to be a part of. If she could have stayed at home in her pajamas until at least January 3rd, she would have done so without hesitation. The Holiday Season had yet to put her in the mood to celebrate.

Determined to make the best of a poor situation, Hermione did what was polite and expected of her by greeting all of the guests assembled. Most of them were fairly friendly faces. Solveig was resplendent in a beautiful gold dress perfectly complementing her glowing complexion. She was proudly showing off the bulge in her belly. Only a few more months remained. Rabastan had been pleased and relieved when she began to trust that everything was all right with the baby and she could actually leave the safety of their bedroom.

"Oh, Hermione! Have you gotten to hold little Sal yet?"

Without even asking if she _wanted_ to hold her nephew, Sollie laid her older brother's four-month-old son in Hermione's arms. Her first instinct was to hand it back, but good sense prevailed. It wasn't little Salazar Selwyn's fault that he had been born to the father he had. She remembered the shy Slytherin he would one day grow into. Only a year apart, he had never been hateful to her at Hogwarts. Just simply ignored her and much like his aunt, hid himself behind his books.

Annaliese Selwyn had performed her one duty as wife to the Heir of the Selwyn Heir admirably. Unfortunately for her sake, it had taken a little longer than either she or her husband desired to bring forth little Sal. Now that she had, there was a visible relief on her shoulders. She no longer seemed to cower around her husband and his family. Perhaps, Hermione was loathe to admit, there was something to be said about Regnault's remarks at their wedding. At least now she was free to seek out her happiness with someone else.

The not-that-proud new father nodded in her direction with a scowl marring his usually handsome countenance. Only Kingsley's appearance behind her moments later changed his sour expression. An almost obscene smirk on his lips as he shook Kingsley's hand longer than was necessary and wished him a Happy Christmas caused Hermione's wand hand to itch. No doubt her wizard felt violated simply from the other wizard's eyes. Apparently, Salazar's feelings had not diminished in their ardor.

It could have been a much more uncomfortable dinner than it was. Hermione was grateful that conversations, even amongst the members of the Black family that hated her so fiercely, were relatively civil. Ordinarily, she would not be opposed to engaging Cygnus or his eldest daughter in a bit of sarcastic banter. They were eerily similar in many ways and she liked to push their buttons when she could. Instead, she kept her attention on her plate and her mouth shut.

"Is it just me or is Mr. Selwyn just a little _too_ attentive to Annaliese?"

Kingsley leaned over during the seventh course to try to elicit some kind of response from Hermione. He didn't like it when she was quiet. It was unlike her and because this time of year was so fraught with emotional difficulties, he didn't want her to withdraw into herself for a single moment.

"Salazar is her husband, Kingsie. What's wrong with that? Even if it is a bit weird?"

"Yeah, not talking about Salazar. I'm talking about his father."

Surprised by her boyfriend's observation, Hermione looked up from her plate to observe the couple in question. St John Selwyn had his entire body turned in the direction of his daughter-in-law, his back to his wife on his other side. Whatever conversation the two were having was conducted in whispers without regard to anyone else at the table. It _was_ overly familiar. Salazar, on his wife's other side, didn't seem bothered if his smirks in Kingsley's direction were any indication.

"I suppose that answers my question about how it was possible that he was able to father a child. Looks like Big Sal is a new big brother."

Hermione couldn't contain the giggle that erupted out of her. Aware that many sets of eyes were on her, she hid her smile and further silent chuckles behind her napkin. Kingsley winked at her, pleased that he was able to get a laugh. He was happy when she was happy. For the rest of that course and the one following, he kept up a whispered running commentary about all of the other guests at the table.

"It looks like Elizabeth isn't so bothered by her husband ignoring her. She and Abraxas Malfoy have been eye-shagging each other across the table _all_ night."

The common theme across all marriages represented at that table, with one notable exception in Rabastan and Solveig, was misery. _None_ of the married couples outside of their happy, little bubble exhibited any joy in their spouse. If they weren't openly flirting with someone else, they were glaring at their spouses or making rude remarks. Even Narcissa and Lucius were in the midst of a ridiculous argument all evening.

"Pureblood families don't know anything about happy marriages," Kingsley whispered.

"That's not true. Look at your parents. They're almost embarrassing by how much they love each other."

"There are exceptions. My parents and Granny and Granddad. But even Dad's parents hate each other and barely speak."

He wasn't wrong. Dean's parents rarely came to family gatherings together because they were too consumed in their own petty hatreds to make it through a meal without arguing. Mostly, their lives were lived in separate rooms in the same house. They could go weeks without speaking when it suited them. _That_ was no way to live.

"That terrifies me about marriage," she admitted. "What if… what if it starts off happy and then it's not?"

"All relationships have their problems. And it's not exactly like either one of us really fall into the whole Pureblood set anyway. You lived mostly around Muggles growing up and my parents are polite to the other Sacred Twenty-Eight families, but they're not exactly like them."

Hermione understood in that moment that it was important for Kingsley to make it clear that he didn't expect _them_ to be like the others. Was there something more to his statements than that which existed on the surface? Marriage had been a topic that had only been brought a few times. Neither of them believed they were ready for such a permanent step. They had been together for over two and a half years. Most couples would have already either formed an understanding or would have gone their separate ways. He reached under the table to grasp her left hand in his right. His long fingers idly played with her bare fingers.

"I love you, Little Witch. More than anything."

"I love you too, Kingsie. That's why I don't want to change what we have. What we have is wonderful. Do we really need more than that?"

His broad shoulders sagged slightly. He leaned over to kiss her on the cheek.

"No, I don't suppose we do."

The rest of the evening passed in a series of awkward silences and short sentences. Only after she walked out of their bathroom later that night after a long bath to find Kingsley already under the covers with his back to her, did she discover the heartbreaking truth of that moment over dinner. His dress robes slipped off the back of the chair he'd thrown them on when he'd undressed for bed to pool in a heap on the floor. Hermione picked them up and began to fold them.

Hidden in one of his pockets was a small velvet-covered box. She gasped when she opened it to find a beautiful diamond ring. Whatever Kingsley had planned for that night, she'd ruined it.

* * *

December 3, 1998

 **11:58 pm**

He was exhausted and angry. Tiptoeing through a heavily wooded area with his worst enemy and his witch's cousin was wearing his patience thin. The Minister for Magic was supposed to be above such field work. With the exception of the previous month, Kingsley couldn't remember the last time he was called on to hunt werewolves. So far, there had been no success at all to speak of.

Time was closing in on them. If he was correct in his speculations, Hermione would be back right before Christmas. Only three blessed weeks. He refused to give up the optimistic belief that his Little Witch was returning to him. No matter how often the realist's voice in his mind, that sounded suspiciously like Andromeda Tonks, whispered to him that there was always the possibility that she had been killed, he wouldn't listen. Not even when he woke up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat. She _had_ to be coming back. He'd tested that damned Time Turner himself and he had been the one to cast the delayed usage spell on it too.

Sturgis reminded him several times over the course of the previous month since being pulled into his circle of trust that Lord Voldemort had been furious to hear about Hermione's disappearance. He'd actually gone searching for her himself. Dolohov confirmed his story separately later on that there had been lots of Unforgivables cast on the Death Eaters when the Dark Lord discovered what happened. He was reluctant to share any of the details, only admitted that Hermione had been involved in some sort of scheme with his master that he wasn't ready to give up. Those were not the actions of a man involved in the plot to get rid of her.

Greyback, it seemed, could be the key to discovering what happened so many years earlier to the woman he loved. Kingsley hoped that when they finally found him, _if_ they found him, that he would be able to control himself long enough to get some answers before he murdered the animal in cold blood. Once he knew what he had done to his Hermione, he wanted him dead.

"We're just going in circles," declared Dolohov in a frustrated huff. "Clearly, the leads you were given, _Minister_ , weren't any good."

"I never claimed they were, Dolohov. That's why they are called _leads_ and not called _sure things_."

"All right, men. Let's not forget our purpose for being out here tonight."

Both Kingsley and Dolohov could agree on only one thing that night. They were ready to curse Rodolphus' mouth shut. A pardon from a lifetime in Azkaban, a warm witch he loved in his bed each night, and a promise of meeting his son in only a few short days had put him in a mood that could be described as nothing less than unsufferable. _Insufferable_. Damn it! He couldn't even get his mind to use the right words thanks to his desire for food and a hot shower followed by at least twelve hours of uninterrupted sleep.

He hadn't been able to sleep through the night for a very long time. When Rodolphus finally returned to living the manor a few weeks earlier, it had been even more difficult to find rest in his own home. The lonely, empty rooms haunted him. Once upon a time his home had been filled with laughter and joy. He longed for it to be so again. _When_ Hermione was back beneath its roof, it would be. He had to hold on to that hope.

"My old friend Sturgis is in Hogsmeade in case the werewolf comes into the village. Let's go meet up with him at The Hog's Head to see if he's found anything."

When the three men Apparated to the pavement in front of Aberforth's pub, their sudden arrival startled a cloaked figure. Sturgis' eyes grew wide when he discovered that the Minister was consorting with a known fugitive. Kingsley belatedly realized he should have warned him when he volunteered to help search for Greyback the night of the Full Moon. Before he could mutter out an apology and a hasty explanation, Dolohov grabbed Sturgis by the neck and threw him up against the side of the pub. Instead of being frightened, Podmore only grinned.

"Good evening, Antonin. It's been a long time. I think the last time we saw each other you were bashing my face in with your fists."


	80. Chapter 80

**IMPORTANT Author's Note: Yeah, yeah, I know. Many of you just ignore these because you don't think they're important. Well, they are. If you haven't read the Additional Scene that I posted the other day, please read it before you go any further with this chapter. I'm not begging for views and reviews on it. Many of you have asked me questions that have already been answered in that scene. Because that scene is available, I'm not going to answer any questions regarding Sturgis and/or Silas. If you're confused by the story, it's because you haven't read that scene. Please do. Or please stop asking questions that have already been answered. Thank you!**

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Chapter Eighty

February 2, 1979

 **9:35 am**

Friday mornings were always Hermione's favorite time of the week. Every minute she spent in the shop was busy and filled with activity. As waiting for what was going to happen next had become such a large part of her existence, she found the few times when she was too busy to think about the future oddly refreshing. Keeping her mind occupied was how she kept herself from imagining all of the worst-case scenarios, how she kept her guilt at bay.

Seven owls arrived on the first Friday morning in February. A mad scramble to purchase new owls for Christmas and then again in the New Year when the violence around them had reached a frightening intensity meant that the employees of the Magical Menagerie struggled to keep their owl perches full. The owlet nursery had been in constant production. Both the proprietor and the manager were thankful for her insight in setting up the shop years earlier. They likely would've been dealing with a much reduced stock if they had continued to store the owls next to each other in a haphazard fashion with no rhyme or reason to their placement. Neither of the men were even aware that some owls liked to eat the young of other species of owls. Or even of their own. It had been an expensive education.

When the last of the seven new owls was happily secure in its new transitory home, Hermione set about cleaning up the mess the other owls were responsible for. It was a never-ending job. As soon as one mess was scourgified, another would appear in its place. At times, she wondered if the intelligent creatures did that by design. Perhaps it was their own way of rebelling against the wizards and witches that put them into servitude. Regardless of the reason, she didn't mind the cleaning. Whenever she had a lot on her mind or when she was nervous, she looked for opportunities to keep her hands occupied. The home she shared with Kingsley practically shone from the repeated scrubbings, Muggle and Magical, she completed.

She had been nervous for weeks and couldn't explain why. Something was coming. Something _bad_. Afraid to put any value to her fears by uttering them aloud, Hermione said nothing. Only continued to wake up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat. Sleeping through the night was a luxury for those without a guilty conscience and for those who were secure that the sun would rise and set the next day with them still alive to enjoy it. Kingsley was more observant than she liked to give him credit for, but also to his credit, he didn't push her for answers to his questions of concern. There was enough already going on in their world that additional explanation as to why she had nightmares and never walked outside her home without her hand clenched tightly on the end of her wand were unnecessary. Certainly, she wasn't the only one.

The sound of the bell above the door ringing mixed with the cacophonous noises from the myriad of magical animals for sale created a din that was making Hermione's head ache. She was grateful that she was only expected to remain in the shop until the lunch hour. Any longer than that and she was sure she would grow mad. A headache potion and a long nap was just what she required to be of any further use to the world at large that day.

"Is there anything I can help you with, sir?"

Caradoc's inquisitive tone somehow managed to be heard over the squawks of the birds and the mewling of the kneazles. Satisfied that the manager would handle the needs of the customer, Hermione turned her full attention back to the cleaning up of the owl perches. Rodolphus also continued to restock the rat tonics just a few rows down.

"You have a witch that works here that I would very much like to speak to immediately."

Hermione stopped moving to listen to the voice. It was very familiar, but one she never heard at that loud a volume. Usually, they were skulking around dark corners and busy bookstores when they had a meeting. Even if she wasn't the only witch that worked in the shop, she knew that the newest customer was there to see her.

"She is working with our owls right now. Is there something I could help you with?"

"No, absolutely not. She _helped_ me last week with some food for my kneazle. And now, my kneazle is ill. I would like to demand some answers from her."

Benjy was putting on quite the show for his fellow Order member. Hermione had to bite down on her bottom lip to keep from laughing out loud. It would never do to make it obvious she wasn't upset by the irate customer. Caradoc didn't know the mission she'd been given and knowing how large his Hufflepuff heart was, he would never be in support of her giving the names of his comrades to Lord Voldemort. Likewise, Rodolphus didn't need to know either. She had been made aware that he'd taken the Mark over a year earlier without anyone needing to tell her so.

"It's all right, Caradoc. I remember the gentleman."

Hermione calmly approached the men at the front of the shop. Caradoc seemed confused by the exchange and Benjy was continuing to play his part marvelously.

"I was concerned when you told me about your kneazle's symptoms that it wasn't a food sensitivity, but something else entirely. If you will come with me to the back room, I'm certain I can brew you a quick potion to settle her stomach."

She went straight to the door leading to the back. When she held it open for the fuming Benjy, Caradoc lifted his eyebrows in questioning concern. A confident smile and a door shut behind her was his answer.

"Now what was all of that about, Fenwick?"

Neither of them wasted a moment coating the back room with silencing spells. He had never come to her at the shop before. Whatever the issue was, it was serious. She tried to ignore the growing pit in her stomach that no matter what was about to come out of his mouth, she knew it wasn't going to be good.

"I had an argument with your uncle."

"Perfectly understandable. He's set in his ways and believes that he's always right."

Benjy sighed and lowered himself down on a stack of wooden crates. Despite only being a few years older than her, his face was already beginning to be lined with the deep wrinkles of one in a constant state of anxiety. A lot had changed since the day he cornered her in the back of Cobb's and Webb's and saved her from a vicious Greyback attack. Much of the innocent boyish attitude towards the war had hardened into a man's calculating understanding. War was not a game. Sadly, it had taken him losing more than one friend to learn that lesson.

"Professor Dumbledore doesn't want me here. If he knew that I sought you out… well, I'd hate to discover the consequences. He wants you ignorant and I think that's wrong."

"Ignorant? Of what?"

He never struggled meeting her eyes with his. Not even when he was giving his permission to put his loved ones in danger. That morning, however, he found the patterns of the wooden floor much more interesting to stare at than the woman he'd come to visit.

"Kingsley joined the Order."

She exhaled and took a seat next to him. It shouldn't have been a surprise, and it really wasn't, but she simply didn't want to hear the confirmation. Her curse as a Time Traveler meant that she knew it was only a matter of time before it happened. She had naively hoped that he would remain out the war for much longer. There were so many opportunities to get injured badly in the first war.

"Your uncle welcomed him, of course."

"Of course."

"But he didn't want you to know. I'm assuming that he talked with Kingsley and they decided that together."

"I always love when the men in my life make important decisions for me."

There was no small amount of sarcasm in her tone, but that didn't keep Benjy from laughing. He reached across the small space between them to squeeze her hand.

"You sound just like Dorcas. Now _that's_ a woman who isn't afraid to tell you when you need to bugger off."

"I like the sound of her."

"When this is all over and we can be friends openly with each other, you will like her a lot. And, I'm certain she will like you much better than she likes me."

Knowing that the jovial young man seated next to her and the vivacious witch he loved wouldn't even be _alive_ in three years was a curse she wouldn't wish on anyone. Yes, she would've liked Dorcas Meadowes immensely. Any woman that could capture the heart of a wizard like Benjy and make his eyes light up at her name was a witch she would've liked to have known. Hermione swallowed the choking bitterness of the reality that _that_ would never happen.

"I'm not surprised he joined. I just wish he would've waited a bit."

"Waited until when, Hermione? This isn't going to last much longer. We _will_ defeat them."

She wished she could be as optimistic as he was. Even when she was in her own timeline and didn't know what was going to happen next, it was hard to muster up the required fortitude to go into the horcrux hunt with Harry and Ron. Every cell in her body screamed at her to run away to Australia with her parents. But, she hadn't been Sorted into Gryffindor for nothing.

"I promise I'll keep an eye on him, but I wouldn't worry about him. According to Moody, he's one of the best aurors he has."

"Thank you, Benjy… for telling me. At least now I can spend late nights worried that he's getting killed by Death Eaters instead of worrying that he's warming some other witch's bed."

Hermione hopped off of the crate. Needing something to do with her hands, she grabbed an empty glass vial off the shelf. A simple aguamenti spell filled it with water and another simple spell turned it blue. She truly did appreciate Benjy going to such lengths to tell her about Kingsley.

"Come on. My cousin and Caradoc will find an excuse to come barging in here in a second if we don't leave."

Benjy followed her without protest. Once outside in the main part of the shop, she handed him the vial in front of the concerned men who loved her. They both tried to pretend, _terribly_ , that they weren't paying attention.

"Feed her a drop twice a day with her food. She will be better in no time."

"Thank you."

She was still pretending to take knuts from his hand when the bell clanged again. Force of habit had her turn her attention to the door and with the customary greeting on the tip of her tongue, Hermione stopped. Regnault Lestrange entered the shop in the most disheveled state she had ever seen him in. For a man that prided himself on absolute physical perfection and perfectly starched robes, her uncle's face was wet with sweat and his clothes wrinkled.

"Father! I was just here purchasing some owl treats."

"We don't have time to play games and pretend like I don't know you own this shop, son."

His voice was hoarse and without its usual commanding timbre. Hermione understood in that moment that he wasn't sweating at all. There were tears running down his cheeks. She ran out from behind the counter to the man she had never seen so… _human_.

"Uncle, what is it?"

"I need you both to come home. Right _now_."

There was no room for argument, not even if Hermione had misread the entire situation and felt the urge to do so. Something terrible had happened. Her mind rushed through all of the potential crises. What could make her uncle so emotional? Other than anger, she hadn't seen him express any emotion so strongly. Why did he seem so broken?

Caradoc assured them both that he would be fine on his own. His handsome features were molded into immense concern and worry for their family. Hermione desperately hoped that there wasn't reason to fear. But, she wasn't a naive child. Regnault wouldn't have come into the store in a panic if the circumstances weren't grave.

Outside on the pavement, Regnault took Hermione's arm. Despite the closeness with which they had grown over the years, she still refused to allow him to add her to the blood wards of the family estate. He Apparated them both into the main entrance hall of the manor. A loud pop behind her comforted her somewhat. Having Rodolphus near usually helped to calm her nerves.

Friday mornings at the manor were usually sedate affairs. Unless the inhabitants and the house-elves were preparing for a large party, the house was quiet and still. Hermione was startled to see the flurry of activity at the base of the main staircase. Rosie's cadre of house-elves kept to the shadows and corners of the manor whenever possible. It was the mark of a competent house-elf that they were rarely seen. Curious to know why there were several elves huddled at the bottom of the stairs in an agitated state, she released her uncle's arm. She ignored his pleas to stop and took off running until the grisly sight froze her feet to the marble.

 _Blood_. Copious amounts of the substance coated the slick floor. With tears in their large, round eyes, the house-elves scrubbed at it. Some messes even magic couldn't clean up. Whomever was missing that amount of blood couldn't possibly be all right.

"Uncle?"

Her voice was a terrified whisper. Both Regnault and Rodolphus had taken off running after her and were standing only inches away. Rodolphus looked as if he might cry. Hot, heavy tears rolled out of Regnault's eyes at a furious pace. Before he could even give her an answer as to what she was seeing, Hermione wrapped her arms around his middle. They both needed the comfort of human touch. A shuddering sob came out of her uncle's throat at the gesture. He returned the affection with a tight, unrelenting squeeze.

"Father, what happened?"

Rodolphus had tears in his eyes and looked as if he was going to be sick. How he managed to be a Death Eater was beyond Hermione. He lacked the stomach for blood and pain. Whenever an animal was injured in the shop, he had to leave the room while Caradoc or his cousin helped them. His heart was too full of compassion to see a creature in pain. Hermione was prepared to blame Bellatrix again for her influence, until she realized that Rodolphus was perfectly capable of making his own decisions. He _allowed_ himself to be dragged into Voldemort's army.

"Sollie… Sollie fell down the stairs."

Hermione gasped and pushed herself away from the safety of her uncle's embrace. Her own cheeks were soon wet with tears as she stared in the man's face, hoping that he wasn't serious. Solveig was only weeks from delivery. The entire family had been excited for their newest addition. Hermione had lost count the number of times she had gone shopping with the mother-to-be for clothes and other items for the baby. Once she had gotten past the four month mark in her pregnancy and felt confident that she wasn't going to lose _this_ baby, Solveig had been energetic and freely moved around their home and the wizarding society at large.

"It was those damned robes of hers!" More of the angry, bitter wizard she'd known for years began to show. "I told her they were too long, but she insisted that they were 'the fashion' and 'wizards didn't know anything about witches' clothing'. They were ripped at the bottom. She must have stepped on them as she walked down the stairs and lost her balance. One of the house-elves saw her land at the bottom of the stairs, but it was too late to cushion the fall."

"Uncle, is she…?"

Hermione couldn't bear to utter the words. Sollie was the fresh breath of life that had blown into the manor. Her arrival to their family changed everyone, even those that didn't want to be changed. Bellatrix was known to take her arm as she walked around the manor and several times, Hermione had walked into a room to find the two women giggling. Of course, Bellatrix immediately stopped to glare and hurl nasty insults at the witch she hated above all others.

"There's blood on the stairs. The Healer thinks she must have hit her head as soon as she fell and then rolled the rest of the way down."

It was easy to tell, even as the elves furiously scrubbed, that there were two pools of blood. One small one and a much larger one a few feet down. Hermione was terrified she already knew the answer. The smaller puddle must have been from her bleeding head and the larger one…

"Rabby found her shortly after when the house-elf began to scream. He's…"

"Uncle, _where_ is Rabby?"

Regnault clasped her hand in his. He tugged her away from the bloody scene and towards a nearby corridor that led to the most formal guest rooms. The first door on the right was opened. It was a room that Hermione had been in just one time before. Reserved for the most important of guests to the manor, it was rarely needed. She'd only seen it because she got lost on one of her first visits to the manor years earlier.

Hermione tried to keep her eyes focused entirely on Rabastan seated in a chair next to the ornate bed. She couldn't bear to see the lifeless body of a young woman who was always so full of life and energy. Elizabeth Selwyn sat on the edge of the bed sobbing and blocking most of the view. St John stood next to his wife, stoically keeping up a front of unwavering strength, though his eyes were every bit as watery as his wife's.

Her cousin didn't even look up when they entered. Carefully and calmly, Hermione made her way to where he was seated. It was only when she was a few feet from Rabastan that she realized what he was holding in his arms. She bit back another sob. It wouldn't do to lose control in front of him. He needed her to be strong.

Wrapped in one of the lacy blankets she remembered buying with Sollie was a tiny baby. Small because she wasn't ready to be born yet, Rabastan's daughter hardly moved. She feared the worst. Feared that he was holding on to the death of all of his hopes and dreams. Only when the tiny girl's chest rose with a breath did Hermione exhale. At least he still had his daughter. No matter what else happened, he wouldn't be entirely alone.

His full attention was focused on the bundle in his arms. He stared at her like she would disappear if he looked away. There was such love on his face mixed with profound sadness. It tore at Hermione's heart. She called up all the reserves of her strength to pause her own grieving. There would be time enough for her to cry and scream later. Instead, she carefully brushed some of Rabastan's hair out of his eyes and dropped a gentle kiss on his forehead.

"She is beautiful, Rabby. What is her name?"

"Elanor, after Mother."

"How lovely. I think I can see a bit of your mother in her too. She looks a lot like you."

A soft, amused snort was his immediate response.

"Poor child. I wanted her to look like _her_ mother, not mine."

"Because her father is such an unattractive man, right?"

Rabastan finally looked up to meet her eyes when she teased him. If it were possible, Hermione's heart broke even further looking into them. She wasn't sure she had ever seen a single person in so much pain at once. At least not one that she loved so fiercely. It was strange to think how much she had come to care for the Lestrange family over the previous almost ten years. She never would have expected to do so when she first arrived. They had truly and completely accepted her as one of their own. His small smile threatened to be her undoing.

"If you need anything, Rabby, you are not alone. We can hold her if you need a break."

"Thank you, Cousin, but no. I was the first person to hold her when she was brought into the world and I'm going to be the last person to hold her when she leaves it."

Horrified by his words, Hermione spun around to meet her uncle's gaze. With more tears rolling out of his light green eyes, Regnault closed them and nodded. Fearing she wouldn't be able to remain calm much longer, she kissed Rabastan's forehead a second time and rushed out of the room.

The sound of the door clicking shut behind her gave her the permission she needed to let out her sobs. Hermione cried like she hadn't cried since she lost her own hopes for a future filled with children. Cried like she hadn't cried in years when she was finally no longer numb after Greyback's attack. She covered her face with her hands to try to muffle the sounds of her own grief.

A pair of strong hands pushed her off of her feet. She wasn't even aware she was no longer alone until her body went crashing to the marble. A jarring pain in her elbow made her cry out. She looked up, angry and curious to know who would deliberately knock her down. This hadn't been an accident. Salazar glared down at her as his younger sister Sybille watched with an expressionless mask on her face.

"Why is it you are always around when tragedy strikes my family?"

Of course physical violence against her person was how the horrid man showed grief. He'd done the same the day that Silas died. Hermione scrambled to her feet as quickly as she could. The last thing that they needed was for one of her relatives to see him assault her again. With the heightened emotions affecting everyone, there was simply no way to tell how far it would all escalate if they did. Besides, she didn't have the energy to fight with the man. Though she certainly wasn't about to excuse him for his actions, this wasn't the time to lash out at the grieving man.

"I'm very sorry for your loss, Salazar. And you as well, Sybille. We all loved Sollie."

The fact that she didn't fight him back seemed to only infuriate the man further. Salazar stalked closer until he was looming over her. Hermione had plenty of experience on how to deal with those that were stronger and more dangerous than her trying to intimidate her into a reaction. Greyback had been trying for years. More often than not, after she got her locket, she was able to hold her ground. She would not give Salazar the benefit of seeing that she was afraid of him. And even though she was sorely tempted to, she didn't even reach into her pocket to pull out her wand.

"You always said you cared about Silas and he ended up dead too. Maybe what happened to Sollie wasn't an accident either."

"Because you are grieving, I will excuse your baseless accusations."

"What's next? Should I keep Sybbie in my sights at all times? Lock her up in my family's home so another tragedy doesn't befall her too?"

"Despite what you might think of me, Salazar, I truly do not wish your family ill."

She should've expected his hand around her throat. Should have expected him slamming her head against the wall. The man truly needed to learn how to deal with his rage in a less violent manner. Hermione was thankful that they weren't alone in his bedroom this time. Even if her opinion about Hermione wasn't a positive one, which she rather suspected it wasn't, Sybille wouldn't stand for her brother's behavior. She pulled at his arms, pleading with him to stop.

"Let her go, Sal. This isn't helping anyone."

It was obvious that he was reluctant to loosen his grip on her neck, but after a few repeated cries from his sister, Salazar let her go. Hermione rubbed at her neck, certain that just like last time, there would be marks proving his actions. She adjusted her collar to keep prying eyes from seeing the evidence. Salazar glared at her a final time before entering the room where his sister's body lay.

Little Elanor Solveig Elizabeth Lestrange only lived for two hours. Every single moment of her all-too-brief life was spent nestled in her heartbroken father's arms. When she took her last breath and it was clear there would not be another, Rabastan kissed the baby's head. He rose from his chair, nestled her tiny body in the crook of his poor wife's motionless arm, and kissed his wife for a final time. No one spoke as he exited the room.

Where he went was anybody's guess. Hermione had been in favor of rushing after him to make certain that he wasn't harmed. She feared that he would do something rash and they would be left with even more crushing heartache. Both Regnault and Rodolphus disagreed. He needed to be alone to deal with his grief. If he didn't return before night fell, they would rethink their decision.

It had to be one of the longest days of her entire existence. She penned an owl to Kingsley telling him only the barest details of what happened with a promise that she would see him at home later. As much as she dearly loved the wizard, he wasn't needed there. He understood and assured her that he would be at home waiting for her when she was ready to come home.

A lot went into the preparation for a funeral. She had had no idea. Both sets of parents wanted to get the horrible event over and done with as soon as possible. Elizabeth made the depressing comment that waiting almost a week from Silas' death to his funeral had been difficult to bear. She didn't want to draw it out even further.

Hermione stayed in the manor until long after dinner was served and consumed. No one had much of an appetite. They were all too numb and shocked. Only the Lestranges were at the manor when a heavily intoxicated Rabastan entered the front door. Barely able to stand on his own two feet, he ignored his concerned relatives to head straight for the bedroom still housing the bodies of the witches he loved. Regnault insisted she go on home. Rodolphus promised that they would make certain Rabastan was all right.

Even though she knew Kingsley was waiting for her, Hermione wasn't ready to go home. She needed some time to herself first. Just outside the gates of the estate, she thought about a place that had always brought her comfort when her mind was troubled. Moments later, her feet touched down in front of the Shrieking Shack.

It was foolish to be alone in the dark in the middle of the woods. She knew that, but didn't care. Too much of her life had been spent worried that someone, or something, might do to harm her if she didn't change _her_ actions. She was tired of not being free to go where she wanted. Besides, it wasn't as if she even planned on staying long. It was February and Scottish weather wasn't usually very kind that time of year. Some fresh air was all she needed.

One deep breath of the icy air and the cries that she had been holding in all day since Salazar pushed her to the floor came bursting out again. Crying wasn't a sign of weakness or mental instability. It was cathartic and just about the only thing she could think of in that moment to keep her from losing her mind. She couldn't hold on to the pain inside of her if she wanted to keep going. It was too hard.

She grasped the top rail of the fence with both hands and laid her forehead against the cold wood. Not only had the day been long, but it had also been one of the most difficult. All day she stood around the manor wishing she could help. She didn't know what to do. Feeling helpless wasn't an experience she was comfortable with. As the deep sobs left her chest and she began to calm, she felt marginally better. Maybe all she needed was a hot bath and Kingsley to hold her tight to him all night long.

"Alone in the woods, little girl? Tsk tsk tsk. That's not like you anymore."

Hermione's dramatic groan was loud enough to disturb the few birds brave enough to stay the winter in the trees. Ten minutes alone to catch her breath and grieve was all she wanted. It was all she _needed_ to keep going. Why couldn't the Universe grant her even that small request?

"Go away, Greyback. I am not in the mood."

She felt magic wash over her hands. It was unlike the werewolf to use magic on her. When she tried to move her hands and found them frozen to the fence, she turned to glare at him over her shoulder. They hadn't been alone since the day he forced her to remove her locket by threatening Benjy.

"Let me go."

"You're never in the mood."

The werewolf actually had the nerve to pout! Hermione rolled her eyes and tried every nonverbal, wandless spell she could think of to try to get her hands unfrozen. Unfortunately, there weren't many. Wandless magic was a difficult branch of magic that very few were ever capable of. She'd dabbled in it like most, but hadn't been able to find the natural knack that the best practitioners seemed to inherently possess. Just one more subject she was frustrated to find couldn't be learned simply by reading a book.

"Greyback, I've had a really horrible day. Can you please just let me go and we can schedule a time for you to annoy me next week? I have Thursdays free."

"Such cheek tonight. What's wrong?"

He leaned his back against the fence only inches from her. His reasoning for freezing her hands was solid. If he hadn't, she would've already left. She meant it when she said she wasn't in the mood to deal with his games.

"Absolutely none of your concern. Remove the spell."

She stared at him with the same expression that usually got results from the men in her life. Several of them had even been quite frightened of it in the past. Maybe the monster would think twice about bothering her. Instead of complying with her wishes, she felt the back of his index finger brush against her cheek just under her eye. The scratch of the dragonhide against her sensitive flesh was unpleasant and a bit jarring. So, for that matter, was the uncharacteristically _tender_ touch from the werewolf.

"Why are you crying, little girl?"

"Again, what happens to me is none of your concern, Greyback."

"How many times must I tell you that _everything_ about you is my concern?"

He wasn't going to do as she wished until she gave him an answer. What he was playing at was beyond her. Was he trying to seem human? Like he actually cared? It was more disturbing to her than all of the other random attacks on her person that she'd endured from him. Knowing that he wouldn't budge until she answered his question, Hermione sighed.

"It will be all over the papers in the morning, but my cousin's wife and baby died today in a terrible accident."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

She couldn't help it. The thought of Fenrir _fucking_ Greyback actually being able to feel any amount of compassion after all of the horrible events he was responsible for made Hermione laugh. Forgotten, at least temporarily, were the tears of grief and sadness. How messed up had the world actually gotten that the monster who haunted her nightmares and stalked her days was actually _sorry_ for her loss? She laughed at the absurdity of the situation until she couldn't breathe and tears of mirth replaced the sadness. Greyback, however, didn't find her laughter amusing. Each second that passed saw him growing redder in the face.

"What a low place I've fallen to if even _you_ pity me, Greyback."

Frustrated and angry at her continued laughter, the creature grabbed the heavy scarf she had wrapped around her neck. He tugged on it hard, bringing her body up against his. Somehow with his hot breath on her face, she struggled to remember what she had been laughing about. Satisfied that he'd made his point, he released her scarf. It fell off, exposing the flesh of her throat to the chilly night air. Immediately, he grabbed her arm and peered at her throat.

"What are these marks?"

In all of the sorrow and grief of the day, she'd forgotten about Salazar's rough handling of her that morning. None of his anger from earlier had dissipated, but now, it no longer felt directed at her. Did it really matter to him that another wizard had caused her bodily harm? Deciding that it did after watching him fume, Hermione decided that she had had enough secrets in her life.

"Salazar Selwyn pushed me this morning. I hurt my elbow and when I got up, he grabbed my throat and threw me up against a wall."

" _Why_?"

"I suppose it's because he hates me. He's threatened to kill me numerous times."

Greyback released his hold. Moments later, with his spell removed from her hands, he spun in place to Disapparate to places unknown. She hadn't missed the rage present in his eyes. A small smile quirked at the corners of her mouth. She had a very good idea just who he was off to find.

* * *

February 5, 1979

 **10:00 am**

The similarities between Solveig's funeral and her brother Silas' funeral were startling. Even though almost three years had passed since that horrible event marred what had been such a happy day, Hermione felt as if she had just stepped back in time… _again_. She hated every moment of it. What made it even worse was that Sollie wasn't being buried alone.

She couldn't imagine what Rabastan was going through. To lose so much in such a short time had to have been utterly devastating. When he returned home to the manor following an entire day of drinking and cursing the world, he'd locked himself in the room with Sollie and Elanor for an entire day. Nothing could be done to encourage him to leave. Just before midnight on Sunday, he left the manor again. Regnault felt the ping of the wards at the family's hunting lodge letting him know his son's destination. It seemed that hiding in the lodge with a bottle of fire whiskey was how all of the Lestranges dealt with their problems.

It was such a powerless feeling being unsure what to do next. Hermione would've done anything, including commit murder, just to ease her cousin's pain in any way. Nothing helped. She appreciated Kingsley's unwavering support. Without him, she wasn't sure what would've happened to her.

They stood together near the rest of her family. Kingsley kept a firm grip on her hand for the entire service. On her other side, Thomas stood close enough that their arms touched at all times, his silent reminder that he was by her side. She wasn't sure that she deserved the love of the two amazing Shacklebolt brothers, but she wasn't about to take it for granted.

Salazar didn't risk being openly hostile to her as she offered her condolences to the entire family again. He tried to ignore her very existence and only shook the hands of the wizards that accompanied her to the funeral. She didn't mind, of course. Any reason to put distance between them was good enough for her. A deep scratch under his right eye caught her attention. It looked fresh and very, very painful. When he caught her staring at his fresh wound, Salazar narrowed his eyes and glared. She led the brothers away from him for everyone's safety.

"I think I see my friend Sturgis over by those trees in the back," Kingsley declared right as they made the decision to leave the cemetery. "Let me just go speak to him for a minute and we can leave."

Hermione linked her arm in Thomas' and laid her head on his shoulder. He was a constant comfort and she was grateful that he'd made it a point to be there to support her. Their lives seemed to be continually moving in different directions. She worried that they were quickly coming to a place when they wouldn't be able to be as close.

"You've been sneaking off a lot lately," she gently accused. "Please tell me that you and Grace have finally worked things out."

Thomas' broad smile was her answer. She was glad. Even though she had never met his mystery Muggle, Hermione knew she made him happy. They all deserved happiness. It wasn't readily available. If they had an opportunity, they needed to seize it.

"We have."

"Are you going to make certain that you don't do anything to ruin it again?"

Instead of being offended, he smiled again and chuckled.

"Yes, I am."

"Good. There's more to this though, isn't there? Why do I get the feeling you're not sharing everything?"

"This is hardly the time or the place, Hermione."

"Nonsense. This is _exactly_ the time and place for happy news."

Understanding that she would not be deterred in her continued line of questioning, Thomas led her over to a quiet corner of the cemetery away from the other mourners. Before he would tell her the particulars, he made her promise that she would keep his secret. She didn't hesitate to agree. If he could keep hers, she could keep his.

"Gracie and I are getting married."

"What? That's wonderful!"

"We are keeping it quiet for now. Just until everything calms down."

Hermione sighed. There were _years_ left before Voldemort would be defeated. If they were going to wait for the war to end, they would be waiting for a long time. She hated it. Once more, she felt like there was something he wasn't telling her and she pressed him to tell her everything.

" _He's_ been trying to recruit me, Hermione. He's actually been very persistent. I don't know if I can keep him at bay for much longer."

"Oh, no, Thomas. You can't join him."

"I know. That's why Gracie and I aren't telling anyone yet. If he knew that I have a Muggle wife, he might use it against me. Might hurt her to get to me. I couldn't bear it if he did."

"Well, then just wait to get married. You two love each other. Nothing says you have to get married to prove it. Look at your brother and me."

Thomas cleared his throat and dropped his eyes from hers. He had always been a terrible liar when it came to her. Perhaps it was because of their weekly Occlumency practice sessions and because he knew her secrets. They were closer than most friends ever had the chance to be. Even if he could fool the world, he couldn't fool her.

"I didn't want to say anything because of Sollie. It seemed wrong."

"What is it, Thomas?"

"Gracie and I have to get married soon because she's pregnant."

* * *

December 4, 1998

 **12:10 am**

Kingsley stared at Sturgis in complete shock even as Rodolphus tried to do what he could to get Antonin to release his grip on the man's throat. Everything had happened so quickly. He hadn't had time to react. The hood on his cloak slipped off his head in all of the excitement. Where only days before he'd had straw-colored hair, Sturgis had almost black hair. Even his complexion seemed darker and winter was a terrible time to get a tan. If it hadn't been for his voice and the familiar smirk on his face, he might not have recognized the man he had been friends with for many years.

"You _knew_ he was alive, Shacklebolt and you didn't say anything?"

Dolohov's accusations were surprising. Yes, Sturgis' appearance had been altered, but he didn't understand what that had to do with his enemy's anger. Rodolphus managed to get Dolohov to release his grip, but prepared himself for an attack on the Minister.

"What are you talking about, Dolohov? Who do you think he is?"

"Silas Selwyn! The wizard I thought I killed _years_ ago."

"Yeah, about that, Antonin. Maybe we should talk."

It had taken a great deal of persuasion on Kingsley's part to get Aberforth to allow Antonin in the pub. For reasons he wasn't entirely certain about, his witch's father didn't want the Death Eater anywhere near. There seemed to be underlying reasons for his hatred other than just the usual contempt for one of the Dark Lord's minions. Several minutes passed before Aberforth agreed. Even then, he refused to serve Dolohov anything.

A tale that turned Kingsley's stomach and actually did the unthinkable to make him feel sorry for Dolohov came tumbling out of Sturgis' mouth. Or Silas'. Bugger, even after repeated questions he was still confused. He knew that Silas had been in danger, but wasn't what happened a little _extreme_?

"So this was all Albus Dumbledore's plan?" Dolohov demanded, still unsatisfied with the explanations.

"Yes. All his idea," replied Sturgis, err, _Silas_.

"And why would he want to convince me that I was the one who killed you?"

"I'm guessing he wanted you to stay away from his niece. He must've figured out that she would learn it was you and then not want anything to do with you."

The Death Eater stood up so quickly from the table that his chair crashed to the ground. He didn't say a word as he stormed out of the pub. Kingsley wasn't bothered by his dramatic exit. All of his attention was focused on the man who had been a friend to him for many years, but had clearly been keeping a rather large secret. How that was possible might have been difficult to understand if he hadn't known Hermione. She lived and breathed secrets for nine and a half years.

"You're lying."

"No, Kingsley, I was telling the truth."

"About Dumbledore's plan. There's more to that story than you told him."

He hadn't been a respected auror for as long as he had been without learning to detect when a person wasn't telling the truth. Silas was holding something back.

"All right. Out of respect for your brother, I didn't tell Antonin the _whole_ truth."

"My brother?"

Silas explained how faking his death had been all Tommy's idea and how he'd all but bullied Albus into agreeing to help. He listened patiently as he filled in the missing details. When he was finished, Kingsley rose to his feet in an accurate reenactment of Dolohov's own dramatic exit. Except, he headed to Hermione's bedroom instead of leaving the pub.

There was something in the atmosphere of the room that calmed him. Even though it had missed Hermione's presence for many years, he could almost feel her still there. He sat on the edge of the bed mulling Silas' words over in his head. Why didn't his brother have enough faith in Hermione to trust that she wouldn't go running off to Dolohov at the first chance she got? To make his best friend since childhood believe that he'd actually murdered someone just so his ex-girlfriend would stay away from him was not a small thing. It was a cold, calculating plan. Did Tommy really think so little of them?

The air in the room felt stifling. Kingsley rose to his feet to cross the floor to the window. It hadn't been opened in years and the latch jammed. Several tugs and a couple of spells were necessary to get it raised. His large hands grasped the windowsill, knocking over a fresh purple thistle that had fallen on the ledge, and he inhaled the crisp winter air into his tired lungs. There were so many questions he wanted to ask his older brother. Fate was cruel to take him so young.


	81. Chapter 81

Chapter Eighty-One

February 8, 1979

 **9:55 pm**

Three days after Sollie's funeral, Hermione sat with Kingsley on their sofa in front of the fireplace debating whether or not she should go to bed. It had been a trying, exhausting week already and she had to be at the shop early the next morning to help with the shipment of owls. Business didn't always stop just because of a tragedy. Caradoc had been graciously doing the work for everyone as the family tried to figure out how they were going to move on. Even if Rodolphus wasn't planning on being in the store, Hermione was ready to try to rediscover some small sense of normalcy.

"I think you'll feel better if you got to bed a little earlier tonight, love. I know you haven't been sleeping well."

Kingsley pulled his witch closer to his chest and kissed the top of her head. He had been her constant support and Hermione was thankful for his presence. When she was alone in their home with him, she felt secure, like nothing that happened out there in the terrifying world at-large could reach them. It might have been a naive way to look at life, but she did not care.

Just as she finally agreed with Kingsley's suggestion and began to stand up to her feet, a loud knock at the front door startled them both. They stared at each other with wide eyes, hoping that the other knew what was happening. Though their house was Secret-Kept, it was foolish and dangerous to assume that their visitors didn't mean them any harm. Even their own family members generally owled before coming over.

With his wand clenched tightly in his hand and his auror instincts on full alert, Kingsley opened the front door a small crack. Immediately, the tension left his shoulders. He pulled the door open completely, revealing a distraught and nervous Rodolphus. Hermione feared the worst. She ran to her cousin, pulled him inside the warmth of their small home, and searched his features for any immediate clue of what was so serious that he would come by so late and without warning. Could their family take any more heartbreak in such a short time?

"Roddy, what's happening?"

"It's Rabby. Father and I don't know what else to do. We think he might have finally… we think that he's…"

Rodolphus couldn't bear to utter the words that were so clearly etched across his face. They were afraid that the loss of his wife and daughter had broken Rabastan entirely. She worried about him for the same reasons. One could only take so much.

She didn't even give her exhaustion a second thought. There would be time enough later to sleep when there wasn't a family crisis. Taking her cloak off of the hook on the wall next to the door, Hermione stepped into the nearest pair of shoes that would fit her feet. Kingsley offered to come, but with a firm kiss to his mouth, she promised that she would owl him if he was needed. She could tell that he was reluctant to let her leave without him. Though she held him to the promise to come home earlier he made the night they learned she was pregnant, the war still meant long hours. He needed his sleep.

"Roddy, what's happening exactly?"

"Rabby is just… he's… we don't know what to do."

With absolutely no additional information available to prepare herself for whatever she was being Apparated into, Hermione grabbed Rodolphus' arm. When they popped back into existence in Norfolk, she was surprised to find herself once again in front of the manor. Somehow she had expected something different. Before she could take more than a few steps in the direction of the front door, Rodolphus led her into the back formal gardens. She could see from quite a distance what the major concern was.

A massive conflagration at the entrance to the topiary garden could be seen from over a hundred meters away. Dropping her cousin's arm, Hermione took off running towards the flames. She could see the outline of her other cousin silhouetted in the shadows. Every few moments, Rabastan threw more items onto the raging fire. As she drew nearer, she could see Rosie trying to pull some of what he was grabbing away from him with great tears running down her wrinkled face. Her youngest master's response was only to tug harder.

Chopped wood was not the base of the inferno, to Hermione's surprise. An intricately carved cot that Solveig ordered from her maternal grandmother's native Sweden was almost completely engulfed. The rocking chair that matched was nothing but a charred ruin. Books filled with faerie stories and nursery rhymes were the kindling, baby clothes in every shade of pink imaginable the fuel. A quick glance at the pile of items yet to be burnt proved that Rabastan was burning everything that had been purchased in recent months for the daughter that he lost.

Only a few seconds of observation made it clear why Rodolphus and Regnault were concerned enough to bring in help. Rabastan looked like a madman tossing his daugher's possessions into the flames. Furious tears of hatred and bitter anger rolled down his flushed cheeks as he hurled piece after piece into the fire. Despite Rosie's cries behind him to stop, the wizard continued. Nothing, it seemed, would deter him from the task at hand.

Hermione worried that he would come to regret his actions later when he'd had a chance to cool his head, a chance to sober up. Maybe he would miss the silks and laces and soft toys that Solveig was so proud to purchase and bring home to their nursery. A moment of rash thoughtlessness could carry a lifetime of regret. Careful not to let Rabastan see her in the darkness, she moved closer to the pile waiting to be burned.

Her gaze fell on her uncle's worried face. Much like his older son, it was evident Regnault didn't know what to do next. She motioned silently to the remaining possessions and tilted her head in Rabastan's direction. Understanding without needing the words to be said, Regnault stood up taller and marched straight to the fire. He would give Hermione the opportunity to salvage at least a few of the items Rabastan was so intent on destroying.

"Son, this has gone on long enough. You need to calm yourself."

Rabastan ignored his father's admonishment. Clearly, the man's words had no effect on the distraught son. Too much had happened in the short time since his world began to crumble. A father's harsh tone was no longer something he feared.

"I understand what you are going through, Rabastan. I lost a wife and a baby daughter too."

Perhaps he didn't realize the impact those two sentences would have. Or, more likely, Regnault had been saving them for a moment of desperation. Rabastan stopped mid-stride to the raging bonfire. With a lavender stuffed bunny in one hand and a yellow blanket in the other, he narrowed his eyes to glare at his father.

"With respect, Father, you don't have the first clue what I'm going through. Unlike you, I _loved_ my wife."

"Now, Rabastan…"

"Was Mother's body even cold in the ground before Mrs. Malfoy was warming up your empty bed again?"

Rabastan could have punched his father in the face and not caused near the amount of painful damage. In the corner of her eye as she was gathering up items to shrink and shove in her pockets, Hermione witnessed Regnault open his mouth to respond and then shut it again when no words came forth. She still had a lacy dress in her hand when Rabastan made his way back over to the pile. Without so much as saying a word to his cousin, he ripped the garment out of her hand so quickly that it tore down the middle.

"Aren't you worried that you will regret this later?"

"Regret it, Cousin? No, I don't think so. The only thing I regret was that I actually _encouraged_ Sollie to leave our bedroom."

He turned his back to her to return to the fire.

"You can't actually mean that, Rabby."

"Can't I?"

The fury in his eyes when he spun around on his heel to glare was unlike anything Hermione had ever seen on _his_ face before. Years had passed in constant worry and wondering about what would cause her cousin to finally become the monster she met years ago in the Department of Mysteries. Nothing ever made any sense to her. He was such a happy man. Though he had the same antiquated ideas about blood purity that others in the highest levels of their society all seemed to possess, she could never reconcile the awkward boy leaning across the bar in her father's pub with the Death Eater responsible for torturing Neville's parents into insanity. Sadly, she no longer had to speculate what turned him into the monster she worried he would become.

"Six weeks, Hermione! Six bloody weeks and our baby girl would have been born perfectly healthy. The Healer told me that Ela… that _she_ could've survived being born that early if she hadn't also been injured in Sollie's fall."

"Are you _blaming_ Sollie?"

There was a war being fought inside Rabastan's mind that was written clearly all over his face. His jaw clenched. His nostrils flared. A vein popped out into prominence on his forehead. His fists tightened on the items he was holding. After several tense moments, he spat out the words that Hermione _knew_ he would come to regret.

"Yes, I suppose I am. After all, if it hadn't been for her mistake, she and Elanor would both still be alive today."

He wadded the ripped, lacy dress into a ball and threw it on top of the flames. It was nothing but a memory in seconds. When he returned to the pile to grab more fuel, he threw the blankets and toys down. Rosie visibly and audibly gulped when his full attention focused on her.

"Rosie, I order you to bring every single possession of Miss Sollie's down to me right now."

"Rabastan, no!"

"You stay out of this."

His wand was pointed in her direction. Standing at the end of his wand with the fire behind him and his eyes lit up with rage brought back the memories of the Department of Mysteries all over again. Why did she keep thinking of that night? This was her Rabby, _not_ the crazed Death Eater who somehow managed to get his head stuck as a squalling baby's head. Before he had a chance to use it on her like he tried many times that night, his wand went flying through the air to land in Bellatrix's open hand. To her credit, she didn't fear the man's reaction to being disarmed. Hermione was also under no delusions that Bellatrix did that to keep Rabastan from hurting her because of her changed feelings towards her. No, she was well aware that Rabastan would never forgive himself if he hurt her in a moment of anger. She likely would've done the same no matter who the intended target was.

"What are you waiting for, Rosie? Go!"

"Rosie, I order you to stop right now."

Hermione wasn't sure why the words fell out of her mouth. Because it was clear that the head of the house-elves did not care for her much and because she still hadn't forgotten all of the time she spent fighting for house-elf rights, she usually did not order Rosie or even of the other Lestrange house-elves around. If she required something, she would politely ask. To some of the tiny creatures, it endeared her to them. For most of the others, Rosie especially, it had the opposite effect.

"You don't have the right to order her about, Cousin."

"I'm a member of this family too, Rabastan. And I order Rosie not to follow _your_ order."

Rabastan stood over Hermione, using the height difference between them to his advantage to intimidate her. It worked. She had never been so uncomfortable or unnerved by her younger cousin.

"You forget yourself. A bastard witch born to the younger sister of the Head of the family does _not_ outrank his legitimate son. My orders will _always_ supersede yours."

It had been many years since Hermione hadn't felt like a true member of the Lestrange family. Her status as an illegitimate daughter was something of a deterrence in receiving all of the respect she felt she was deserved simply for being a human being. There were many of the oldest and staunchest Purebloods that looked down on her as something less than ideal. She had never, however, been made to feel like she wasn't worthy to be in their family by Rabastan.

The palm of her hand slapped across his cheek with a deafening smack that rang in her ears long after she pulled it back. Stunned that she would have the nerve to strike him, Rabastan needed a few moments to process what happened before he stepped forward, prepared to inflict some measure of pain on his attacker. Hermione prepared to stun him away. At the last moment before he could touch her, Rabastan flew backwards to land on his arse in the grass.

"No, Son, _you_ forget yourself. Rosie, I order you not to follow _any_ of Rabastan's orders until I give you permission to do so. The same goes for the rest of the elves."

Few times in the past had Hermione ever seen Regnault truly angry. As he stood over his son with his wand still pointed at Rabastan, she remembered why he was a wizard that no one should trifle with. Instead of being frightened, as anyone with half a brain _should_ have been, Rabastan simply shook his head and laughed.

"I should've known you would take her side, Father. From the moment she arrived in our lives, she's the only one you even care about."

Rabastan stood to his feet, still not bothered by the clear anger Regnault still felt. He kicked at the small stack of what would have been Elanor's belongings if she had lived to use them. Without another word to his father or cousin, he stalked over to where Bellatrix still held his wand in her hand. A short, whispered conversation passed between the two of them before she gave it back. She took his arm and with a deliberate turn in place, Disapparated them both off of the estate. Where they went or what they were planning to do was a complete mystery. Even Bellatrix's husband didn't seem bothered by their exit.

"Thank you for coming, Hermione, but I think it's best that you head back home. It's late and I'm sure Kingsley is worried."

Regnault kissed her cheek and turned his attention to the fire still burning in the middle of his prized gardens. Rodolphus took her arm to escort her silently to the front gates. Even as she tried to sleep later that night wrapped tightly in Kingsley's embrace, Hermione still wasn't certain if she managed to help the situation or make it much worse.

* * *

April 12, 1979

 **10:05 pm**

Spending the night of the Full Moon in Hogsmeade wasn't high on the list of activities that Hermione cared to participate in any longer. She would have much preferred being snuggled in at home in the comfort of the large bed she shared with Kingsley. Somehow with him lying next to her and his arms around her, she could forget the worst of her fears.

Unfortunately, Alastor Moody had insisted that he be a part of a mission of which he could give her no details other than he wouldn't be home for at least three days. Whether or not it was an Auror mission or an Order mission hadn't been discussed either. Because it happened to fall on the three days of the Full Moon cycle, she had a suspicion that it had to do with a population of cursed creatures she didn't care to dwell on too much. She tried to keep her fear under control. There was nothing she could do or say to convince the man to ignore his duties.

Their home on the outskirts of London was Secret-Kept and protected by some of the best and strongest magical spells imaginable, but since the morning she was joined unexpectedly in the kitchen by Voldemort and Greyback, Hermione refused to spend the night if Kingsley wasn't going to be there. Neither he nor Aberforth had a problem with her spending nights in her old room in the back of the pub. She was certain that they both felt better knowing that she was never alone. With the violence of the war escalating every single day, she was far from being the only witch that hated being left alone at home.

"Business is pretty steady for a Full Moon night."

She was surprised by the number of customers inside. Were they not aware that it was foolish to be out when werewolves were in their transformed state? Or that there were other creatures out there that only grew more dangerous as the moon grew fuller? She'd lost count the number of bottles of fire whiskey they'd already had to open that night. War was a boon to the bar business as everyone sought to drown their worries and fears.

"The village doesn't feel as threatened as it did a few years ago. Whatever beast made his home here has since moved on."

Hermione knew better than that. Knew better than all of the villagers. The only reason why Fenrir Greyback no longer prowled their village as often was because _she_ was no longer there as often. She also suspected that as he recruited the other werewolves to form his monstrous pack deep within the Forbidden Forest, he was less free to run about and stalk his desired prey. It felt strange to be thankful that the war was in earnest because it kept him busy and away from her, but she wasn't about to ignore the small blessings.

"Yes, well, it's still dangerous. Have they not heard about what is happening in the Forbidden Forest?"

"Rumors have been spread about that stretch of land for hundreds of years, lass. Just because they are being spread at a more rapid pace lately, doesn't make them true."

Her frustration at being dismissed, even kindly, by her father welled up inside of Hermione. She thought about retorting back that she knew what she was talking about because she was from the future, but stopped herself. More than a few times over the years Aberforth had specifically requested that she not divulge any information about the future to him. He worried that one could forget to live in the present if they were always concerned about what was coming in the future.

"I'll be down in the cellar if you need me."

That was her private place in the pub to do some thinking and to cool her temper when it was threatening to flare up. It wasn't her father's fault that she was uncomfortable being in Hogsmeade on the night of the Full Moon. She didn't have any right to take her frustrations out on him. Besides, it had been a long time since she had organized the cellar and she was almost afraid to see the state that it had gotten to without her interference.

She wasn't sure how long she had been shifting around boxes and scourgifying cobwebbed corners when she heard her father's voice in the kitchen call her name. Because he understood better than all of the men she'd ever known in the past or future that when she went down in the cellar that she needed some time alone, Aberforth rarely disturbed her when she was down there. For him to seek her out, it must have been serious.

"Did you need something, Dad?"

"You have a visitor."

The way he spat out the words it was obvious that he didn't care much for whomever it was that chose that night to drop by the pub. She stepped out of the darkness to stare up at her father's scowling face through the trap door. He looked as if he would rather be announcing that a manticore with an anger management problem was loose behind the bar. A sickening thought made her stomach drop.

"It's not Antonin, is it?"

"Absolutely not! I warned him that he was never to step foot in my pub again. No, it's the _Other_ Russian."

Aberforth truly didn't have anything against Igor except for the fact that he suspected the wizard had hurt his daughter's heart. But, then again, that was usually more than enough to stoke the ire of a protective father. There was once a time that the two men had been more than capable of engaging in lively discussions over an open bottle of fire whiskey. She knew that Aberforth would rather die than admit so, but he didn't find Igor _that_ horrible. Curious to know why Igor would be there to visit, she climbed up the ladder.

They hadn't spoken in months and even then, it was a polite nod to the other and meaningless small talk regarding the health of their family members. It had been cold. Nothing like the nights they spent in his bed ignoring the world outside. Nothing like the intoxicating passion that used to make her dizzy. Igor was more like the man she remembered from her fourth year than the one she remembered snuggling a kitten the day they met. How had so much changed in such a short period of time?

He was seated at the same table that they shared the night their first kiss was halted by the sudden appearance of Greyback. Neither of them could have known in that moment how much his arrival in what should have been a tender moment would changed both of their lives irrevocably. His focus was firmly settled on the raging fire in the fireplace. She could tell even from a distance that he was troubled. What was it that brought him so far out of his way? In a time of war, she worried that his unexpected arrival could mean nothing but that she was in for some bad news.

"Did he say anything to you, Dad?"

"No, only asked if you were here tonight. Seemed upset. Had a little bit of blood on his hands."

"Of that, there is no doubt. Only, I don't think it's just a little bit."

If Aberforth caught the words she muttered to herself, he politely pretended he hadn't. He was a perceptive man. She'd known that from the first time they ever met. He always knew more than he let on.

Hermione picked up an unopened bottle of fire whiskey and two clean glasses. Whatever brought Igor to her father's home was serious. They would likely both need the liquid fortification. The wizard was still staring into the flames when she set the glasses down in front of him. Only the clink of the bottle hitting the edge of the second glass as she filled it broke him out of his deep thoughts. Igor turned his deep blue eyes to look into hers. Filled with unshed tears, it had been a long time since she had seen him so vulnerable. If she'd _ever_ seen him so vulnerable.

She didn't speak until he was ready. Instead, she sat down in the chair across the small table and began sipping at her own glass. Igor followed her example. They had plenty of experience just enjoying the companionable silence that two people who were close could have. It took several gulps of his drink before the wizard began to visibly relax. Without waiting for him to ask, Hermione filled his glass again.

"I wanted to speak to you at Sollie's funeral, but I didn't know what to say."

His first words took her by surprise. She wasn't sure what she had been expecting, but it certainly wasn't _that_. That had been a terrible day that she would never forget. Igor was present at the very edge of the crowd. Though he paid his respects to the family, he hardly did more than nod slightly in her direction when he passed by where she was standing with Kingsley and Thomas. At the time, she hadn't been concerned. It was only later that she thought about it more that she felt slightly insulted. Could they no longer even be friendly and polite in public with each other just because they ended?

"It looks like your young wizard has finally grown and begun to fill up his auror robes."

The small smirk on his lips was contagious. Hermione felt the corners of her lips quirk into their own smile. The teasing tone in his voice was much more like the Igor she loved.

"Jealous, are you?"

"Madly. Eternally. _Disgustingly_ , even."

She didn't know what to say to his confession. It might have been said in that same teasing tone, but there was a great deal of sincerity behind it. He always knew how to hide the truth in the middle of a joke. Just as easily as the smirk arrived, it disappeared into his increasingly wistful countenance. She wished she knew what he was thinking, even if she knew it was likely to make her sad.

"We were so young, weren't we?"

"You make it sound like it was a hundred years ago, Igor. Neither of us are _that_ old yet. Not even you."

"Maybe not, but I feel like a hundred years have passed since I last had the privilege of seeing you naked."

He was trying to lighten the mood, and failing miserably. Hermione granted him a weak smile for his efforts.

"Don't ever tell her I told you so, but I often wish I'd listened to my mother years ago. She told me to grow up, find me a nice Ravenclaw witch, and settle down."

"Well, one out of three isn't bad. Even if you didn't get to keep the witch for long."

"Maybe I should've done what your uncle ordered me to do all of those years ago and made you an honest woman."

They were traveling into dangerous territory. Despite being a Death Eater, Hermione knew that Igor was an honorable man who had nothing but respect for her. He wouldn't force her into any action that made her uncomfortable. Still, even without the physical touch, she felt like if she allowed this conversation to continue further down the path it was headed, she would be unfaithful to Kingsley. Emotional infidelity was still infidelity. Clothes didn't have to be removed for it to be wrong. Igor tempted her once upon a time when she felt lonely and undesirable. Though she felt neither of those feelings at present, she knew it wouldn't be fair to either him or Kingsley if she gave him the wrong idea. She attempted to steer the conversation away to safer ground.

"You and I both would have been miserable in the long-term, Igor, and you know that."

"Do I, though? I'd like to think that we could have both been happy with that arrangement."

"According to Antonin, because you gave me your heart's blood and I not only accepted it but continue to wear it knowing what it is, that you could claim me as your wife already."

She wasn't sure what prompted her to say such a thing. It was the truth, but hardly seemed appropriate. Even though they had discussed the significance of the locket many times over the years, _that_ particular aspect of his gift had never even been hinted at. Perhaps there was fear on both their parts that to mention it would make it real. Igor's response took her by surprise. He laughed the loud, booming laugh of his youth. The contagious sound was one she worried she would never hear again.

"Now _there's_ a man who will be eternally jealous, Charodeyka."

"Yes, I'm afraid you're correct."

"He's not _entirely_ incorrect, you know. I _could_ claim you if I wanted."

"Kingsley wouldn't appreciate that."

"No, I don't suppose he would. Neither would my new wife."

He winked at her over his glass and finished off the last of the liquid. Hermione did the same. Why did it always seem that the events in her life all revolved around fire whiskey? At least since she met Kingsley for a drink at The Hog's Head after a long day of rebuilding the castle. Perhaps it was just a common vice of a soldier when a war ended. She couldn't be sure.

"But, lucky for you, I am not from one of those ghastly backwards villages that Dolohov is. We haven't exchanged heart's blood in our marriage ceremonies for almost two hundred years."

"I hadn't realized he was from such a…"

"Primitive part of our native country? Absolutely. If I learned that _any_ of them had access to a wizarding wireless or indoor plumbing, I think I might just die of shock."

Hermione rolled her eyes. It was likely that neither man would ever get over their dislike of each other. They might have been forced to work together on more occasions than she wanted to know anything about, but they would never be friends. In fact, she believed that if given half a chance, either one of them would stab the other in the back. Or the front. Whichever was closer.

"Why are you here tonight, Igor?"

He was every bit as startled by her blunt question as she was by herself for asking. Communication in their past had always been good. It had only been since that New Year's Day she left his flat for the last time that they began to dance around subjects without addressing them directly. In Hermione's opinion, that was one of the worst parts of the end of their relationship. She missed their frank and open discussions. With the closing of the door to them, she felt the closing of an entire part of her life. She and Igor didn't make sense most of the time, but she would always look back on their days and months together with a fondness she hoped would never fade.

"I always think about you on nights of the Full Moon. Doesn't matter how hard I try _not_ to, I can't."

"I'm never alone on these nights, if that helps. If I'm not with Kingsley in our home, I'm here with my father."

"That helps a great deal. Your father and Mr. Shacklebolt are both honorable men. Dangerous men, even. I have complete faith that they would do everything in their power to keep you safe it was required."

"I can also take care of myself, Igor. I'm not some shrinking violet afraid of my own shadow."

With an amused smile on his face, he reached across the table to gently cup her cheek. The touch felt familiar and wonderful and wrong all at the same time. Like icy tendrils of the past sneaking in to steal the present warmth. She returned the smile and carefully moved her face away from his hand. He tried to hide the pain at the loss of contact with another smile.

"I know that, Charodeyka. I know. You have proven that time and time again. It's just that there are times when my mind travels to thoughts of you and I wish for nothing more than to assure myself that you are safe."

"That's not your place anymore."

"I know that, as well. Usually I'm able to ignore it, but tonight… tonight I just wanted to sit with you for a few minutes and pretend the world wasn't complete shite. Even a kind word from an old friend would be enough to sustain me."

She didn't want to know why he was so bothered that night to attempt to seek her out. The newspaper clippings hadn't ceased since they began. Antonin never wanted her to forget for even a moment that her 'precious Igor' was as tainted with the Darkness as he was. If Igor was so shattered and unnerved by his activities that night, she could only imagine how horrendous they had been.

The tension present in their corner of the main room of the pub must have been clear to her observant father. Hermione knew his sudden arrival at their table was no coincidence. He wiped at a small spill near Igor's arm.

"This just arrived from the post, lass. Must have been important if the owl looked for you here instead of at home… where you live… with _Kingsley_ … the respected and _dangerous_ auror."

In Aberforth Dumbledore's mind, any wizard that showed the slightest hint of being a threat to the relationship his adoptive daughter had found with his best friend's grandson was suspicious and must be immediately dealt with. There were times that Hermione almost feared he loved Kingsley more than he loved her. She took the rolled up piece of parchment from his hands and waved him off.

"Thank you, Dad."

Before he would walk away, Aberforth stared down at Igor one final time. Igor wasn't intimidated, but had enough sense to pretend that he was. When her father turned his back and head to the bar, the wizard chuckled softly.

"Some people never change."

"No, they don't. Dad will always act that way when you're around."

"It's sweet. He loves you."

She began to unroll the parchment, worried that it might be a message from Kingsley. There was usually no safe way to communicate with her when they were apart and he was on a mission. If he had to resort to an owl, it might be serious. She hated how her hands trembled while she opened her message. It was a sign of weakness that she didn't really want anyone to see. Not even Igor who knew many of her darkest secrets and had seen her at her worst.

It wasn't a letter from Kingsley. In fact, it wasn't a letter at all. Just another sick message from Antonin to remind her what kind of man Igor was. A special edition of The Daily Prophet had been printed earlier in the evening. Aberforth refused to renew his subscription after all of the articles were written about her following her miscarriage. She knew if she had been at home she would've gotten her own copy. But, Antonin saved her the trouble.

The source of Igor's mood was suddenly clear. She couldn't bear to read any of the macabre details printed in the article, but she gleaned the gist of it from the headline and the first sentence. He had been on a raid earlier in the evening. A prominent member of the Wizengamot was found murdered in his home, along with his adult daughter and three grandchildren. The Dark Mark hung in the sky over their home. Antonin made certain to write 'Karkaroff' clearly at the top.

"Bad news?"

She didn't want to admit to what she was holding in her hands. It would open the door to all manner of discussions she wasn't prepared to have with the wizard. Wasn't it bad enough that she knew what he was up to? Having him know that she knew seemed infinitely worse.

"Nothing you need to worry about, Igor."

In hindsight, she should've expected him to rip the article out of her hands. Hadn't he proved in the past that he knew her better than most? They had a long history and there was once a time she trusted him more than every other person she knew besides her own father. Life and circumstances had changed as he was dragged deeper and deeper into the worst parts of the war, but he was still fundamentally the same person. Even the cold, bitter coward of a man who fled Hogwarts when his Dark Mark showed up perfectly clear at the end of the Triwizard Tournament was still her Igor. He would seek out the knowledge of what was upsetting her when faced with the opportunity.

She didn't even fight him to pull the scrap of parchment back. There wasn't any need. He saw everything that he needed to see in the first few moments of his theft. Because she knew the man so well, or at least because she _once_ knew the man so well, Hermione could see how disturbed he was by the article in his hands. He opened his mouth to speak but no words came out. His eyes were watery again and his cheeks flushed. The worst part was that he could no longer look Hermione in the eyes. She hated that above all.

Instead of pleading with him to look at her as she desired, Hermione calmly and silently placed her hand on top of his. A gentle squeeze brought a choking sob from his throat that he instantly tried to suppress. Naturally, he failed. The conversation they needed to have couldn't be had out in the open of a busy pub with questionable clientele. Igor was liable to get himself killed if he showed too much weakness. Hermione stood up from the table and picked up their glasses and what was left of the bottle.

"Come with me, Igor. I think it's time you and I spoke freely."

He kept his head down, but didn't hesitate to follow her into the private part of the pub. Aberforth watched them disappear into the back with a concerned expression. Hermione assured him silently with a nod of her head and meaningful look that they would be all right.

Igor all but collapsed onto the sofa. He sat forward with his elbows on his knees to cover his face with his hands. Hermione could see the tears on his cheeks glistening in the firelight. She longed to wrap her arms around him and offer him what comfort she could. But, that wasn't her place any longer. She no longer had any rights to him just as he no longer had any rights to her. Instead, she held out a full glass of fire whiskey. He took it and knocked it back in one swallow.

"You were right, Charodeyka. You were _always_ right."

She didn't push him for more details. He would come around and reveal what he wished in his own time. As she waited, Hermione sipped at her own glass.

"You once said that we were nothing but children playing at a dangerous revolution that no one needed or even wanted. Part of me _hated_ you for saying that. But, you were right."

"I don't find any joy in being correct, you know."

"I know you don't."

He finally met her eyes again as he spoke.

"Do I even need to ask who sent you that article?"

"No, I don't think you do."

"The way you looked at it tells me that's not the first one Dolohov has sent you."

"He told me about the first one you two went to. And then after that, he's been sending me articles regularly."

Igor clenched his glass so hard in his hand that it broke. Rivulets of blood and whiskey ran down his wrist. It had to have been painful, but his anger prevented him from feeling or expressing any. For the first time in the entire time she had known Igor Karkaroff, Hermione almost felt afraid of him. He would never intentionally hurt her. Of that, she was entirely secure. But, it did give her a dangerous sense of what he must have been like when on those raids he clearly abhorred. She wondered if she was seeing the same man that had murdered so many in cold blood.

"How _kind_ of him to keep you informed."

"Igor…"

"It's a wonder you're even still speaking to me after… after what I've done."

The anger was gone again, replaced with the same desperate moroseness from earlier. He brought his hands to his face again, no concerns at all for the blood still dripping out of the fresh wound. His entire body shook with silent sobs. Hermione forced herself to remain seated in the armchair opposite him. Not only would it have been inappropriate to comfort him when they were alone, but part of her _wanted_ him to suffer.

What right did he have to being petted and soothed after his dark deeds? The men and women he'd killed hadn't had the benefit of it. Neither, for that matter, had the children. It was his decision to join Voldemort. His decision not to leave when he discovered what his master was truly after. It was also his decision to commit murder to save his own life. She might have loved the wizard and didn't see that fact changing any time soon, but she wasn't about to excuse him for his actions. Though they all lived within different shades of grey, some aspects of life were entirely black and white.

"You must hate me now."

"No, I've never hated you, Igor, and that's not going to change. I will _never_ support your actions, but no, I don't hate you."

But part of her did. She would never admit it out loud to anyone, but she hated the coward inside of Igor. Years ago when she first saw the Dark Mark on his arm, she called him a coward. Told him that he would live as a coward and he would die as a coward. No matter how much she loved him, she still stood by her harsh criticisms. He was so terrified of being hurt himself that he was capable of committing the worst acts of violence. A braver man would have been able to stand up for what they believed to be right and _not_ murdered innocents.

Perhaps part of the reason why she hated that part of Igor so much was the fact that she could see it in herself too. Wasn't she a coward as well? How many times had she been given the opportunity to stand up to Voldemort, to tell him to go fuck himself when he demanded she give him names of potential recruits or of Order members? She might have been killed in the process, but at least she would still have some self-respect remaining. People were going to die because of her actions. They probably already had. What made her life so important that theirs were so easily sacrificed? Hermione hated Igor for the very reason she hated herself.

"I should go. I've already been here longer than I planned."

Hermione didn't stop him as he rose to his feet. They could spend a lifetime talking and still not cover it all. Perhaps, it was best to just leave the rest unspoken. She remained seated in the chair as he stepped closer. Igor kissed the top of her head and walked back to the door that led to the main room of the pub. Before he opened it, he turned to look at her over his shoulder.

"I'll love you until the day I die, Charodeyka."

She was afraid to move until he closed the door behind him.

* * *

June 1, 1979

 **1:30 pm**

When she was done working for the day in the shop, Hermione headed straight for home. She was looking forward to having a quiet Friday afternoon all to herself. Her Uncle Regnault sent over a new book just the night before that he thought would interest her and she was hoping to have several hours of nothing but lazing about on the sofa reading. In the bustle of life as time wore on, she rarely had the opportunity to simply enjoy a quiet house.

Of course, she knew she should have expected the knock at the door when she was only halfway into the first chapter. The Universe had a funny way about keeping her from enjoying what she wished at times. Marking her spot with a scrap of parchment she found on the table next to her, Hermione reluctantly moved to see who was intruding at the front door.

It was hard to be angry with Thomas. He had an easy way about him that inspired those around him to relax. Even in the midst of his intense Ravenclaw-ish moments of brilliance or madness, he was a calming presence. When she saw his smiling face, Hermione was half-tempted to slam the door back in his face. Instead, she graciously welcomed him inside. He wasn't _usually_ the type to come unannounced without good reason. Once inside the house, Thomas took a look at the book she was still holding in her hand.

"Oh, good. You weren't busy. I need to talk. I need your help."

She bit her tongue to prevent herself from saying something she'd likely come to regret later. Her love for Thomas was exactly that of a sister's love for a brother. As much as she loved him, he could still annoy her fiercely. She followed him as he made his way to the kitchen without invitation.

"Gracie is having a boy."

The pride that shone on his face minutes later when they sat down with a cup of tea made Hermione forget all of the previous annoyances. For such a handsome man, he was breathtaking in his happiness. She jumped up from her chair and threw her arms around him. If she and Kingsley weren't able to be parents, they could be a marvelous aunt and uncle to their nieces and nephews.

"That is wonderful news, Tommy. I'm so happy for you."

"Did you know Muggles have discovered a way to take pictures of a child while it is still inside the womb?"

It was evident that he was fascinated by the entire process. She hoped that he didn't make much of a nuisance of himself at the doctor's appointment. He was just the type of person to ask so many questions about how something worked to be highly annoying. Grace would know this about him though. Hermione wouldn't blame her one bit if she insisted he stay outside the exam room until they were finished.

"I won't lie. I was skeptical that they could do it and even more so when the doctor said it was a boy. So, when Grace wasn't looking later, I cast a spell to check for myself. He was right! Amazing what Muggles can do now."

"Yes, it is. If you don't mind my asking, what kind of help do you need from me?"

Some of the joy leaked out of his countenance. Sadly, there weren't a lot of opportunities to experience it in those dark days. She hated that she had to be the one to take a bit of it away.

"You-Know-Who has been fairly relentless. First, he was just sending Antonin to talk to me. Last week, he came himself to visit me. Dropped by out of the blue at Scrivenshaft's while I was minding the shop for Granny."

Hermione's stomach began the familiar twisting and turning that had become part of her everyday life. If Voldemort was becoming aggressive enough in his recruiting efforts to approach Thomas directly, it was getting serious. He wouldn't be able to keep politely saying 'no' without incurring his wrath or having a target placed on his back.

"I know too much to blindly and naively follow the man. I'm going to have to say no eventually. When I do, every single person that I know and love will be in danger. Kingsie's in danger already because of his job and because he's made it clear that he's not interested. Mum and Dad are also already in danger just by virtue of being in the Wizengamot. Granny is outspoken, but respected in her own way. And you… well, you already know you're in danger."

"All too well, I'm afraid."

"But, Gracie isn't yet. And our son isn't. They _will_ be if I'm not careful. No one can know about them until I can be sure I can protect them."

She'd tried to argue with him repeatedly in the past that he was going about this all the wrong way. He _needed_ his family. They could keep his wife and child protected from the worst of the Death Eaters. Hermione would've loved to witness Margie and Katie team up to protect one of their babies. She imagined it was a sight that wouldn't easily be forgotten. No matter what she said, Thomas was resolute in his decision to keep his impending marriage a secret. Knowing another argument would be futile, Hermione kept her silence.

"Shacklebolt isn't exactly an inconspicuous name. Very few of us out there that aren't wizards. I mean, even assuming there are _any_. I need your help placing a memory charm on Gracie and her parents."

"Thomas… you know I've sworn never to do that again."

"I know, I know. And I completely respect your reasoning, but you're the only one I can trust with this, Hermione. _Please_."

"Why me? You're better at memory charms than I am anyway.

It sickened her that he would completely disregard her feelings about that kind of spell. The only reason she had used one of her Muggle parents was out of sheer desperation. She wanted to do whatever she could to protect them. Sadly, she had a horrible feeling that she hadn't done it correctly. She had been too young and inexperienced to perform such a difficult form of magic.

"Everyone knows that you can't cast a memory charm on someone to make them forget _you_ without there being serious complications."

No, not everyone knew that. She hated when he became the arrogant Ravenclaw who looked down on those who didn't possess as much knowledge as he had. It was not an endearing trait. And it certainly didn't help that she was already feeling her own measure of guilt for what she did to her parents.

"Maybe Antonin can help you instead."

"And put him at risk too when his master starts digging around in his brain? I don't think that's a good option either."

Hermione knew that she would eventually give in to Thomas. She always did. He had a very persuasive manner about him. All of the Shacklebolt men did. Each of them had turned it on her in their own special ways in the past. She usually gave in to whatever they wanted without much fuss.

"Fine. What is the plan?"

"Simple really. I just need them to believe my name is different than it actually is. And we're not even talking about a big change. Just changing my last name to my first name and my middle name to my first."

She could feel her brow wrinkling in confusion. Sensing she was lost, Thomas took a deep breath and explained.

"Masud Thomas. That's what we're going to have them believe my name is. Gracie and her parents can still call me Tommy like they do already. I mean, as much as I love my uncle and my granddad, there are better names out there than Masud. It'd make sense I'd go by Tommy."

"All right. Thomas is a much more common last name, especially among Muggles. I can see that not sticking out as much."

"Exactly. And when our son is born we will name him after dad and me. Dean Thomas. Then, as soon as the war is over and it's safe for us to live as a family openly, he can go by his full name, Dean Thomas Shacklebolt."

There had been several moments in Hermione's life, both in her correct timeline and in the past, that she felt as if time had stopped. She sat at her kitchen table staring at one of her favorite people in the entire world and felt as if she was frozen in place. How often in the eight years she'd been in the past had she tried to figure out if she knew Thomas in the future? Her greatest fear had been that he'd been lured down the dark path into the service of the Dark Lord. Somehow, it never occurred to her that he wouldn't survive the past at all.

She dropped her teacup, the hot liquid spilled out all over the table. With her hands covering her face, she gave in to the heartbreaking emotion that was threatening to ooze out of her pores. The better reaction to the terrible news he'd unwittingly revealed would be to hold it all in until she had a moment alone to come undone. Instead, it hit her like a tidal wave she was unable to stop. Thomas was at a loss for her actions, but didn't hesitate to wrap his arms around her and try to comfort her sorrow.

"What is it, Hermione?"

His question was asked in the smallest of whispers that she almost missed it over the sounds of her own ragged breathing. Revealing too much about one's future was dangerous, but she couldn't lie to Thomas. Not when he had been such an amazing friend to her.

"I knew Dean. Very well."

Thomas tried to smile at her revelation, but he couldn't sustain it. He knew there was more to the story than just that. Why would she burst into tears over something so simple? She didn't know if she should tell him everything so she let him ask questions.

"Hermione, was Dean still alive when you left?"

She only trusted herself to nod her head. Hearing that his son was safe, Thomas relaxed immediately. It was only as the seconds ticked on that he thought of another possibility for her sadness.

"Was _I_ still alive?"

She paused for a few tense moments and shook her head. Thomas sighed, hugged her tightly one more time, and returned to his seat at the table. He removed his wand from his pocket to summon one of Kingsley's bottles of fire whiskey. Glasses weren't necessary. He took a deep swig straight from the neck of the bottle before offering it to Hermione. She held it in her hand, unsure if she really wanted a drink.

"Do you know how it happened?"

"No, not even Dean knew. No one knew if you were dead or alive, honestly. He wasn't even sure if you were a wizard."

"Then why cry about it, Hermione? If no one knew what happened to me, there's still hope that I survived."

"What would be the only thing that would keep you away from your wife and son for _eighteen_ years, Thomas?"

He lowered his gaze to the tabletop and took the bottle out of her hands. After another swig, he met her eyes and answered.

"Death."

"Exactly. You're too honorable a man to abandon your family for any reason other than death."

Unsure what to say next, they slipped into another uneasy silence. Thomas leaned back in his chair, periodically taking another gulp from the bottle as he wished.

"Tell me about him. What's he like?"

"Dean? Oh, well, he and I were in the same year and the same House."

A bright smile crossed Thomas' face, temporarily banishing the depressive air.

"A Ravenclaw? Excellent."

"Uhh, actually, no. We were both Gryffindors."

The grin morphed into a scowl. Hermione couldn't help but laugh. It helped to ease some of the tension in the room.

"Sounds like he's more like his uncle than I'm comfortable with."

"Well, he certainly is brave and kind. Very artistic too. His drawings are quite lovely."

The smile returned.

"Gets that from his mum. Does he have a lot of friends? Girlfriends?"

"He's very well-liked. Yes, lots of friends. He did have a girlfriend, but that ended."

"Just one? Is he shy?"

"No, he's definitely not shy. He's a lot like you in that aspect, I think. Very confident. He has found love, but it's not what you think."

Thomas' brow furrowed as he considered her question. All at once, when it made sense, his eyes widened and he laughed.

"Well, witches can definitely be trouble. Can't say that I blame him for avoiding them. As long as he is happy, that's all I want for him."

"I believe he is. He and Seamus have been friends since first year."

"Good. And his mum? Has she…"

"She remarried and had a few daughters."

"Does her husband… does he love my boy?"

Tears welled up in his eyes as he asked the question. Hermione couldn't even begin to understand what he was experiencing. To know that he wouldn't get to live the life with his wife and son that he dreamed of, but that some other man would in his place, had to have been difficult. She grabbed his hand and offered him a bright smile.

"Very much so. Dean had to go on the run during the war because he couldn't prove he wasn't a Muggle-born. When the final battle was over, Seamus and his mum went to their house to bring them to Hogsmeade. I was there when Dean was reunited with them. It was very obvious that he is loved."

Thomas laid his head down on top of the table and sobbed. Whether it was from sadness or relief or regret, Hermione wasn't sure. She simply sat with him and promised that she would do whatever he felt was necessary to keep his family protected. It was the least she could do for him.

* * *

December 4, 1998

 **12:30 am**

He wasn't sure how long he stood in the window watching the snow swirl around the back garden behind the pub. Long enough that the cold night air began to numb his hands and the tip of his nose. Kingsley worried that they wouldn't find Greyback. Worried that Hermione would have to face him again when she returned to the present. Worried that she wouldn't return at all. There were so many concerns and fears running through his already exhausted mind that he was surprised he had the fortitude to even make it out of bed in the morning. How had he survived for so long without that little witch in his bed reminding him of what was good in the world?

The sounds of footsteps behind him helped to break him out of a depressing train of thought that would only take him further and further down into a pit of despair. He was grateful for the interruption. If he allowed himself to sink too far in, he might not be able to summon the strength required to work his way out of it.

Aberforth could say more with a silence than most could say with a thousand words. Just the mere presence of the wizard he admired by his side was enough to buoy Kingsley's mood. Neither of them were entirely positive how much time passed with just the two of them standing side by side and staring out the window together. It was the elder of the two that finally broke the silence.

"Sometimes I come in here when I miss her. I never moved anything. She still has some questionable books hidden under the bed. Always thought she was so clever at hiding things from me. I miss that."

Kingsley chuckled.

"Yeah, she used to hide things at our house too. I never had the heart to tell her she's terrible at hiding."

"Always picks the most obvious places, doesn't she? Under her bed? That's the _first_ place you look when you're trying to find something that's hidden."

"Or she'd hide things down low thinking I wouldn't be able to what? Bend over to look for them?"

They both laughed softly at their respective memories of the same woman.

"Seemed like there was quite a commotion with your group of wizards. Everything all right?"

"I learned tonight that one of my friends of twenty years is actually Silas Selwyn in disguise because my older brother helped him fake his death to keep Hermione away from Dolohov."

Aberforth exhaled a whistle at the confession.

"That's a lot. Glad to know that Selwyn didn't die. I know she was fond of him. Is that what has you bothered? That your friend never told you the truth or what your brother did?"

"Both, I guess. Why would he not trust us enough to believe that Hermione wouldn't leave me for Dolohov?"

"Wish I could answer that for you, but I can't. One thing I've learned getting to be as old as I am, sometimes people act purely out of selfish reasons. Maybe he wanted to do everything he could to ensure that you two would stay together. Or, perhaps more likely, he wanted to punish his friend for making poor choices in the first place."

Kingsley couldn't argue that that was the more likely of the two scenarios. Tommy had always had a way of making certain those he felt deserved it were punished. He'd lost count the number of times he would've gotten away with something if his big brother would've kept his mouth shut. He tried to cling to the hope that Tommy wanted Dolohov to suffer for becoming a Death Eater. Maybe he even hoped that if he was frightened enough by the thought of murdering Silas Selwyn, he'd leave the Death Eaters. Or at least try. But, he supposed there would never be an opportunity to ask Tommy what his true purpose had been.

He continued to stare out the window where the wind was picking up and blowing the snow around. A clump of varying shades of purple caught his eye. Poking his head out of the window frame, he took a closer look under the window. A pile of cut purple thistles, some fresh and some very, very dead, seemed out of place. Though he knew the flowers grew freely around the pub, Kingsley had never seen so many of them cut.

"What's with the thistles?"

Aberforth peered out to get a better look when he was asked. He shrugged his shoulders.

"Thistles get left on her windowsill a lot. I just assumed you were doing that when you were in the village."

"No, I didn't do that. I only ever gave her red roses."

"That's right. That song you used to sing to her. I'd forgotten about that. It's been a long time since I heard you sing, son."

"Yeah, well, I haven't had much reason to lately."

His auror instincts were kicking in. Something about the flowers made him uneasy. There wasn't any way for the thistles to just fall on the windowsill. They had to have been purposefully placed there. Who would do that? Who would feel the need to leave evidence of their visit to Hermione's bedroom window behind?

Before he could talk himself out of what he was prepared to do with logic, Kingsley climbed out of the window he'd had plenty of practice climbing in and out of as a young man. When he dropped to his feet, he saw the tracks. They were almost covered up by the snow, but _someone_ had been by recently. He held his wand out in front of him and started to follow.


	82. Chapter 82

Chapter Eighty-Two

August 12, 1979

 **3:07 am**

The sound of the front door opening and closing jarred Hermione out of a fitful sleep. She'd spent most of the night tossing and turning in an attempt to get to sleep without Kingsley by her side. His hours had grown late and erratic again. Not that they had ever really stopped being unusual. It had taken her a little while to grow used to the fact that she never could be quite sure when to expect her wizard to be home. If he wasn't chasing a Dark wizard officially for the Ministry for Magic, he was doing so unofficially for her uncle.

As could be expected, the war had not slowed down in the slightest. Every day it grew more violent and more a presence in their lives. Fewer people were able to continue living with their heads in the sand. It was touching all of wizarding Britain. Rapidly, it was also spilling into the Muggle world. Not only did senseless acts of violence against Muggles continue, they were becoming such an ever-present part of life that even those innocent Muggles who spent their entire lives ignoring the evidence of another world right in front of them could no longer pretend that something terrible wasn't happening.

And still the articles arrived. Though not as frequent as they had been, she still rolled her eyes and fought off the desperate sadness that threatened to overpower her each time she was faced with the plain facts that her Igor was descending further into the abyss of his poor decisions. It made her sad that there was nothing she could do to stop him. And, if she was perfectly honest with herself, it made her almost wish that time would not just continue passing at its rapid pace, but would speed up even faster. She was exhausted of being in the past. Her heart wouldn't take much more of it.

She hated Antonin. It was bad enough that he was involved with Lord Voldemort and committing horrible crimes. History had already taught her what he would become. That hadn't been the greatest surprise. What _had_ been surprising to learn that even as she was furious with him and wanted to stay as far away from him as physically possible, she still worried about him. Still worried that he was in danger. Of course, she always had to remind herself when her traitorous mind began down the sympathetic path towards her ex, he _was_ in danger and it was a danger of his own making.

Even if somehow the mechanics of time travel changed tomorrow and her Kingsley was killed in the line of duty against Voldemort, she would _never_ turn to Antonin for comfort again. He was a part of her past that needed to stay in the past. No matter how many times she found herself remembering the good parts of their relationship and the traits and characteristics of the man that she found admirable and desirable, there would never be any excuse for him. Loving the _potential_ of a man wasn't loving him at all.

Kingsley was quiet as he tiptoed into their darkened bedroom to undress for bed. Though he must have been exhausted, he didn't crawl immediately under the covers next to his witch. Hermione listened to him take a quick shower in the bathroom connected to their room. He'd coated the room in silencing spells to keep from disturbing her, but still she laid awake listening. It was a polite, unnecessary gesture on his part. She was highly attuned to his presence. How could he expect her to just peacefully dream the night away when he was in constant danger?

"Was it Ministry business or the Order?"

She wasn't sure what prompted her to ask the seemingly innocuous question as he carefully slipped between the covers behind her. It just tumbled out of her mouth. Not once in all of the time that she _knew_ he was a member of the Order of the Phoenix had she actually brought it up. No doubt Kingsley assumed that he was being perfectly sneaky and she had no clue that he'd joined a dangerous resistance group.

Perhaps it was lying awake all night worrying about him. Their time together was running short. It was a fact that she didn't always like to dwell on because as much as she was growing weary of living in the past, she was scared of what was going to happen next. The best case scenario was that she was going to simply disappear for at least eighteen years leaving her wizard heartbroken and alone. And the worst… she tried not to consider too closely.

"I didn't realize you were still awake."

Hermione rolled over to face the exasperated wizard. Etched across his face was clear exhaustion. He was running himself ragged. Keeping up his current pace was unsustainable in the long run. It was only a matter of time before he was burnt out.

"You didn't answer my question. Was it Ministry business that kept you out so late tonight or were you off doing something for my Uncle Albus?"

Kingsley sighed and ran both of his hands down his face. A small part of Hermione felt a little guilty that she was bringing up such a difficult subject when the man needed his rest. But mostly, she knew that she had allowed too much time to pass already. This was a conversation that they needed to have. Kingsley needed to understand that she was afraid for him every single time he stepped out of their front door.

"Hermione, it's late. We should go to bed."

She was used to having her concerns brushed off and she was tired. Exhausted down to her very bones. Arguing with a man on the verge of collapsing just after three in the morning was usually not a good idea, but she didn't care. Hermione sat up fully in the bed, reached over to turn the lamp on next to her side of the bed, and stared down at the man.

They had been officially together for more than three years since the night of Rabastan's wedding. He had had lots of experience in figuring out when he could delay an argument and when he would be forced to sit up and answer her questions. His dramatic sigh and the way he threw the covers off of him as he sat up to lean against the headboard proved he wasn't pleased.

"Answer the question."

"What does it matter?"

"You're not even going to deny that you're a part of the Order?"

"Why should I? Clearly, you already know everything."

There was a dangerous bite to his words. One of the main reasons she had been avoiding having this discussion was because she knew it was likely to get tense. They could argue over the tiniest of issues. _This_ was not small. Hermione took a deep breath, preparing herself for a potentially long night.

"Please don't act like that, Kingsley. It was a simple question."

"If you _must_ know, it was the Order. We got a tip at the Ministry that something bad was going to happen, but Moody was told to ignore it by the higher-ups. Didn't want to waste Ministry resources on a false lead."

He didn't want to talk to her about anything to do with the Order. Even a complete stranger could have been able to read the subtle signs on his countenance that he wished to be just about anywhere else in the world than in his bed having this discussion. Hermione tried to ignore the disconcerting thought in the back of her mind that it was even apparent in her boyfriend's actions that her uncle didn't want her to know anything.

Albus Dumbledore didn't trust her. He'd made that clear over and over again. If the universe had been kind to her and Lord Voldemort wanted nothing to do with her from the very start, he still wouldn't have believed that she could be trusted. She was too close to his brother, too disinclined to worshipping at the altar of the great and powerful Albus Dumbledore. Uncle Albus preferred the people he met to either fear him or adore him. Hermione hadn't been shy about the fact that she was neither. It hadn't been an easy potion for him to swallow.

She knew what her uncle was capable of, knew what the future held. If one could call it an _advantage_ , she knew all too well that he wasn't the doddering old fool that he often tried to portray himself as. He also had no qualms about sacrificing those he deemed it necessary for the 'Greater Good'. It still was bizarre to her that he willingly sent Benjy with names of Order members. He wasn't doing it to simply keep his niece safe. There had to be some strategic reasoning behind his actions. Maybe one day she would figure out what those were, but she wouldn't hold her breath waiting.

"I shouldn't be telling you this."

"Why? Because I can't be trusted?"

Kingsley flinched as if he'd been slapped. In her mind as she'd imagined and rehearsed how this conversation would go when she eventually forced it to happen, she'd been gentler in her queries. Much less accusatory. Too bad rehearsals for unpleasant conversations rarely were exactly like the real thing.

"Fine. You don't have to answer that. I already know the truth. My uncle doesn't trust me. He's made that clear enough throughout the years."

"I'm certain that if you made an effort to actually support him, he would change his mind."

One aspect of their relationship that Hermione had always appreciated was the fact that not once had Kingsley ever questioned her on her relationship with Albus. Not once had he ever even _hinted_ that she was in the wrong. She knew from interactions with him in the future that Kingsley was a Dumbledore man. There was no question that he trusted the Headmaster implicitly and would do anything that was asked of him. It had been naive of her to assume that that was a trait that developed later. Of course he would be on the former Head of Gryffindor House's side from the beginning. She was simply surprised that he was willing to throw her strained relationship with her uncle in her face.

Was this another devious plan of Albus Dumbledore's? She could see his fingerprints all over this one. No doubt he was of the opinion that he could have ready access to even more information on his enemies if he manipulated her boyfriend into manipulating _her_ into helping.

She didn't want to be a part of the Order. Even just putting her personal feelings about the man she was forced to acknowledge as her uncle aside, she didn't want to get caught up in their activities. It was heartbreaking enough to know how many of them were going to die. Just as she tried to distance herself as much as possible from the Marauders to guard her heart, she wanted as far away from the others as possible. Hermione had already lost count the number of times she felt nauseous in Benjy Fenwick's presence because she wanted so desperately to be able to help him survive and she knew she couldn't. Powerlessness was a curse. Having to interact on a more personal basis with Harry's parents knowing that even if she tried to help, they would still die, was too much. And she couldn't ever bear to think about the possibility of having to _pretend_ that she didn't know Peter Pettigrew was a complete rat willing to sell his best friends and their innocent baby out for his own personal safety.

"You don't know Albus Dumbledore like I do, Kingsley."

That should've been enough to get him to stop pushing her, but they were both too damn stubborn to give up an argument when they believed they were in the right. Two Gryffindors in a relationship could make for fireworks in most interactions. Two Gryffindors in an argument when they both passionately knew the other was wrong was a precursor to disaster.

"I don't understand you, Hermione. Not at all."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"I would think that you, of all people, would be doing all that you could to support a group that is trying to bring down You-Know-Who."

"What do you mean 'you, of all people'?"

He closed his eyes and sighed. Years of knowing the man on a very intimate level gave Hermione the discernment to understand that he was struggling to keep his temper under control. This conversation would not end well. Of that, there was no doubt in her mind. Someone would get hurt before they gave up. Likely, they _both_ would get hurt.

"He _forced_ himself on you. He is the reason that we can never have children."

She should've known it would've been her that was hurt. The weight of Kingsley's words struck her right in the heart. Though she didn't believe for a second that he was intentionally trying to hurt her, he hit upon the one subject that pained her more than any other. Yes, he was right. Voldemort took away the hope that she would ever carry a baby to term because of that blasted curse. Even ignoring that she made the decision to be intimate with the evil wizard under duress and under the influence of a curse that was rapidly driving her completely mad, he had killed the hope of a future she hadn't even been aware she was dreaming of.

Yes, there were other ways to have children. She wouldn't have been less of a mother if she had to have someone else carry her child in their own body or if she found an abandoned child no one else wanted to love, but it wasn't the same. The curse brought about the death of a future she longed for and replaced it with one that she wasn't sure about. From the day their child died before it even had a chance to form, she worried in the deepest, darkest parts of her mind that this wasn't something that Kingsley would ever be able to get past. What if _she_ wasn't enough? He might say that he loved her and that children weren't important. Maybe he could even convince her that he really was happy with just the two of them.

But, it wasn't the same. She feared that he would never be able to forgive her for not being able to give him children. He was a man that desired family. What if _she_ wasn't enough?

"I'm not trying to hurt you."

His words were spoken with such a fervency that she believed him. Kingsley loved her. It wasn't his fault if the truth was painful. Even if his intentions were perfectly innocent, she was still bothered. Why even bring it up in an argument?

"Then stop talking about _that_."

"You have more right than just about anyone alive right now to want to end this wizard's terror."

"Yes, I would _love_ to rip the man apart limb from limb with my bare hands."

"Then join the Order!"

This was not going to be the last time they had this argument, she'd decided. No, he was the kind of man that would bring it up over and over again. The loyal Hufflepuff in him mixed with his Gryffindoric sense of nobility meant he couldn't understand why she wouldn't immediately throw herself into the fight of good against evil. Hermione worried that the short time they had left together would be peppered with unresolved arguments about why she wasn't interested in joining the tiny resistance group where most of the members would be dead before Voldemort.

"Did you know that my sainted uncle actually encouraged me to pursue a sexual relationship with You Know Who when he heard a rumor that I was his mistress?"

"Professor Dumbledore wouldn't…"

Kingsley wasn't entirely wrong. No, he hadn't come out and used those exact words when he asked Hermione to spy for him, but she knew they were implied. If he could get what he needed to know out of his niece trading sexual favors with the horrid man, Albus wouldn't have hesitated. He was a man that didn't mind when others got their hands dirty on his behalf. Hermione might have been slightly exaggerating the tense conversation she had in the Headmaster's office except she knew him well enough to know that he would've accepted all intelligence she uncovered.

"Yes, he would. He and I had tea once in his office right after You Know Who cursed me and I… well, after the curse was broken. _He_ sent one of the people who was at the party that night straight to my uncle to tell him what happened. Thought it would be funny for Albus Dumbledore to know that he'd… had an inappropriate relationship with his niece."

"But I can't believe that he would encourage you to keep doing it."

"He did. He asked me to spy on his behalf. Thought that I could get a lot more information out of the wizard from inside his bed."

She could see the light of hero worship begin to dim slightly in her boyfriend's eyes. It bothered her that she was taking away the illusion that the man he admired was infallible. But, not enough to keep silent. Maybe understanding that the man wasn't perfect would be exactly what Kingsley needed to grasp to keep himself alive not only during that war but the war to come as well. If he continued to believe that every word that came out of his mouth was pure gold, he might have followed Albus into the very fires of Hell without thinking twice.

"That's disgusting."

"Yes, it is. Extremely disgusting. Of course I was horrified and told him in no uncertain terms that I would _not_ be interested in being a spy. Not only could I get myself killed, but the thought of actually… I couldn't do _that_ again."

"I'm furious that he even asked you."

"'The Greater Good'. That's all Uncle Albus cares about. Mark my words, Kingsley, there will be _many_ in the Order who will die because of him. _Many_ who deserved better than him."

Though their voices were softer than the hottest part of their argument, she knew it wasn't over. This would only be a short pause before Kingsley decided that she wasn't doing enough again. Or until he had enough time to think about it with a cool head. She leaned across the bed to kiss him before sliding back down into the covers. As she turned the lamp off, effectively postponing the discussion, she felt a tightening in her chest.

Abus Dumbledore and Tom Riddle were both wizards that had an immense amount of power and influence in their world. And though they might have both claimed on separate occasions that they wanted her on their side, neither of them would hesitate for a moment in removing her from the equation if she became too much of a threat.

* * *

September 19, 1979

 **12:05 pm**

Wednesday mornings had long been one of Hermione's favorite times of the week. There was a lot to love about working in the Magical Menagerie. It was a simple job that brought her a great deal of fulfillment. Years earlier when she was staying up too late and working too hard to prove that she was worthy of being a witch, she believed that she would have to continue proving her value once she left Hogwarts.

She would have to immediately go into the Ministry in some capacity. Maybe in the Department of Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. In that department she could fight for werewolves' rights and house-elves' rights and the rights of acromantulas if need be. No species of magical creature would be ignored or devalued on her watch!

Then maybe after she had completely revolutionized that department and finally proven to the world that werewolves weren't monsters and house-elves weren't slaves, she could move on to more controversial subjects. Tear down the Pureblood hierarchy from inside the system. It was appalling the number of pro-Pureblood laws that were still on the books even after Voldemort was defeated once and for all. She would have to do something about that. Every witch and wizard should be equal and somehow, she would eliminate all prejudice and blood purity ideals from their society single-handedly.

And then, in the ultimate move of proving that she was just as capable of being as powerful and successful as any member of the then- _extinct_ Pureblood elite, she would become the Minister for Magic. It wasn't even as if she _wanted_ to be the Minister. If she was honest with herself in the still quietness of her private bedroom in the middle of the night, she didn't even really want to be involved in politics of any kind. But, how could anyone believe that a Muggle-born witch was just as good as a Pureblood if she didn't rise to the very top?

Years of being fully accepted in the past had taught Hermione a few lessons. Certainly she understood now that if she continued down the road of feeling like she always had to prove herself worthy or valuable, she would never get to stop and enjoy life. There would always be someone else that she had to impress. Someone else she had to prove herself to. Just thinking about the plan that she'd made long before the horcrux hunt for how her life would play out before her was beyond exhausting. How could she even hope to find any kind of fulfillment or joy in a life where she couldn't even be comfortable being herself?

Experience and age had taught her more than she ever learned inside of a book. Though she wasn't sure she would ever _thank_ Kingsley for his plan to get her sent back to the past, she was silently grateful that he had. A lot of horrible events transpired in those years she wasn't supposed to exist. She would never deny that or even attempt to diminish their impact of the shaping of who she became. The girl who wanted nothing more than to feel like she belonged wasn't the same woman who joyfully mucked out the kneazle cages and who happily tended to her owls.

Living in the past had given her the chance to experience what life was like as someone whose magical heritage was never questioned. No one ever wondered if the niece of Albus Dumbledore and Regnault Lestrange should be _allowed_ to study magic or should be _allowed_ to carry a wand. It was understood that she had every right to be a witch simply based on her relatives and perceived magical lineage. Of course, her ready acceptance was an injustice that Hermione _Granger_ would've loathed and bucked against. Hermione _Dumbledore,_ however, was calmer and a bit more pragmatic.

Acceptance in their society was as simple as knowing within oneself that they belonged. She didn't have to hear from others that she was worthy. It was enough that _she_ knew. There was a confidence in her as an illegitimate Halfblood that hadn't existed when she was a Know-It-All Muggle-born. She wished she had learned that lesson when she was still in the nineties. Maybe she would have been able to get some sleep at night occasionally. Maybe she would've had more friends. Dean Thomas was believed to be a Muggle-born too and only the staunchest blood purists didn't like him. He had lots of friends in all Houses.

So even though her younger self would've considered this Hermione to be a complete and utter failure because she was content being a part-time shop assistant, she was happy. She gave herself permission to take a deep breath and not worry what the world at large thought of her. Success could be measured with many different scales. What would be the use of being miserably unhappy as the Minister for Magic when she could be blissfully happy serving colorful drunks at the pub? Money was nothing, she thought with the self-assurance of one who would never have to worry about it again. Life was too short to worry about what others thought about her. She wanted to live her life for _her_ , not for strangers.

For a hundred different reasons, she was particularly pensive that morning in mid-September. Being alone for most of her shift gave her the opportunity to allow her mind to wander and roam. She hadn't woken up feeling strangely, but somewhere along the way her brain had become muddled and she felt like she was underwater. It was easy to discount it as just being some kind of cold or maybe even the precursor to a depressive mood.

She would've liked to say that she was always happy and never depressed. That would've been a complete lie. Though she tried to keep the worst of her feelings to herself and keep these _spells_ under wraps, she might have entire days that she didn't want to get out of bed. Usually, she could coax herself out before even the super observant juror she slept next to noticed.

The strange manner in which her mind couldn't stay focused and the heaviness in her head made her worried that she was about to need a day or two to herself to wallow in her sorrow. Or at least to try to hide from the outside world. Being out there amongst everyone could be exhausting and daunting at times.

"You're not yourself today, love. What's wrong?"

The manager of the establishment had been inside the front door of the shop for less than a minute before he asked after her well-being. Hermione missed the question the first three times he asked. She stood in front of the glass case holding the shop's inventory of streelers, completely unaware of what she had even been thinking.

"Go home, Hermione. Maybe you need a long nap. Please try to enjoy the rest of the day."

He'd kissed her forehead and gently pushed her out the front door with a tap on her arse. She practically stumbled out into the Alley. Instead of going straight home as she normally did, Hermione started walking.

Caradoc hadn't been wrong in his split-second assertion that she was out of sorts. When she was minding the store by herself so he could visit his grandmother's care home as he did every single Wednesday morning, Hermione had been able to ignore the fact that her mind kept wandering to topics and thoughts better left undisturbed. There were always few customers to help in those hours alone. No matter how many mindless tasks she tried to complete, she wasn't even able to fool herself into believing that was a day unlike any others.

She was aware of the significance even if no one else was. It was both her twenty-seventh birthday and the day she was born. When she woke up that morning to the fervent kisses of her wizard wanting to ensure her special day was memorable, she tried to ignore the fear that two Hermiones being alive at the same time would have disastrous consequences for the space-time continuum or whatever the bloody theories were called. There were times she had trouble separating the scientific facts from the scientific fictions she was familiar with. And when magic was added in to the equation, she really felt unprepared.

Her entire third year had been spent with multiple Hermiones running through the castle. It was clearly possible and likely that there wouldn't be any complications. But, as with any subject she didn't know every tiny detail about, she was still nervous that there was something she was overlooking. At least she was able to console her fears somewhat with the reminder that she wouldn't disappear for another year and approximately four months.

As she worked over all of the details that she was made aware of over the years about her birth, Hermione didn't even pay close attention to where she was walking. Diagon Alley was always rather slow on Wednesdays, especially since Hogwarts had been in session for almost a month. She'd been warned by both the Ministry and her boyfriend to limit her aimless wandering to an absolute minimum. Their world was no longer safe. Usually she listened and hastened either back home or to her father's pub. On her birthday, however, she didn't feel the sense of urgency to comply with the safety regulations that everyone was expected to follow.

It was only as she entered the darkness of Knockturn Alley that she even began to wonder how she got there. An unsettling feeling came over her the further in she walked. Ordinarily, she had no fear of the inhabitants within the dodgy part of the city. If one only took the time to speak with them, they usually discovered there wasn't much to fear or worry about at all. More shades of grey. No one was wholly good or wholly evil.

She recognized the dingy door next to Borgin and Burkes even if she'd never felt the urge to push it open before. It called to her, begged her to enter. Perhaps if she hadn't felt a bit fuzzy-headed all day she would've been able to ignore the compulsion to go against her better judgment and open a door she had no business opening. Even as she pushed it with all of her might, she ignored the reasonable voice shouting at her in the back of her mind telling her to turn away and run as fast as she could.

"Good afternoon, Miss Dumbledore. How kind of you to accept my invitation."

Lord Voldemort's voice combined with the slamming of the door shut behind her broke the spell. Hermione came to her proper senses, all hints of confusion and lightheadedness replaced with a sickening terror. He might have been gesturing to a table filled with sandwiches, but she knew he hadn't forced her to come just to share a pot of tea.

"My Lord…"

His soft chuckle made the hair all over her body stand on end. It was a sound she hated. One that she'd heard too often. Worried that she was about to be ambushed by another unwelcome presence, she frantically searched every visible corner in the small room.

They were completely alone in what appeared to be an empty storeroom. Only a table with two chairs comprised the furnishings. Something about the starkness of the room didn't make Hermione feel any less frightened. If Lord Voldemort wanted her completely alone, it was likely to not be for any good reason.

"Have a seat."

She was in the chair before she'd even realized she moved. Had he cast an Imperius Curse on her and she was unaware? Beyond the memorable lesson in fourth year with Barty Crouch, Jr. pretending to be Alastor Moody, she had never been under the influence of the Unforgivable. Not even the compulsion spell Voldemort cast on her years earlier to ensure she walked to the Leaky Cauldron instead of Apparating home after work had been that strong. What else was he going to make her do against her will?

Almost as if he was reading her mind, and it was entirely possible that he was, Voldemort pointed his wand between her eyes. A tiny burst of light shot out from the end. She didn't know what it was. Her history with unknown curses being placed on her by the evil wizard wasn't a happy one. For a moment, she feared that she was about to be met with another vivid sexual vision she didn't want.

"Simply removing all traces of the spell that brought you here," he explained.

"Sending an owl would have been just as effective."

Being snarky with the Dark Lord wasn't the best idea. One could never be certain how he would take sarcasm. She knew him to be a man prepared to curse even the most loyal of followers for the slightest infraction. To her great relief, he only laughed again.

"And would you have really come to meet me for lunch if I'd only asked?"

It seemed safer to not answer at all than to tell the truth. They were both aware even without her saying anything what she would say. Of course not. She wasn't opposed to avoiding the man for the rest of her life, if at all possible.

"Please take something to eat. I know I'm interrupting your regular meal time. You often order food from the cafe next to the Magical Menagerie when you leave on Wednesday afternoons."

Voldemort knowing her schedule was disturbing, but not surprising. Fenrir Greyback had been stalking her for years. He probably knew her daily routines better than she did herself. At least certainly better than Kingsley did anyway.

"Thank you, but I'm not hungry."

He didn't press her to take anything again. Instead, he sat down in the chair across from her, the smile on his face widening. Hermione couldn't help but feel like a fly caught in a spider's trap.

"It has been a long time since you and I last had a conversation."

"Yes, I believe the last time was when you and that monster came to my home."

"I understand that Fenrir made a bit of a nuisance of himself there for a little while."

There was no reason to lie to the man when he already knew the facts. No reason to hide the fact that she was angry and bothered by the werewolf's obsession with her and the Dark Lord's exploitation of her fears.

"He hasn't approached me for several months, but yes, I'm well aware of the fact that he hasn't given up on his obsession of me."

"No, and he likely won't ever give up. Death, I think will be the only deterrent."

"His death or mine?"

"Does it really matter?"

The subtle threat behind his words was not lost on his unwilling guest. Hermione willed herself to remain calm just as she always had to in his presence. She could feel Voldemort pressing at the edges of her mind, searching for any kind of weakness or break in her defenses. The longer this meeting went on, the more likely it would be that he would be successful. Her resolve was breaking down with each moment of sheer terror she felt. She knew she would have to end this soon to keep her secrets and her mind intact.

"Why did you want to speak to me alone, my Lord?"

"Ahh, yes, let's not waste any more time on pleasantries."

She could've snorted if she hadn't been terrified. Did he really believe the first several minutes of their meeting had been nothing but polite, impersonal banter? Either he was being just as sarcastic as she had been earlier, or he was a complete novice at interpersonal interactions.

"Your assistance in singling out the members of your uncle's group has been invaluable. We were unaware of who were fighting against for a long time. Now, thanks to you, we've been able to track those who would oppose us."

The familiar sinking in her stomach returned in full force. She hated when any mention of her activities were thrown into her face. It was hard enough living with herself, taking a breath each moment knowing that she was the one who revealed the names of those who would eventually be killed fighting for the Order of the Phoenix. Not once had it escaped her notice that each of the names Benjy passed on to her would be dead before the war was over. Not a single one of them would live past 1981. She was afraid to open her mouth to make any kind of response to his show of gratitude, so she sat in her chair waiting for the true purpose of the meeting to be revealed.

"What do you think your Uncle Albus would think if he knew that you were giving the names of his little group to the enemy?"

"He wouldn't be happy."

Except he was the one indirectly providing the names. She could feel the insistent pressing against her mind as if Voldemort was certain she was going to drop her shields enough to allow him to see what she truly felt about the predicament she was in. Perhaps he was under the impression that she was afraid of what Albus would do to her and he hoped to use that as leverage into offering her more of his special protection. She did her best to keep her mental shields firmly in place. The Dark Lord didn't need to know what was really running through her mind.

"No, I imagine he wouldn't be happy. Do you think he might turn on his own niece?"

"Are you hoping that's what he will do? Are you planning on sending one of your spies to him with the knowledge that his niece was working for you?"

"Clever idea, certainly, but no. I think it would be more fun to have you by my side instead. Rumors can only go so far. How much clearer of a message could we make with you a loyal and _marked_ follower?"

She should have expected that he would bring up the notion of her accepting the Dark Mark again. It had been a long time since he last hinted that that was what he ultimately wanted from her, but she wasn't naive enough to believe that it would never come up again. Voldemort had made it clear more than a few times that he wanted to collect her for no other reason than he thought it would be a devastating blow to his worst enemy. The very thought of being a pawn in either man's game, let alone a pawn in both of them, made her angry. What did a girl have to do to live a normal, peaceful life?

"I have both of your cousins now and sweet Bellatrix, of course. Despite the unpleasantness that has crept up between us as of late, I'm certain that if you were to show your support openly for me, Regnault would see the error his ways and return to me. I would like the entire Lestrange family."

"I'm not a Lestrange. Simply a bastard Halfblood raised by a Muggle stepfather and the disgraced and disowned daughter of the House. Is your army in such dire straits that you require someone as insignificant as me to boost your ranks?"

"You and I are both aware that you aren't insignificant. Not to Regnault. Not to Albus."

Much of the charm in his tone was slipping away into the hardened anger of a man who was used to getting his way being met with resistance. Hermione held on to the very real concern that he might curse her again before allowing her to leave the room. Maybe something worse than what he'd done before. She knew from history and from direct experience with the Dark Lord that he never accepted loyal followers who were under the Imperius Curse. How Lucius Malfoy and Corban Yaxley and the others were able to avoid Azkaban with that lie managed was beyond her. Clearly they had help on the inside of the Ministry. While he wouldn't accept her under the Imperius Curse, that didn't mean he wouldn't cast it again to make sure she did other tasks he wanted completed. Being entirely under the control of the Dark Lord was a worse fate than she had imagined up until that point.

He rose from his chair and began to circle the table as if he was some large bird of prey and she was a poor field mouse. Defenseless and unable to run away. His talons would clamp down on her if she tried anything. Of that, there was no doubt.

"I respectfully disagree, my Lord. My Uncle Albus has already written me off as a lost cause. He wants nothing to do with me after he learned about you being in my bed. And my Uncle Regnault is still angry about the curse you cast on me. Were you aware of the side-effects?"

The last thing she wanted to do on her birthday, or any other day, was to have the uncomfortable conversation with Lord Voldemort that he was the reason why she would never be able to have children. It seemed that no matter what the conversation was or the situation was lately, the subject always came back to that horrid curse. If she wasn't fighting with Kingsley about the future, she was listening to her uncle spit out angry words about how the man he used to believe was the best hope for their future had ripped hers away. She was growing weary of it. Exhausted of thinking about those weeks and the aftermath. She feared that for the rest of her life she wouldn't be able to move past what happened.

"Oh, dear. Was that why you were in hospital? I was worried about you. Even considered stopping by with flowers and a 'get well' card."

Sarcasm from the Dark Lord was infuriating. Her hand itched to grab her wand and curse him right in his face. Unfortunately, she was certain she would be dead before her curse even made its mark. Not only did he have decades more experience using magic, but he had no moral compunction to limit his power. He would kill her purely for the pleasure of it the moment she no longer served a purpose. The trick to remaining alive was to make him believe she still had value.

"Uncle Regnault thinks of me as more of a daughter than a niece. Learning that your curse means I can't have children angered him deeply."

"Children are unnecessary."

Hermione jumped when she felt his chest press against her back as he leaned over her shoulder. Each of his hands rubbed down the outside of her arms. He hadn't been this close to her since right before she ran out of her bedroom at the manor _that_ night. Her heart thumped in her ears. His breath tickled the skin on her neck.

"One has no need to have children to carry on their legacy if they plan on living forever."

"But, my Lord, no one is immortal. We must all die eventually."

"There are ways to keep that from happening if one only has the stomach to do what is required."

"But how, my Lord? Unless they possess the philosopher's stone…"

She almost squeaked out a hysterical laugh at her words. That night she and Ron helped Harry recover the stone to keep it out of Voldemort's hands felt like it belonged in someone else's life. It was easy to forget who she once had been. Often she wondered if that was normal or not. Did other people think back on events in their childhood and feel like that happened to someone else?

"There is so much I could teach you if you would only ask."

One of his hands moved off of her arm, down her side, and straight to her inner thigh. He hadn't shown any sign of physical attraction to her since the curse was broken. She knew his only love was power. If he had to use sex to his advantage, he would. His words from that night in the library when he said she was only interested in expanding her knowledge and the feel of a powerful wizard between her thighs echoed in her mind. He wasn't even trying to be subtle in his offer. She could've laughed if she hadn't been certain that would've only brought upon her death.

"I'm not interested in living forever, my Lord. I only want to live a _normal_ and quiet life. What you are asking of me goes against everything that I desire."

His hands left her body. He didn't even seem surprised by her reluctance.

"I will give you more time to reconsider my _generous_ offer. But, mark my words, I won't always be so patient."

Hermione leapt up from the chair after his obvious dismissal. She wanted out of there as quickly as possible. Just as she reached out for the door, he spoke again, chilling her to her very bones.

"Do say 'hello' to your wizard's older brother. I've been meaning to visit him again. Tell me, has he married his Muggle yet?"

* * *

December 4, 1998

 **12:50 am**

Kingsley hadn't even gone more than a hundred meters when he felt the presence of another person on the trail behind him. Though his work as the Minister lately kept him mostly behind a desk, he hadn't forgotten all of his years as an auror. The hunt was always the best part of the job. Seeking out the enemy with only the barest of clues had always been a big rush.

And fucking Antonin Dolohov had to ruin his fun with his mere presence.

"What are you doing, Dolohov?"

"Following you. Making sure you don't get yourself killed."

"How sweet. I wasn't aware you even cared."

Dolohov snorted and sped up his pace so that the two men were side by side. A further examination of the direction he came from proved to Kingsley that none of the other wizards were with him. Either Aberforth hadn't sounded the alarm yet or Rodolphus and Stur, _Silas,_ weren't that concerned about his safety. He was a professional after all.

"I _don't_ care, but if your stupidity means that Greyback gets away, I wanted to be here."

Once that was settled, neither of them felt the urge to speak as they continued down the trail of clear footsteps in the snow. Whoever they belonged to hadn't even tried to hide them. Maybe they didn't care if they were found. Or, maybe they thought that sticking to the woods and staying as far away from the populated areas of the village as possible would work to their advantage.

Truthfully, Kingsley wasn't even certain that he was following Greyback's tracks. Anyone could've left them in the snow. Yes, it was odd that they led directly to Hermione's bedroom window, but the wizard walking next to him was proof that the werewolf wasn't the only person alive with an unhealthy obsession with _his_ witch. Maybe someone else was leaving the purple thistles on her windowsill. It wasn't as if he had ever heard from Hermione that that was some kind of calling card for the beast anyway. He was moving solely on instinct that night.

They walked silently through the outer edge of the woods. Not far from the back of the pub the trail had gone further into the trees. The snow was mostly untouched with the exception of the footprints. Kingsley thought they belonged to someone wearing large boots, but he couldn't be completely certain. He'd always been better at tracking through the use of residual magic. Dark witches and wizards tended to rely more heavily on their wands than their brute strength. Several sweeps of the trail for any magic kept coming up empty.

Neither of them were surprised when the trail led them straight to the back of the Shrieking Shack. Somehow, Kingsley already knew that was where they would end up. The building had always given him an unsettling feeling even when he was trying to impress a pretty witch by drinking too much fire whiskey inside. Many times over the years he'd found her standing out in front of the shack crying or simply thinking with the weight of the world on her shoulders. He hated that place. If it was completely up to him, he'd have it obliterated with a reducto spell.

The prints in the snow ended at the familiar loose board on the side of the shack. It hadn't been reattached properly. They didn't even need magic to remove it. Just a sharp tug. Before either of them were foolish enough to climb down into the cellar, Dolohov cast a spell checking for any kind of human presence. When nothing came back and the night was silent of all howls, Kingsley climbed in first.

Once inside the small building, they went their separate ways, looking for any clue of who might have been the one to leave the footprints going in to the house. Kingsley pushed aside the unsettling reality that they hadn't seen any footprints going _out._

"Shacklebolt! In here."

He found Dolohov standing over an old, four-poster bed. Blankets in the middle of the mattress that weren't covered in the same thick coat of dust that everything else was proved that someone had been staying inside. It wasn't the nest that caught Dolohov's eyes, however. As soon as Kingsley was close enough, he pushed several pieces of yellowing parchment in his hands.

Every single article that had been written about Hermione since her disappearance the previous June had been cut out of the Daily Prophet with an immense amount of care. Someone was building a library about her. A chill rushed through Kingsley's body. Whoever had been sleeping in the Shrieking Shack had been following the story very closely. _Too_ closely.

"I guess it's safe to assume that we've found where Greyback has been hiding."

For only one out of a few times in his life, Kingsley had no need to argue with his rival. Dolohov was correct. The Death Eater seemed to feel compelled to dig through all of the corners and crevices in the room for more proof, but the Minister wanted to get out of there. It felt eerie. Like it was something that he wasn't supposed to see.

"There weren't any footsteps leading away from the house."

Dolohov stopped his searching at Kingsley's declaration to stare at him.

"It's the Full Moon, Baby Shacklebolt. We would _know_ if there was a werewolf inside."

Again, he couldn't argue. They continued their search of the house. Once down in the main room where a million years ago they'd all sat in a circle passing a bottle of fire whiskey and playing a ridiculous game, a sense of nostalgic wistfulness came over both men. A small smile even threatened to appear on Dolohov's face.

"I'm still angry that Tommy got to kiss her first."

Kingsley snorted. Yeah, Dolohov wasn't the only one. He'd been angry at his brother for weeks after Hermione kissed Tommy instead of him. It had been a matter of pride, not something a seventeen year old boy takes lightly.

"So what else do you think he lied to us about?" Dolohov asked with a resigned sigh.

"I don't know. My brother liked to keep his secrets. I may never forgive him for not telling me I had a nephew."

He nodded his head in agreement. Kingsley _knew_ it was the Full Moon simply by the fact that Dolohov was agreeing with him. That never happened.

"He shouldn't have done that. I understand being afraid for Dean's safety, but you could've helped keep him safe all last year."

"Dean told me that you were the one who saved his life when Ted Tonks was murdered."

Dolohov sighed and turned his face away. Pretending to look through the dusty and battered items that were strewn around the room, he needed a moment to compose his thoughts. Kingsley didn't push him. Even if they would never get along or be mates, he would respect when another man needed his privacy.

"I wish I could've saved Ted too. I _tried_. Fucking Greyback. I'd like to murder him with my bare hands."

"You'll have to get in line, I'm afraid."

Mutual disdain and hatred for the werewolf brought the two rivals together for a moment. Dolohov actually snorted and smiled.

"Let's just agree that whoever gets closest to him first gets the first try."

"All right, Dolohov. I can agree to those terms."

There was nothing else to view in the shack. They'd looked everywhere and there was no sign of where Greyback had gone. All they knew for certain was that he wasn't there. An unspoken agreement passed between the two wizards as they climbed out of the cellar. There would be eyes on the Shrieking Shack as much as possible until the werewolf returned to his den. They weren't going to give up so easily.


	83. Chapter 83

Chapter Eighty-Three

September 19, 1979

 **9:45 pm**

She waited until the last of the toasts to her good health were done before she grabbed Thomas by the elbow to drag him out of the main room of the pub where her surprise party was held. Despite begging and pleading with Kingsley to just let her birthday pass that year with no fanfare, he wouldn't hear of it. With her dad's help, he'd invited all of her friends, his family, and her family members she was still speaking to. It was heartening to see the number of people who existed in the past that loved her enough to show up.

"Aren't you concerned my little brother is going to get jealous when he discovers we're not only both missing from _your_ party, but that we're hiding in your bedroom?"

Thomas asked his question with that devastating wink of his that usually turned his female prey into malleable sludge. Hermione simply rolled her eyes. He might have been attractive, but there hadn't been a single moment in her entire friendship with the man that she ever thought of him in a more than platonic manner. Not even when she was kissing him in the Shrieking Shack to make the other two idiots jealous.

"We need to talk and I can't risk anyone overhearing our conversation."

"You sound serious."

All hints of joking left his countenance as he took a respectful seat on the floor away from the edge of the bed she sat on. Neither of them might have thought of the other as any more than a friend or a potential sibling, but that didn't mean it was appropriate for them to be be seated in such an intimate manner alone.

"Yes. I'm very serious."

She took a deep breath followed by a deep drink from the champagne glass she still held in her hand. Between her father and Kingsley pressing them into her hand all evening, she wasn't sure how much she had to drink. Everyone else in her life seemed to feel that her birthday was a cause for celebration. If Hermione had had her wish, she would've spent it at home in her pajamas trying to ignore the unnerving meeting she'd had with the Dark Lord. Too bad everyone else always seemed to know what she needed better than she knew herself.

"I saw You Know Who today in Knockturn Alley."

"Hermione! Why? You shouldn't be near him."

"Trust me when I say that it wasn't by choice that I was there, Thomas Shacklebolt."

Her tone left no room for him to argue. What a ridiculous thing to say! She would have happily gone the rest of her life without being in the same country as that wizard. There was nothing that would entice her to go _to_ him.

"He cast a spell on me when I was walking into the shop this morning. I didn't realize it until I left for the day."

"What kind of spell? Not _that_ one again, was it?"

"No, thank Merlin. Not _that_ one. The Imperius Curse, I'm almost certain. He never admitted it, but how else could you explain me going straight to where he was in Knockturn Alley against my will?"

It was the only explanation that made any kind of sense. She remembered the lock on the front door of the shop being strangely difficult to open that morning. Rarely did she have any problem getting the thing unlocked. While she was struggling with it, she felt a strange sensation overtake her entire body. It _had_ to have been while she was unlocking the door that Voldemort cursed her with the Unforgivable. After she was able to get the door open and she was no longer fully exposed to the rest of the Alley, she had felt strange all morning.

"When I left work, I sought him out, Thomas. It was awful. I didn't even know why or how I was able to get to the place."

"What did he want? Or do I even need to ask?"

The lifting of his eyebrows made Hermione's eyes drop to the floor and her cheeks burn with humiliation. She didn't want to think about how the wizard had his body pressed up against her back as he ran his hand down to her thigh. It bothered her to know that if she had given him the slightest encouragement, their meeting would have ended a lot differently than it had.

Hermione trusted Thomas more than anyone else she knew. Even Kingsley. As much as she loved her wizard, she couldn't be completely honest with him about everything. There were secrets between them that likely would remain forever. Or at least until she was safely back in the future living in a world where Voldemort wasn't going to return. Until then, however, she relied on Thomas' counsel and support. He knew the deepest secrets that she didn't want anyone else to know. All except for the Greyback issue, of course. That was a secret that she wasn't fully prepared to share with him yet either. Not even when he looked at her with the knowing gaze of one who had been inside her mind. At least he was respectful enough to never bring up the werewolf despite what he must have already figured out on his own.

Even though she trusted him, she hated that he knew about her intimate past with Voldemort. It was humiliating. Recalling those weeks she was under that blasted curse and the eventual night that it required to break the curse always made her want to hide underneath her bed, far from the judgmental eyes of everyone who knew. It bothered her that Thomas' first reaction was to imply that there had been a repeat, or at least an attempted repeat, of that horrible night.

"Nothing like that. Or, at least, not at first."

His momentary relief at her first sentence disappeared with the second. Thomas clenched his jaw and his nostrils flared. She could tell he was fighting a battle within himself to remain calm. Because he was so fundamentally different than his younger brother and because he could disappear within himself on an intellectual quest, it was all too easy to dismiss him as being harmless. More than a few times as her friendship with him had developed, she thought it was a good thing that Voldemort was never able to convince him to join his side. Thomas would be one terrifying Death Eater. The man was cold and calculated when necessary and she'd already seen him be vicious a time or two without flinching.

"He's trying to recruit me."

"Well, we always knew this was going to keep happening, Hermione."

"Yeah, but that's not what bothered me the most."

In as few words as possible, she relayed Voldemort's words to her as she rushed towards the door. She had been so shocked by his casual mention of Thomas' Muggle fiancée that she didn't even have a remark to say in response. After she blinked at him like a confused owl for a few seconds, she ran out of the storeroom as quickly as she could. Her feet didn't stop until she was somewhere she could Apparate home.

Thomas wasn't nearly as startled as Hermione had been. When she explained her concerns that the Dark Lord knew about Grace and likely knew that she was expecting as well, all he did was sigh. She hated how silent he was for more than a couple of minutes after she stopped talking. It was torture waiting for him to say something, anything about what she learned.

"I'll give him one thing. The wizard is tenacious."

His resigned acceptance bothered Hermione more than if he had burst into tears and shrieked about the injustice. She didn't like how calm he was. Shouldn't he rush out of the pub straight to London to do whatever was required to keep Grace and unborn Dean safe? A large part of Hermione was itching to do so and she'd never even met Grace. At least, not until years in the future for a few moments after the war ended. Hardly a memorable meeting.

"We need to do something, Thomas!"

"Hermione, love, do you honestly believe that I _haven't_ already considered the safety of my wife and son yet? Of course I know they're in danger. Please give me a little bit more credit than that. I'm not my brother, after all."

The stinging hex was out of the end of her wand in moments. Thomas yelped like a kicked puppy when it struck him right between his eyes. He was on his feet in seconds, his wand pointed at her and mad fury splashed all over his face. For the first time since Hermione had known him, she felt frightened of what he was truly capable of.

But, she didn't back down. Not even as his handsome face began to swell with the after-effects of the hex making him appear grotesque and terrifying. She would do it all over again if she could go back to that moment in time. How many times had she warned him in the past to not say cruel things about his brother?

He needed several long moments of holding his wand steady in her face to calm down enough to keep from using it on her. When his eyes began to swell, Thomas exhaled an irritated huff and turned his wand on himself. The counter-curse was simple enough. With the exception of a bit of puffiness in his eyelids, he was back to his usual appearance in seconds.

"Never had a stinging hex to my face before. Don't recommend it."

His attempt at a joke fell flat. Hermione would never find his dismissive and hurtful comments about Kingsley the least bit amusing. She'd warned him. Over and over again.

"Maybe I shouldn't have insulted my little brother…"

"No 'maybe'. You shouldn't."

"… but you have to admit that he's not terribly observant about what's happening to his witch. How can he just continue floating through life without spending every waking moment he has keeping you safe?"

"Would you rather he lock me in a cage and keep me at home until this is all over?"

Thomas clenched his jaw again, ready to make a biting retort, but stopped himself before she had cause to send another even more painful curse in his direction. He had always known what she was capable of and had even given her pointers over the years to improve her technique and expand her repertoire.

"As reckless as you tend to be, I don't think that's the _worst_ idea I've ever heard actually."

"'Reckless'?"

She was itching to hurt him again. Somewhere more personal. Dean was already conceived. It wasn't as if he _needed_ his bollocks anymore. Where did he get this confidence? Usually he was much more levelheaded when it came to heated discussions with her. They had never resorted to physical violence before. Either they were becoming even more like a brother and sister than they already were or their relationship was in serious danger of collapsing under the strain of their secrets.

"Yes, Hermione. You are reckless. Makes perfect sense to me that you were a Gryffindor. You and your little mates never seemed to take any precautions. Just went headfirst into dangerous situations without thinking."

"That is not what…"

"Oh, it's not what happened? Have you told me everything, Hermione? Anything you're missing? Any foolish quests? I mean, besides using a time turner to run after an escaped Azkaban inmate or rushing off to the Ministry of Magic to break into the Department of Mysteries? I'm still not done being angry about the fact that my _son_ was so easily persuaded to join your little resistance group."

Finally, he'd hit on what he was really angry about. Or at least _one_ thing he was angry about. Over the years since she had told him her secret, she'd gone into detail about all of the dangerous situations she found herself in because she was Harry's friend. He used to laugh at them and be impressed. As soon as she revealed to him that she knew his son, Thomas hadn't been looking at her past with the same eyes. When he asked if Dean had been a member of Dumbledore's Army, she almost lied to his face. A father didn't need to know everything. Except he always knew when she was lying.

"Dean was perfectly safe the last time I saw him."

"But he could've not been! He could've been hurt or killed. Can you even try to imagine what it must be like for me to know what he's going to go through and to know that I can't do _anything_? I won't even be alive when he's in danger!"

The last words that came out of his mouth broke the last of his resolve. Great big tears rolled down his cheeks. All hint of anger was gone to be replaced only with the same heart-wrenching sadness she remembered from the day he sobbed on her kitchen table. Hermione didn't know what to do for him. She wanted to wrap her arms around him, comfort him, and lie to him that Dean was never going to feel a moment's pain or fear for his entire life.

Thomas dropped back down to the floor. He pulled his knees up and rested his elbows on them to hide away until he regained his composure. Just as he was the only person in the entire world Hermione could be completely honest and open with, Hermione was the only person he could be open with too. If either of them even tried to share the knowledge of their futures with another person they loved, they would be faced with the very real prospect that they'd be dismissed as a liar at best and crazy at worst.

"I felt him kick the other day. Gracie says that he's very active every time he hears my voice, but the _moment_ I touch her belly, he freezes. Like it's a game he's playing with me."

Hermione sat down on the floor next to Thomas and wrapped her arm around his back. Whatever he needed from her, she was going to offer it whether he asked for it or not. At the touch of her hand, Thomas lifted his head to meet her watery eyes with his own. She gave him a small encouraging smile, begging him silently to continue.

"I'm sorry that you will never get to experience what that's like… to feel your baby kicking. I can't even imagine how different it would've been for you having them actually _inside_ your body."

She had nothing to say. Sometimes it hurt too much to allow her mind to travel down those avenues. Instead, she laid her head down on Thomas's shoulder, offering her strength with physical touch instead of words.

"He will be here soon. The Muggle Healer said four weeks. That's… that's almost here and I don't even know what I'm doing half the time."

"Dean and Grace will be okay."

"Yes, they will be. I'm making certain of it. I'd hoped there would be more time before I had to do anything drastic, but it sounds like I'm running out of it instead."

Almost as if he was already preparing himself for the difficult tasks ahead, Thomas rose to his feet. He reached out a hand to help Hermione up too. The tension that had existed in the room only a few short minutes earlier was all but gone.

"I'll get everything ready to alter their memories very soon. We will do it before Dean is born. Maybe that'll be easier."

Hermione hugged him tight to both comfort and offer an apology of sorts for her earlier behavior. While she would never be sorry that she defended Kingsley when his elder brother was being unfair to him, she was sorry that it caused the first real angry tension between them that they'd ever experienced. It felt wrong, somehow, for the two of them to be at odds. She didn't like it at all.

"May I ask you something, Hermione?"

"Of course."

"Promise me you won't lie?"

"I promise."

Thomas didn't avoid her eyes like he had been doing for much of their conversation. He wanted to see the truth or the lie within them. The nudging she usually felt at the corner of her mind when Uncle Albus or Tom Riddle tried to read her began, but in a much gentler, hesitant manner. Even though he rarely insisted on testing her defenses when they weren't actively practicing, he wasn't trying to hide the fact that he wanted to see it all. She grew more nervous worrying about what he was going to ask. What if it was something horrible that she didn't know how to answer?

"Will Gracie and Dean be happy… without me?"

She removed the last of her shields to allow him free access to her mind. Sometimes words weren't enough. When she could feel his careful presence inside her mind, Hermione pushed forward the memories she had of Dean with his mother. There were only a few. Mostly just seeing them outside Platform 9 3/4 when the school year was over or when it was about to begin.

Thomas lingered on the memories, examining them each in great detail. He stayed longest on the moment Dean was reunited with his mother and stepfather. Hermione worried that he would be upset seeing the man who would effectively replace him in his son's life. But, he had every right to see what he wanted to see. Maybe it would even grant him a small measure of peace.

"Thank you."

The simple phrase was spoken with a trembling voice thick with emotion. Thomas squeezed the outside of each of her shoulders and kissed her cheek firmly. His cheeks were dry, but his eyes were threatening to overflow. He made his excuses to rush out of the room.

Hermione waited a minute or two inside her old bedroom to compose herself before walking back out into the party. Men like her Uncle Regnault and her father could sense she was distressed from a mile away. She didn't want any awkward conversations or impertinent questions. Once she had calmed her racing heart with several deep breaths and all evidence that she had been the least bit emotional during her private discussion with Thomas was gone from her features, she stepped out into the private parlor. Sounds from the birthday party in the main room of the pub spilled under the closed door.

"Everything all right?"

She almost jumped when she heard the soft voice of Aberforth from just under the portrait of his beloved younger sister. He had done such a thorough job of fading into the background that she hadn't been aware she wasn't alone.

"Thomas looked a bit shaken when he walked out just a bit ago."

Aberforth knowing the truth of her origins made her life in the past much easier. Though he had repeated his wishes on many occasions that he didn't want any details of what was to come, he understood that she carried a heavy burden on her slim shoulders. Hermione wanted to shift some of that burden, if at all possible.

"I wasn't aware that I knew anything about Thomas' future until recently."

"Ahh, I see. It's not a good one, I take it?"

She shook her head and willed her treacherous eyes to remain dry. Without hesitation, Aberforth enveloped her in his arms. For a man who had taken a long time to get used to the simplest of human touches when she arrived, Aberforth no longer balked in the slightest when she hugged him or kissed his cheek. In fact, there were many times that he actively sought out affection. She always obliged her adoptive father when he needed an embrace or just to simply assure himself that she was physically whole.

"I'll keep everyone distracted if you need a few minutes alone. Maybe a short walk? Fresh air might do you some good."

Grateful that he would give her the means for a short escape, Hermione kissed Aberforth's cheek and rushed to the backdoor in the kitchen. Disregarding the cries from the goats she had been sorely ignoring lately, she headed straight for a path in the woods behind the pub that was rarely traveled. She knew that it wasn't safe to be out alone in those difficult times. Especially not with an obsessive werewolf clamoring constantly for her scent. Five minutes alone was all she wanted and it wasn't exactly as if she wasn't paying attention to her surroundings.

Walking to the Shrieking Shack took more than a few minutes, but she didn't doubt Aberforth would allow her all of the time she needed. If there was anyone else in the world who could appreciate some time to themselves, it was her dad. He admitted to missing her presence in the pub even though she knew he was glad to have his privacy back.

For whatever reason she couldn't explain, she felt at peace in front of the crumbling building. There would always be sad and upsetting memories associated with the shack. That certainly hadn't changed. Perhaps it was the stillness of the immediate area that made her relax. Most of the villagers and the visitors to Hogsmeade hadn't needed much persuading that the building was haunted. They gave it a wide berth.

She wasn't surprised to hear footsteps a few minutes after she arrived. In fact, she'd all but expected the beast to show up. Greyback had some innate sense whenever she was alone in the woods surrounding Hogsmeade. Hermione didn't want to give the possibilities much thought. Besides, it was about time for him to approach her alone anyway. He'd gone too long between unwelcome visits. Best to go ahead and get it over with.

"I'd hoped to find a few minutes alone with the 'Birthday Witch' today."

His teasing tone was at odds with his entire persona. She hated when he pretended to be anything but the vicious monster he was. As he stepped closer, Hermione held out her wand to show him that she wasn't about to be overpowered or frozen to the fence again. Greyback simply held up both of his hands, palms out, when he caught sight of her defensive stance.

"I'm not here to harm you, little girl."

"Then why are you here?"

He reached into the pocket of his jacket to pull out one of his blasted purple thistles. Hermione wasn't certain how he managed to always have a fresh supply of them even in seasons they should've been dead. The thought of him puttering around in a greenhouse tending to his plants like an old Herbology professor made her chuckle. What a ridiculous notion! Clearly the war was beginning to addle her wits.

"I was just planning on leaving it on your windowsill, but when I caught a whiff of your scent in the air, I followed."

She rolled her eyes and tried not to be too disgusted by the thought of him seeking her out with his nose. The very concept was disturbing. Even her intellectual need to constantly seek out more information remained silent. Willingly engaging Greyback into any kind of conversation wasn't high on her 'to do' list. But, at least his sudden arrival made the thought of returning to the party much more attractive than before.

"You haven't been taking many walks on your own lately. That's good. _Safer_ for you."

She couldn't stop the derisive snort that overcame her at the way he managed to sound almost concerned for her well-being. What kind of topsy-turvy twisty world were they living in? Her knowledge of history meant that she understood they were all living in dark days, but she hadn't expected this change in the werewolf. What was next? Water turning into blood? Inferi roaming the Earth in search of victims? It was all too bizarre.

"How kind of you to be worried about me. Especially considering _you_ are the one who is most apt to harm me."

He stalked closer, lifted his bare hand as if he was about to touch her, and stopped. Without his usual dragon hide gloves, any touch of her skin would cause him immense pain. A clear measure of anger colored his face. No doubt he was still furious that she had the protection of Igor's locket.

"When will you learn that I don't want to harm you?"

"You have an odd way of showing me that."

She was done talking to the werewolf. Every moment she was alone with him she felt her skin crawl with both fear and disgust. When she turned away from the Shrieking Shack to head back to the village, he blocked her path.

"You have a lot of enemies. I am not one of them."

"Again, you have an odd way of showing me that."

"I could make you happy."

"And now you're just delusional."

Never had he ever been so open with her in a conversation. It was disturbing and upsetting. What was the game he was playing at this time? She wasn't interested in the monster attempting to humanize himself. What he had done in the past, what he would do again if she didn't have the locket around her neck was unconscionable. Did he really expect that she would just forgive him for that night and allow him to continue what he started? She couldn't bear to be around the clearly insane man for another second. Hermione moved to escape, but his body blocked her path again.

"You're drawn to this place, little girl."

"It's _usually_ a quiet place where I can have a few minutes of reflection."

"It stinks of werewolves. Maybe that's what you find comforting about it?"

Even though she didn't find what they were discussing the least bit amusing, she forced out a loud laugh. Maybe she wasn't the only one whose mind was being addled by the violence of the war. There was something seriously wrong with the cursed creature.

"Hardly. I find nothing _comforting_ about your kind, Greyback. You disgust me."

"I like it here too," he continued as if he hadn't even heard what she just said. And because he had a prior history of ignoring what he didn't want to hear, he likely hadn't. "It reminds me of you."

She lurched forward in his direction, intent on touching whatever bare skin he was exposing just to get him to leave her alone. Sensing her plan of action, Greyback deftly moved at the last moment. He might not have been in blistering, agonizing pain, but his movements cleared the path back to the village. Without wasting yet another moment in his upsetting presence, Hermione picked up her pace towards the village.

"You'd be wise to remember what I told you, little girl. I am not your enemy, but you have plenty that are. Salazar Selwyn is just looking for a reason to kill you with or without the Dark Lord's permission."

Turning her head over her shoulder as she continued to walk towards the village, she met his eyes.

"Maybe you should eliminate him as a threat to me."

"Perhaps I will."

He followed her back to the pub at a distance, but she knew he was there the entire time. Agnes and Gladys both were agitated by the time she made it into the back garden to reenter the back door. She tried not to let his presence unnerve her. It was a dangerous game to play, one that she was determined to win. She glared at him one final time and disappeared within. No one but Aberforth was even aware that she'd run away from her own party.

* * *

October 6, 1979

 **11:07 am**

Hermione stood at the front door of the flat in Muggle London that Thomas shared with his girlfriend for at least four minutes before she knocked. She was nervous about the real reason why she was supposed to be there. Memory charms could go wrong in so many different ways. Even though she'd been studying them for months in preparation for assisting Thomas, she still was looking for any excuse available to not participate. Part of her hoped that he would change his mind, but she knew he wouldn't. Dean would've sought out his father's family if he'd known about them. If not before the Muggle-Born Registration Commission was formed, most definitely afterwards.

She shifted the bags she was holding in her hands and knocked on the door. There needed to be a reason that she just randomly dropped by his flat. Even the most understanding and trusting of women would find it odd that another woman randomly came to visit their husbands. Hermione had taken to playing the role of doting aunt to heart. She would've spoiled Dean even without a reason. He was going to be her nephew after all. Or as good as, anyway.

Grace was the one to answer the door. Instead of being confused by the presence of the strange woman she had yet to meet, her face split into a wide grin that was so similar to Dean's that Hermione immediately felt at ease.

"You must be Hermione. Tommy told us to expect you. He's just stepped out for a few minutes."

She moved aside to allow Hermione to enter. It was obvious even to someone who didn't know the exact date that she was going to go into labor at any moment. Grace was a little slow on her feet thanks to her massive belly, but she took the shopping bags from Hermione and led her into the kitchen.

"My parents and I were just about to have some tea. Would you like a cup?"

Once inside the tiny kitchen, introductions were made. Grace's parents were lovely and kind. _Too_ kind to have their memories messed with.

"Hermione is going to marry Tommy's younger brother," Grace announced to Hermione's amusement. She snorted into her teacup and almost made a mess. _That_ was certainly not a topic that had been broached formally yet. "At least they will when Kingsley gets his head out of his arse and asks her."

Grace winked at Hermione and she relaxed. Dean's grandparents both chuckled. Several minutes of polite, inconsequential chatter passed amongst the four before Hermione worked up her courage.

"I hope you don't mind me bringing over a few things for the baby. I was out shopping the other day and may have gotten carried away."

"Of course I don't mind! Tommy said that we should take advantage of your family's insatiable wealth whenever we could."

"Grace!"

"Relax, Mum. I was only joking. Tommy might not have been though."

She winked another conspiratorial wink at Hermione that made her guest laugh. It hadn't taken long for her to truly like Grace. There was no secret what Thomas found attractive about the Muggle enough to want to risk everything, including his life. Bits and pieces of Dean's personality were poking through, as well. It made her sad that they wouldn't ever have the opportunity to truly be sisters-in-law. Hermione was certain she could've enjoyed getting to know her better.

"Let me show you the nursery and you can show me what you bought."

The two-bedroom flat was so small that each room was only steps away from all of the others. But, it was charming and sweet in its own way. Thomas and Grace were living entirely on love. Hermione was a bit concerned about the safety of the neighborhood they chose to live in. There had been some not-so-welcoming glares from the people she saw on her way into the building. She wouldn't have minded helping them out with the funds needed to live in a safer part of the city, but knew that Thomas would say 'no' without even considering the offer. Shacklebolts were all too prideful. She would just have to do what she could for Dean in less obvious ways that would alleviate some of the financial stress placed on his parents.

"It's not much, but I'm pretty proud of it. You should've seen Tommy trying to use a paintbrush!" Her giggle was infectious. "You'd think he'd never had to paint before."

"I would've liked to have seen that. He's all right with concepts and theories. Practical work has always been a bit much for our Tommy."

"I'm so glad that I finally got to meet you, Hermione. Tommy has told me all about you. Sounds to me like you're a good match for his brother. I always liked Kingsley. He's sweet. I hope the four of us can all be friends."

At the first chance Hermione could pull her wand out of her pocket without Grace seeing, she did. If she had to spend too much time alone with the woman before she altered her memories, she knew she wouldn't be able to complete the one task Thomas asked her help with. So, as soon as Grace turned her back to start pulling the new blankets and toys out of the shopping bags, Hermione cast the charm.

It was all deceptively easy. She begged Grace's forgiveness internally as she changed a few recollections and added a few that hadn't existed. The entire process took less than a minute. When she was done, Hermione cleared her throat and tested her progress.

"I hope that Tommy and his family can repair this rift between them. It seems unfair to take it out on an unborn baby."

Grace spun around, a frown on her lips.

"I hope so too, Hermione. It makes me sad that little Dean might not ever know his father's family. Don't get me wrong. I support my husband one hundred percent, but it still makes me sad."

"Me too."

Thomas' secret wife, or wife-to-be, Hermione wasn't entirely certain which, reached out to take her hand. She squeezed it once before releasing it.

"It means the world to Tommy that you've stood with him, Hermione. I know it couldn't be easy."

"Tommy was my friend for years before his brother and I ever dated. His friendship isn't something I'm going to lightly toss aside. Maybe it won't last much longer."

"I hope it won't."

Satisfied that her charms worked, Hermione made her excuses to slip back into the kitchen. One down, two to go. Grace's parents were much easier. Their memories were altered in half the time it took their daughter. Another test done, she thanked Grace for the tea and promised her that they would see each other again soon. Likewise, she said her goodbyes to her parents and rushed out of the flat before she was sick.

Thomas was waiting for her on the pavement outside the building. He looked just as agitated as Hermione's stomach felt. After assuring him that the unpalatable task was complete, she wrung a promise from him that he would never ask her to do anything so vile again. She was done with memory charms. He agreed with a kiss to her cheek.

* * *

October 25, 1979

 **9:04 am**

Grace Thomas went into labor shortly after an exhausted and thoroughly satiated couple went to sleep in the earliest hours of the morning. Hermione and Kingsley had been up long past their usual bedtimes to continue their private celebration of Kingsley's twenty-sixth birthday. To get him back for the surprise party she hadn't wanted, Hermione made certain to throw one for him at her father's pub. Unfortunately, he did not learn his lesson about unwanted birthday parties. He'd thoroughly enjoyed his.

There was a light tapping on the window around two in the morning. Worried that it was another late night summons to a dangerous mission for Kingsley, Hermione slipped out of bed to retrieve it before he woke up. Surely nothing was so dire that he couldn't get a few more hours of sleep before going back on duty?

She wasn't expecting to see her own name scribbled on the front of the parchment. Few reasons existed for receiving a note that late and most of them weren't good. Careful not to wake up her snoring wizard, she tiptoed into the bathroom to close the door and turn on a light. Thomas wanted her to know that Dean was coming, but not to rush off to the hospital until later. Babies were notorious for taking a long time to make their appearance in the world.

Regnault had been kind, if a bit inquisitive, in his reply concerning the cancellation of their weekly luncheon later that morning. She'd had to lie about feeling a little ill. It took two additional replies to his first missive to assure him that she was perfectly all right and didn't need him to rush over to her house with his personal Healer in tow. She finally had to resort to the two words no man was interested in hearing before he finally left her alone: female troubles.

The last owl had been sent from the office of the Lestrange family's solicitor. Hermione was convinced she would see an extra charge of a galleon or two on her next bill for the wizard's discretion in not alerting her uncle she had been in his office that day. He gave off a vibe of being something of a creep, but he truly was the best available. Regnault never hired anyone who wasn't.

She could still hear the bells throughout the city marking the nine o'clock hour when she finally entered the waiting room of the hospital designed for family members awaiting their newest additions. It was crowded with Muggles, as to be expected. Only one seat was open and to her great horror, it was right next to an equally annoyed Antonin. Of course he would be there. Thomas was still his best friend no matter which sides of the war they were on. Some alliances didn't crumble just because of a disagreement.

Antonin looked as if he would rather be pinned down to the ground under a powerful Cruciatus Curse than seated amongst the loud and squabbling Muggles. He'd never acclimated well to life outside of the wizarding world. Hermione tried several times to show him all of the greatest parts of Muggle society, but he'd never been convinced. And, he'd kept his vow to stay out of all Muggle 'death contraptions' since the afternoon of Ted and Andromeda's wedding.

With the exception of the visits he was forced to make with her by his master for additional names of Order members, they hadn't actually spoken since the night he attacked her in the kitchen of the Hog's Head. Those clandestine meetings didn't count anyway. They never spoke about anything but the task at hand and parted as quickly as they could. No personal business was ever even hinted at.

She ignored how his dark brown eyes cut straight to her as she sat down in the empty chair. Perhaps, if they were lucky, Grace would deliver Dean that very moment and they could be on their way without the need to converse. Deciding after a couple of tense minutes where neither of them wanted to be the first to speak, Hermione asked a simple question.

"Have you heard any news?"

"No. I've been here three hours and I haven't heard anything yet."

The way he spat out the 'three hours' left no question he was annoyed with something. Hermione knew him too well to miss his cues.

"Something wrong, Antonin?"

"Tommy sent us owls _hours_ ago. Why are you just now getting here?"

She sighed and closed her eyes. It never took long for an argument to brew between the two of them.

"If you must know, even though it's none of your business, I was in my solicitor's office this morning."

Antonin scoffed and shook his head.

"Of course you were. You've always been self-centered, no concerns for anyone else. Were you able to verify that your investments and properties were still safe?"

She longed to curse him or slap him. Though she didn't owe him a single explanation for her activities, she wanted to make him feel bad about his choice of words.

"If you _must_ know, I was actually setting up a trust for little Dean's schooling this morning. No matter what happens in the future, I want to be certain that his education is paid for. Maybe that will help his parents."

His cheeks flushed pink as he clenched his jaw. Hermione felt a bit triumphant. There wasn't any way he could twist _that_ into a selfish act. She had done it for a few reasons. Not just to ensure that Grace wouldn't have to worry about where they were going to find the galleons and sickles and knuts needed to purchase cauldrons and wizard robes when Dean turned eleven. She'd snuck in a provision that on Dean's fourth birthday her solicitor would contact Marjorie Shafiq to inform her she was the trustee. Dean Shacklebolt was listed as the successor trustee in case something else horrible happened in the next few years.

Leaving Dean without _any_ of his paternal relatives aware of his existence seemed cruel. Thomas had his reasons, certainly, but her conscience wouldn't allow her to keep silent. Margie would be the best one to know first. She was wise enough to understand what needed to be done. Hermione wouldn't lose much sleep over revealing Thomas' secret eventually. For all she knew, they would _both_ be dead in four years.

"That was kind of you."

"This might come as a surprise to you, Antonin, but I'm _not_ heartless. Nor am I all that selfish either."

He couldn't argue with the truth. Maybe he would never get over the fact that she had kept so many secrets from him in the past. It didn't really matter. She had always done what she thought was important regardless of what other people thought. Of course she made mistakes. She was a flawed human, after all.

"I know you're not heartless, Hermione. I never said you were."

"No, just self-centered, right?"

"Hermione…"

"Let's just sit here quietly and wait. I'm not interested in speaking to you anyway. My feelings on _that_ subject haven't changed."

Perhaps half an hour of silent waiting passed. When Antonin was resolved to do something, he was usually stubborn enough to do it. Hermione was the same. If necessary, she might have even sat there for days without speaking. She had been so determined to remain silent that she almost leapt out of her seat when she heard his quiet voice break through their self-imposed silence.

"I don't think I killed Silas."

Hermione spun around so abruptly in her chair that she almost elbowed Antonin in the face in the process. Only his leaning back at the last second prevented the collision. She wasn't sure she heard him. How was that even possible?

"You admitted to killing him," she accused in a whisper.

"No, I didn't. I said that I couldn't tell you I had nothing to do with his murder."

Concerned that the Muggles around them might catch snippets of their conversations and be rightfully upset and disturbed, Hermione cast an inconspicuous _muffliato_ around their immediate area. When she was satisfied that they wouldn't be overheard, she hid her wand again.

"I fail to see the difference, Antonin. Besides, how can you not know?"

"Everything from that night is strange. I remember leaving your uncle's estate with Silas, but I don't remember _why_. He and I weren't exactly mates."

She had to admit even if just to herself that she thought it strange that the two of them were alone that night. Silas didn't like Antonin and had made that clear many times. In fact, he spent most of the evening of his sister's wedding keeping Antonin away from Hermione. The two of them disappearing together didn't make much sense.

"All I remember is leaving the estate, punching Silas in the face a couple of times, and then coming to in between two buildings in Knockturn Alley to find him dead. I must have passed out at some point."

Any further explanation of the events of that night were cut short by the arrival of a beaming Thomas. He looked exhausted and happier than either of them had ever seen him in their entire lives. Demanding that they come immediately to meet their new godson, Hermione couldn't shake the conversation she'd had with Antonin. Was there more to the story than she'd previously believed?

She knew they would have to speak again whether she wanted to or not.

* * *

December 8, 1998

 **8:35 am**

Three days after the Full Moon, Kingsley had an unexpected visitor to his office shortly after he arrived. Though he usually tried to be at the Ministry before 7:30, he had overslept for the first time in years. Late night searches for any trace of Greyback's whereabouts kept him from getting a full night's rest. It had been embarrassing to arrive at the office long after most of his officials.

"Out with it, Iain. What's the problem? You never come straight to my office anymore unless it's serious."

Auror Iain Proudfoot took a seat across the desk from the Minister without speaking. Only when he was seated comfortably did he look up to address his old comrade and close friend. There were worried lines on his forehead, a sight Kingsley didn't like at all. Whatever he was likely to report, it didn't look good.

"I know you asked quietly that all information relating to Antonin Dolohov be brought directly to you."

"Yes, I'm afraid I have a _personal_ interest in his capture. Has the Auror Department made any progress in his search?"

"He was spotted in Hogsmeade near the Shrieking Shack by one of the villagers last night. By the time two of our aurors arrived, he was gone."

"That's unfortunate."

And Kingsley believed it so. They might have developed a shaky truce while searching for Greyback, but he would be relieved when Dolohov was no longer a concern. Locked away in Azkaban for the rest of his life would suit the Minister just fine.

"We searched the Shrieking Shack. Found blankets and some Daily Prophet articles regarding Miss Granger. Looks like Dolohov has been camping out there for a while now."

"I see."

"We've sealed the shack. No one will be able to get in or out without disrupting our wards."

Kingsley could've laughed in his friend's face at that announcement. Dolohov was an expert in breaking curses. He'd had plenty of training with Gringotts after Hogwarts and he didn't want to even try to imagine what he did as a Death Eater in the years following. There likely wasn't a single ward any of the aurors could erect that he wouldn't be able to pull down given half a chance.

"Thank you for handling this, Iain. Hopefully we'll get the bastard soon."

Proudfoot was intelligent enough to recognize a dismissal when he heard one. As soon as the door to his office shut behind the auror, Kingsley slammed his fist down on top of his desk. What was Dolohov doing being so careless? They could've all be in trouble if he was caught. How could either of them explain that the Minister for Magic was working with a known and dangerous Death Eater?

He waited ten minutes before stepping out to speak to his assistant. Once he was satisfied that all of his appointments for the rest of the day were either cancelled or rescheduled, Kingsley made his excuses to leave the Ministry. This was an issue that needed to be dealt with swiftly and firmly.

Dolohov left Kingsley waiting at the front door of Dean's house for at least five minutes before he bothered to open the door. He didn't give an excuse for his tardiness. There wasn't a need. It was all just another game.

"You realize you were seen in Hogsmeade yesterday?"

He shrugged his shoulders. Clearly, he wasn't worried about the villagers or the aurors on heightened alert for his presence.

"What were you doing back there anyway?"

"Waiting for Greyback to return. Eventually, he would have. Now your aurors have made it unsafe for him to come back. We're back to having no idea where to find him now."

"That wasn't my call to make. They acted on their own authority because _you_ almost got yourself caught!"

Neither of them would ever concede that they were wrong. Their combined stubbornness meant that they might even be able to argue until they starved to death first. Kingsley never understood what his brother or Hermione used to say about them. They were _nothing_ alike. Deciding that continuing in that vein was useless, he took a deep breath and bit his tongue until all temptation to insult the other wizard passed.

"Now what do we do?"

"No idea, Baby Shacklebolt. Greyback won't return to the Shrieking Shack. Can you think of anywhere else he might have felt safe?"

"He was _your_ comrade-in-arms, not mine."

"I might know a few of his former pack members who would be interested in seeing him dead. Maybe they can give me an idea."

Dolohov set a bottle of cold butterbeer in front of Kingsley. They both sat in the lounge in silence for several minutes as they sipped their drinks. It struck him as odd that his rival would offer him refreshments instead of sending him out of the house at the first chance. Perhaps living alone in the middle of nowhere was making him desperate for company, _any_ company.

"What's your plan, Dolohov?"

"I already told you, _Minister_. I'll track down the other werewolves. Give me some time to think it through first."

"No, not that. I meant what are your plans in the longterm? _After_ she comes back?"

It was a subject that Kingsley didn't want to bring up, but it was necessary. If it had been up to him, Dolohov would be gone long before Hermione was suspected to be back. He wanted him out of the country. Maybe even on a different continent. Aberforth said Australia was beautiful. The surly Russian could use a tan.

"I'm not sure. I'll make up my mind when I can see with my own eyes that she's all right."

"Is that your way of saying that you plan on trying to win her back?"

The older wizard turned a harsh eye on his guest. Kingsley didn't flinch. Best to get everything, including the most unpleasant parts, out in the open as soon as possible. Truthfully, he expected there to be some kind of play for Hermione's affections. Why else would Dolohov have not left yet? Every single day that he remained only made it more likely that he was going to get caught. The events of the night before should have proven that to him already.

"She sought comfort with me once before when you didn't understand her. If she tried again, I wouldn't say 'no'. Only a fool would push her away."

There was an extra bite to his use of the word 'fool'. He might not have been a Ravenclaw, but Kingsley wasn't an idiot. Dolohov obviously judged him for his actions in the past.

"That was eighteen years ago, Dolohov. A lot has changed since then."

"It's been eighteen years for us. Not for her. It will only be five months for her."

Kingsley could've cursed the man for being so logical and bringing up a thought he hadn't considered. Time travel was a difficult enough concept to understand when one was only dealing with an hour or two at at time. Years was another story.

"Hermione and I worked out our problems before she disappeared. Don't get your hopes up that she'll be running back into your arms. She already promised me that she wouldn't ever cheat on me again."

"She didn't cheat on you!"

Dolohov rarely showed an excess of emotion. Usually, he was able to keep a level head until he was truly angry. They might have been operating together, but that didn't mean Kingsley trusted him in the slightest. He felt for the handle of his wand just to reassure himself that if it came to a duel, he'd be ready.

"We've gone over this before. _You_ threw her out of your house, Shacklebolt. You said you didn't want to live with her anymore. You said that she…"

He stopped abruptly, unwilling to continue. Kingsley made a dramatic show of removing his wand from his pocket. If he was going to be insulted, he would be ready to retaliate.

"I said that she what, Dolohov?"

"You told her that she wasn't enough for you."


	84. Chapter 84

_Author's Note: Unless you follow me on Tumblr or have seen my posts to the Dark Lord in The Death Eater Express, many of you might be aware that life has been pretty shitty for me lately. I appreciate all of the encouragement and support that I've received from so many of you. You cannot possibly understand how much it means to me. My family suffered another death this past weekend. It's very possible that updates might be slow going on this story for a little while. Thank you for your understanding._

* * *

Chapter Eighty-Four

October 25, 1979

 **10:20 am**

Only moments into holding baby Dean in her arms, Hermione had to call upon all of her self-control to keep from bursting into tears. A small amount of happy tears were to be expected after a joyful occasion like a brand new baby. Great, big blubbering sobs would've raised a few eyebrows. How would she explain her outburst to those unaware of her biggest secret? It was better that she remain as calm as possible.

Staring into his tiny, squished, little face, Hermione could see the man he would one day grow up to be. It was slightly bizarre to realize that she was holding one of her classmates as a baby. Time travel presented lots of discomforting opportunities for human interaction. Though she wasn't as close to Dean as she was to Harry and Ron, they had always been friendly. Even when some of the other boys in their year and House were rude to her, Dean didn't participate. To his credit, or perhaps to Grace's credit, she struggled to remember hearing him say a rude word to anyone through all of their years at Hogwarts.

"He's absolutely perfect," she exclaimed in an awed whisper.

The proud parents sat up a bit taller at her proclamation. Antonin's presence over her shoulder startled Hermione. She wasn't used to having him so close to her anymore. He could be a bit overpowering at times. Wishing for an excuse to step away from him and needing a moment to compose herself, she handed little Dean over to his godfather. Antonin was hesitant to accept him at first, but soon grew more comfortable with the tiny bundle.

Hermione moved to the edge of the room, as far away from her ex as physically possible. Their conversation earlier in the waiting room had been interrupted by Thomas, but that didn't mean she stopped thinking about it. What could Antonin possibly mean when he said he wasn't sure that he killed Silas? He'd all but told her that he was responsible for it that day she asked him straight out. Was he going to start lying to her now? She'd appreciated his candor much more than his sudden need to change the facts.

"I know we should've asked you both first if you wanted to be godparents," Thomas declared with the sheepish grin that he only reserved for moments he knew he _should_ feel guilty, but actually didn't. It made him resemble more a naughty schoolboy caught skipping his lessons than a grown wizard with a wife and child. "We thought you might say 'no' if asked first."

Antonin and Hermione both had almost identical expressions of confusion on their faces at his announcement. She couldn't speak for her ex-boyfriend, but for Hermione, there was simply no way she would've ever not agreed to being Dean's godmother. It was the highest honor that a parent could give another. She cherished the fact that Thomas wanted her to play such an important role in his son's life, not matter how brief it might turn out to be. As much as she loved Nymphadora and still spoiled her rotten, it rankled a bit that she couldn't be her godmother. Even if she could understand Ted's reasoning, it hurt.

"I wouldn't have said 'no'," Antonin replied. His dark brown eyes met Thomas' and then immediately dropped back down to baby Dean. "I only hope that I can live up to the honor."

Three of the adults in the room understood the significance of what he was saying. It might not always be spoken of out loud, but they knew of his life as a minion of the Dark Lord. The sudden creeping in of an uncomfortable tension made Grace laugh in the nervous way of someone who was completely left out of the content of the conversation. Thomas kissed his wife's forehead and smiled.

"Sorry, my darling, you must be exhausted."

"Well, I am a bit."

The way the two of them looked at each other with such love in their eyes and like they were the only two people on Earth made Hermione both extremely happy for them and extremely sad for them. How much longer would they get to be together? A year? Two? She didn't know when Thomas would be killed, but she knew it was long before Dean was old enough to form any kind of memory of him.

Hermione was just about to make her excuses to leave when the brand new mum's parents came bursting into the room. The excited shrieks at the sight of little Dean knocked away a bit of the sorrow. He wouldn't be alone when his father was killed. There would still be family who loved him. Antonin didn't hesitate to hand over his godson to his ecstatic grandmother. They each said their goodbyes to the family gathered in the room before exiting the room to the sterile corridor.

She only made it a few meters away from the room when she felt a gentle tug on her arm. Antonin had jogged to catch up with her before she made it out of the hospital. Annoyed that he was impeding her escape, Hermione stopped and leveled him with a fierce glare.

"What do you want, Antonin?"

"We never finished our conversation."

"What makes you think I'm interested in sitting around and listening to your lies?"

"When have I ever lied to you, _daragaya_?"

Her first instinct was to argue with him and bring up at least half a dozen instances when he told her something that wasn't true. Unfortunately, as she tried to think of an example, she was surprised to discover that she couldn't. Despite his shortcomings, and they were numerous, lying to her had never been one. He had been honest with her to a fault. More than once she thought he would've been better served _not_ telling her everything, but he did. Even details of his murderous raids with Igor.

She hated that she was curious about what he meant earlier about being unsure if he was responsible for Silas' death. Life would've been much easier for her if she could have figured out some way to keep him out of it. Their paths continued to cross. She got the feeling that wouldn't change. Antonin went out of his way to interact with her. Why else would he continue to send the articles to her if not for some kind of reaction? Maybe he was hoping she would seek him out in person to get him to stop.

"This is hardly the place to have this conversation, Antonin."

"I agree. If you'll come with me, we can go somewhere we won't be bothered."

Trusting Antonin used to be simple. Too much had happened between them for Hermione to blindly follow him. He'd hurt her more than once, and not just emotionally. One look in his eyes questioned her resolve to stay away from the man. He did look sincere, after all.

"I'm not going to hurt you."

How sad that his past actions made it necessary to add that caveat to his offer. She could see the sincerity in his words. With a single nod of her head, she resumed her walk to the outside. He was only steps behind.

"Where are we going? I'll meet you there."

"Well, actually, perhaps it would be better if I Apparated us both there myself. The wards are fairly strong."

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Being at his mercy wasn't appealing. Making the conscious effort to trust him again, Hermione agreed. Once behind the hospital in a dark corner, she reached for his arm. It felt strange to touch him again, even in an entirely innocent manner.

They landed in a quiet garden behind a rambling farmhouse that looked like it had seen better days. As soon as she was confident that her feet were on steady ground, Hermione released her hold of Antonin's arm. He was the type of person to misread the simplest of gestures if he chose. She didn't need to give him any false hope that there was ever going to be anything between them again.

She took advantage of breaking apart from him to survey their surroundings. It was simply charming. With no neighbors to speak of within sight of the farmhouse, she found the setting to be relaxing and peaceful. An examination of the house showed there was an active restoration process in progress. Half of the windows were new and the front door had a fresh coat of paint.

"Is this _your_ house, Antonin?"

He nodded his head in the affirmative, almost seeming a bit embarrassed by the unfinished state of the project. Old insecurities were hard to move past. No doubt he was comparing his house with the opulent manor house belonging to the Lestrange Family. Hermione hated that he couldn't recognize that he was getting no joy out of his own possessions by coveting what others owned. In her personal opinion, his house was much more like a home than her uncle's mansion would ever be.

"I like it. You picked a good location."

"Thank you."

The expression on his face might not have changed dramatically, but she knew him well enough to understand when he was pleased. Instantly, he seemed more at ease. He was quick to point out the improvements he'd been working on.

"It's a big project. I don't get as much time to fix things as I'd like, but it's calming. Helps to clear my head."

"I'm sure it is. It's really lovely, Antonin."

"It will be when I'm done. Thank you."

He ushered her into the front door. Some of his earlier embarrassment returned when she saw the state of the interior. Just like the outside, it needed a significant amount of work. Old plaster was crumbling off of the walls and the ceiling. Outdated carpet covered much of the floors. The paint in the lounge was a garish shade of gold that was almost painful to the eyes. Hermione was glad to see a corner of the room where he'd been trying different colors of paint. It definitely needed it.

Half of the furniture scattered haphazardly around the room looked like they hadn't been used in decades. She wisely sat down on a sofa that still smelled like the furniture store it was purchased from. Just to be safe. Antonin took a seat in a matching armchair just feet away. Neither of them rushed to be the first one to speak.

Finally, Hermione could take the silence no longer.

"What did you mean back in the hospital? How can you not be sure whether or not you killed Silas?"

Before answering her seemingly simple question, he sighed deeply. She was beginning to lose her patience. What was his purpose of bringing her to his home to speak privately if he wasn't even going to answer her question? Clearly something was weighing heavily on his mind.

"Just what I said. I don't believe I killed him. There are too many missing pieces from that night that I don't understand, Hermione. For example, _why_ would I go anywhere alone with Silas Selwyn? I didn't even like him."

"Your dislike of him could very well be the reason why you killed him, you know."

She wasn't going to just take his word for it that he wasn't responsible for what happened to Silas. Even if he didn't _mean_ to kill him, if he was the one who killed him, he deserved her continued anger. Far from being able to just calmly take her remark, Antonin's cheeks and neck flushed the familiar red indicating he was about to lose his patience. She'd seen it happen many times. When he was angry, at least with her anyway, it was written all over his countenance.

"It doesn't make _sense_. Yeah, I'll admit, I didn't like the wizard, but I didn't want him dead."

"Did your Dark Lord order his death? You and I are both aware that he was trying to recruit Silas and he kept telling him 'no'."

"I was never ordered to kill Selwyn."

He had no reason to lie to her. Somehow, she knew that instinctively. Hadn't he already been quite open with her about what he'd already done in the service of his master? He'd admitted to committing the murder of innocent Muggles. Yes, she might have had a personal stake in whether or not he had actually murdered Silas, but she got the overwhelming feeling that he wasn't lying.

"You've never killed anyone, _daragaya_. You can't possibly understand what it's like. I remember the face of every single person I've ever killed. I'll never forget them. One day, I'm sure they'll haunt me when I slow down long enough to let them. Muggles, wizards, witches, it doesn't matter. I remember them all. I _don't_ remember killing Silas."

There were times that Hermione felt like she couldn't possibly be living the life that she was. Surely, it was someone else that had friends and close relationships with men who regularly committed savage acts of violence against other people. Did normal people just excuse the ones they cared about of their heinous crimes? Or was she just as complicit as they were? She wasn't sure she would ever get a satisfactory answer.

"What _do_ you remember, Antonin? I'm not saying I believe you, one way or another."

He relaxed just a tiny bit. No longer entirely on the defensive, he settled down in his chair. Maybe he thought he could convince her.

"I remember walking down Knockturn Alley with him, but I don't remember why. I also remember punching him in the face a few times."

"Why would you do that?"

Antonin clenched his jaw and wouldn't make eye contact. Whatever his answer was, he didn't think she would like to hear it. A million different scenarios ran through Hermione's mind, each one worse than the last. Her ex wasn't exactly known for keeping his temper under control, but it was strange that he would resort to physically punching another when he could use his wand to inflict much more damage.

"He made remarks about you that were… _unseemly_."

"What could be so awful that you would strike him so many times?"

"It doesn't matter."

"I beg to differ."

Before he was murdered, Silas was quickly becoming one of Hermione's closest friends. Something about the man both intrigued her and annoyed the fiendfyre out of her. They seemed to understand each other better than many of the other people in their society. There had been comfort in spending a few minutes with him making fun of those in their social circles who took customs and traditions too seriously. She'd be a liar if she said she couldn't imagine him making inappropriate comments about her when she wasn't around. He said enough to her face as it was. But, for him to say something so terrible that Antonin would feel it necessary to attack him with his fists? That was difficult to comprehend.

"He asked me if Tommy and I had ever… if we'd ever _shared_ you before."

Yes, it was crude and absolutely sounded like something terrible that would come out of Silas' mouth. Especially if he'd been drinking. Hermione rolled her eyes and sighed.

"Okay, yes, that was in poor taste. Bad enough that you murdered him for it?"

"I _didn't_ murder him!"

"All right. Sorry."

She didn't mean it though. He had yet to give her any reason to believe that he wasn't the murderer beyond his impassioned assertions. One could _believe_ they weren't responsible for something and still be the culprit. Maybe he just didn't remember because he'd been drinking too much. They had all had too much to drink that night.

"I won't repeat what else he said about you. I'd rather forget it, honestly. But, yes, I _did_ punch him four or five times."

"Kingsley said that his face was so severely beaten they couldn't even identify him by his face. And I saw your hands almost a week later. They had to have been very bad if they were still so injured at his funeral."

"I blacked out, Hermione. I remember punching him and then waking up to finding him already dead."

Considering their past, she felt like she'd already been extraordinarily patient listening to him up to that point. Maybe he did black out and blocked parts of that night out, but that didn't mean he wasn't the one who killed Silas. Hermione had had enough. She stood up from the sofa, and without saying another word to Antonin, walked out the front door. Trying to Disapparate just outside the house was impossible, so she took off walking across the property. Eventually the wards would disappear.

Much like he'd done earlier when they were leaving the Muggle hospital, Antonin stopped her by pulling on her arm. Frustrated that he had the audacity to touch her, Hermione ripped it out of his grasp. He didn't even try to hide the hurt in his eyes.

"Why are you leaving?"

"Because I don't believe that you didn't kill Silas, Antonin, and it seemed useless to continue sitting in your home pretending like everything was normal and okay. It's not."

"Don't you understand that I can't have murdered him because I don't _remember_ killing him!"

"Well, I don't _remember_ what I used to love about you, but that doesn't mean I didn't feel that way once upon a time."

It was a cheap shot. Even she was aware of it as she allowed it to come out of her mouth. Antonin, deflated by her words, didn't even attempt to follow her a second time. Hermione picked up her pace to make it to the edge of his property. The instant she felt the noticeable tingle indicating she'd passed through his protective enchantments, she Disapparated straight to her home.

Later that night, she would lay in her bed next to a quietly snoring Kingsley and replay the events of the day over and over again in her mind. Antonin was so certain that he didn't kill Silas, but he didn't have proof. Was he sincere? Or was he already beginning to lose his mind like she knew he eventually would? It was impossible to say and she'd already wasted enough time thinking about him. Snuggling into Kingsley's back, she wrapped her arms around the man she loved. There wasn't enough time left for her to continue to waste. She had to make each day, each _minute_ count.

Just a little over a year remained until she disappeared, possibly forever.

* * *

December 25, 1979

 **9:45 am**

Kingsley kissed her cheek in silent, unwavering encouragement on the front step of his grandmother's home. Even without her explicitly saying so, he knew when she was upset. Knew when she had retreated so far into herself that she was in danger of getting lost. When he found her standing in the shower that morning, unmoving, he hadn't pressed her for answers. Just took off his pajamas, stepped inside, and pulled her back against his firm chest. Together they stood under the water in silence, simply feeling the presence of the other.

Christmas was always a difficult time of year. It had only gotten worse with the loss of their baby and the hope of a future they'd been dreaming of. Even when she tried to pretend that she was all right and the debilitating sadness wasn't creeping in, Hermione was only human. Her reputation post-war might have been already growing to unrealistic, fantastical proportions before she disappeared into the past, but she was only one person. And an incredibly flawed person at that.

It was harder that year as the realization that she wouldn't be around for the next one sank its painful claws into her raw flesh. Assuming that she merely discovered her time turner operable again and was able to return to her present timeline, she wondered how many of the people she loved wouldn't be there when she arrived. People died just as easily in peacetime as they did in wars. Everyone grew older and got sick. Who would be waiting for her? And who would she never get to see again?

Before she let him open the door and they no longer had any privacy, Hermione leaned up on her tiptoes to press her lips against his. She just wanted one more moment where it was just them. As much as she loved every member of the Shafiq/Shacklebolt family, they could be overwhelming. She worried that the sorrow that kept creeping up on her as the holiday season continued would cause her to make a fool of herself at brunch.

"I love you, Kingsley Shacklebolt."

The broad grin she loved so much spread across his face. He responded with another kiss to her mouth. This time, however, with a little more heat than before. And that's how Dean Shacklebolt found them, forgetting the world around them in a passionate embrace. It took several progressively louder clearings of his throat to finally get their attention.

If there was a perfect Christmas morning, Christmas 1979 was it, in Hermione's mind. She couldn't remember there ever being a more enjoyable meal at Margie's house. Everyone was in a wonderful mood, especially Kingsley when he discovered it would be another Antonin-less year. Thomas never stopped beaming with the special light of his extraordinary secret. When the meal was over and they were all debating whether or not it was 'festive' to have an afternoon nap on Christmas Day or it was 'rude' to ignore one's relatives, Hermione slipped into the corridor leading to the bedrooms, dragging Thomas with her by the arm.

"How'd you slip away from your family this morning?"

"Told a little lie to Gracie."

He didn't like the subterfuge he was forced to employ, but he didn't know any other way of keeping his wife and son safe. As Hermione had discovered over the years, there were a lot of moving parts involved in keeping up a believable web of lies and secrets. She'd tried to offer other solutions to him. Thomas, however, was the kind of person who believed himself to always be correct and could not be persuaded to believe differently. It was an infuriating trait that she _sometimes_ found adorable in his younger brother.

"What kind of lie?"

"Well, it was only half a lie. I told her that I was coming to Granny's, but that I was going to try to use this opportunity to smooth over our disagreements."

"So you're going to go back home, shrug your shoulders, and tell her you tried?"

"Something like that. I think she's really hoping it will go well today. I'm sure she wants us to all be one big, happy family in time for next Christmas."

His simple statement tore out a strangled sob from Hermione's throat. All day long she'd been close to tears. This was her _last_ Christmas and she couldn't even tell anyone. Aberforth was living in denial, pretending like he didn't know that she would disappearing soon. Kingsley and the rest of her loved ones were completely out of the loop. Only Thomas understood why she was upset. He wrapped his arms around her back and brought her to his chest for comfort. Neither of them could bear to say the words out loud, but they knew. This would be the last Christmas for both of them, perhaps permanently.

Hermione closed her eyes and forced herself to memorize what it felt like to be embraced by Thomas. So unlike his brother in many ways, she could feel their similarities. Both imposing, strong presences. Both gentle and soft when needed.

"Hermione? What's wrong, Tommy?"

The note of concern in Kingsley's voice tore at Hermione's heart anew. How was he going to spend next Christmas? Would he be completely alone? Would he still be searching for her or would he have given up hope that she would ever be found again?

"Why don't you take her home, little brother? She needs you more than she needs me. I'll make your excuses."

Thomas deftly transferred his care of Hermione to Kingsley. She didn't mind in the slightest. With the faint scent of cinnamon she'd come to associate with her wizard in her nose, she melted into his touch. He peppered her curls with kisses and rubbed his strong hands up and down her back.

"I'm sorry."

"There's nothing to be sorry about, Little Witch. I'm a little sad today too."

She leaned back enough from him chest to look up into his concerned eyes. Just like hers, they were watery. Sometimes it was so easy to think about her own pain that she missed what those around her were feeling. Kingsley might not know that this would be the _last_ Christmas, but he still felt pain from their loss. The holiday season only made it worse. Their little one would be nearing their second birthday if they'd been given the opportunity to live.

Determined that she was going to make it a Christmas to remember for its happiness and joy instead of its sorrow, Hermione kissed her wizard forcefully.

"Take me home, Kingsie. I still have a couple of gifts to give you that I'm sure you'll enjoy. One I'm certain you will want to take your time unwrapping."

"I can hardly wait."

He captured her lips again with an almost feral grin. The rest of the world fell away in those moments. Not even the indignant voice of the brother who hadn't left yet broke through the haze.

"You could've at least waited until I was out of the room. Merlin!"

* * *

January 1, 1980

 **12:01 am**

Much like Christmas a week earlier, Hermione stood out in the garden in front of Marjorie's house and listened to the sounds of the other merrymakers enjoying the annual Hogmanay celebrations with a lump in her throat. Less than a year. She was almost out of time.

* * *

December 8, 1998

 **9:30 am**

Kingsley could live a dozen a lifetimes and never forgive himself for the night Hermione walked out of their home, seemingly forever. There was no excuse for his behavior. No reason that he went straight for the one topic that he knew would hurt her the most. Unfortunately, loving someone didn't mean never hurting that person. One's own stupidity was often their own worst enemy.

Dolohov was right. Oh, how he _hated_ admitting that was true! He'd had eighteen years to move past the argument that easily could've ended everything that they had worked hard to accomplish for over four years. But, Hermione would be coming back after only five months. Would there still be some lingering resentment? He couldn't blame her if there was.

"I didn't mean it when I said that."

"You might not have, but that's not what matters. You _said_ it."

He had been naive and idealistic to assume that once December 22nd came around, he would see his witch again and it would be like nothing happened. There were some wounds that never healed. Would this be one of them?

"And you never said or did anything to hurt her, Dolohov?"

It was a childish response. Even the Minister knew that. What was it about the other man that always had him reverting back to immature impulses? They were nearing fifty! Why did it still feel like when they were children and Dolohov had just thrown a block at his head?

"Of course I did. Many times. _Too_ many times. I had a lot of time in Azkaban to relive the worst of them in excruciating detail."

"Then maybe stop pretending like you were above such things as hurting her."

"Then you stop accusing her of cheating on you when she didn't."

He would try to stop feeling like he was the wronged party in that scenario. It would be difficult, but not impossible. Both of them screamed insults at the other that night that shouldn't have been said. Sometimes their passion was a detriment. He hoped that the intervening years since her disappearance had mellowed his temper. Maybe he would finally feel old enough for her when she got back. Merlin knew he never felt worthy of her when he was young.

"If it helps, I never expected anything to happen between us that night. It just _did_."

"Oddly enough, Dolohov, that didn't help. I really don't want to hear about it."

His rival continued as if he hadn't even heard Kingsley's request that he stop.

"She was in constant danger those days. I don't think you're completely aware of how much. So many people wanted to hurt her, wanted to kill her or bend her to their will. I couldn't leave her just sitting at that bar alone, vulnerable and completely pissed. Someone would've taken advantage of her."

"Yes, how noble of you, Dolohov. Thank you for swooping in and being her knight in shining armor."

Dolohov rolled his eyes and stood up from his chair. Disappearing into the kitchen, Kingsley wasn't sure if he was coming back or if he should just leave. Right as he was about to stand up to follow, he returned with a full bottle of fire whiskey and two empty glasses. Clearly this conversation was going to take more than butterbeer to get through.

"It's only half past nine in the morning."

"Have somewhere else you need to be, _Minister_?"

He took the glass of whiskey out of Dolohov's hand and sipped. No, he didn't have anywhere else to be. Not only was it supposed to be a slow day at the Ministry, he'd also cancelled all of his appointments. If anyone wanted to complain, they could leave him a strongly worded owl that he'd be glad to incendio. Since being appointed the interim Minister and then being fairly elected, he hadn't missed a single day. Maybe he needed a day off. Even if it was spent in the presence of the one person he hated most.

"And bugger it, I _was_ noble. Anyone else wouldn't have been as kind."

"You'll forgive me if I don't _thank_ you for spending the night with my girlfriend."

"She wasn't your girlfriend at the time."

Kingsley knew it was fruitless to argue with the man about that night that he wished had never happened. Dolohov would always maintain that Hermione had done nothing wrong. And, he hated to admit it, but she really hadn't. At the time, he'd _meant_ what he said about wanting her to walk out of their house. Ultimatums weren't usually a good idea in any relationship, no matter how healthy, but in that moment, he truly believed she needed to make a choice.

Throwing her insecurities about not being enough for him back in her face had been simply a petty move he regretted the instant the words tumbled out of his mouth. There was no way to go back and unsay the words. All he could do was wait until they'd both calmed down and beg for her forgiveness. It had taken some patience and tenacity before she would agree that he'd been an idiot and they'd both said things they didn't mean.

Relationships were hard. Whomever believed that two people in love never argued had either never been in a relationship before or someone wasn't being their genuine self. He used to have loud, passionate rows with Hermione. They loved fiercely and they fought fiercely. Several times he'd been around his mother after they'd disagreed. Without fail, his mum would squeeze his hand and give him the exact same advice.

 _"Kingsie, just because two people love each other doesn't mean they never fight. And, just because two people never fight, doesn't mean they do."_

He'd been thankful for the reminder. After all, the opposite of love was not hate. It was indifference. His parents had been an excellent example. No one loved his mother as much as his father. That was an absolute he would believe for as long as he was alive. Even sixteen years after her death, Dean Shacklebolt still adored and loved his wife. There had been a very real fear in both Kingsley's and his granny's hearts that Dean would follow his wife to the grave soon after. He still teared up any time someone mentioned her name. Still slept on his side of the bed without ever venturing over to hers. And moving on to find happiness with another witch? Kingsley wasn't sure that would ever happen even if his father lived to be two hundred.

But, despite how much love existed between his parents, they had some of the loudest rows Kingsley had ever heard. He'd even witnessed his sweet mum slap her husband's face with all her might. They might have tried to keep them behind closed doors and away from their sons as much as possible, but they weren't always successful. After they'd each gone to their separate corners to lick their wounds and calm themselves, they always, _always_ apologized and made up again.

Maybe he'd been naive enough to expect that he could say whatever he wanted to Hermione and she would eventually forgive him for it. As an adult with a great deal more life experience than that dumb kid who couldn't keep his mouth shut, Kingsley understood the power of words. If given half a chance in the future, he wouldn't make the same mistake twice. He'd spend every single day for the rest of his life making sure that Hermione knew and understood how much he valued her and loved her. She _was_ enough for him. She was more than he deserved.

"She deserves better than either of us."

In his entire wasted, useless life, Antonin Dolohov had never spoken truer words. Kingsley snorted into his glass. Yet one more subject that he couldn't argue with his rival about. He was absolutely right. If Hermione returned to the future and wanted nothing to do with either one of them, no one would blame her, least of all the men she shunned.

"May the best man win."

Dolohov raised his glass in a mock toast before downing the contents in one swallow. Kingsley did the same. Of course, he had no intention of losing.

"Thank you for the drink, Dolohov."

He rose to his feet and set his empty glass down on a side table.

"I'm going back out there to look for the werewolf. Maybe he'll be easier to locate in the daytime."

Dolohov nodded his head, but didn't say anything in return. Right before he walked out of the house, Kingsley turned over his shoulder to address the man.

"Do me a favor and try to stay out of the populated areas. I don't personally care if you get caught and dragged back to Azkaban, but it might give you the false impression that Hermione only picked me because you weren't available."

The other wizard's chuckles followed him out the front door. Kingsley wasn't sure where he would start his search for Greyback. Subtly asking for hints in the Ministry if there had been any sightings of unusually aggressive werewolves during the previous Full Moon had come up woefully lacking. If Greyback was still alive, and Kingsley very much believed he was, he was smart enough to lay low.

Deciding that as the Minister for Magic, he had every right to Apparate directly to Hogsmeade to see how the precautions were set up for protecting the Shrieking Shack, Kingsley reached the edge of the wards surrounding Dean's property and Disapparated. As he expected, there was an obvious Ministry presence at the werewolf's hiding place. He wanted to curse every single Auror and Department of Magical Law Enforcement official who traipsed around the area. They were the reason that they couldn't expect Greyback to return. Or rather, _Dolohov_ was the reason. He wasn't done being annoyed by that turn of events.

No one seemed surprised that he showed up to check on the progress. Several even felt the need to give him updated reports on the situation. Though not every person in their society knew the details of his rocky history with Dolohov, many within the Ministry knew that there was a personal grudge against the man. He was much more interested in finding Dolohov than he was finding Avery or the elder Goyle. Most of the fugitive Death Eaters had been found, but not all.

"I told Antonin to stay out of the village."

Kingsley spun around quickly with his wand outstretched, ready for battle. Silas Selwyn stood with his back up against a tree watching the Ministry try to make sense of what was happening at the Shrieking Shack. He had been so wrapped up in his own thoughts that he hadn't even noticed the man until he spoke. Keeping a respectful distance, Silas could see everything.

"Wish he would've listened. Greyback won't be stupid enough to come back here."

"No, afraid he won't."

There was still a measure of discomfort being around Silas since the reveal of who he really was. Only a few days had passed, but their paths had crossed many times. Silas was just as worried about Greyback's obsession with Hermione as the rest of them. Even though he was quick to announce that they'd once had a passionate kiss in the library of her uncle's manor, he made it clear that they had only ever just been friends. He wasn't shy in proclaiming his love for Hestia. _She_ was where his heart lay.

It bothered Kingsley that he'd been friends with Silas for _years_ and not once had his true identity ever been brought up before. Not only did it make him feel like a fool, it made him wonder what else in his life was nothing but one big lie. He had always felt like he was capable of handling any problem, no matter how complex or heartbreaking it was, as long as he was allowed to be a part of it. If there was one thing he had hated his entire life, it was being kept in the dark for his 'own good'.

"You're going to have to talk to me eventually, Kingsley."

Though he knew Silas was correct, the Minister didn't really feel like opening up to his friend of twenty-plus years. Not in that moment. Not when it still stung that he had been lying to him for the entire length of their friendship. There were plenty of opportunities for Silas to come clean about his past, about his identity. Kingsley could understand waiting until after the war was over the first time, but there were _years_ of false peace that he could've revealed himself. Didn't he _want_ to go back to living openly with his true identity? Faced with the same decision, Kingsley couldn't even imagine turning his back on his family for so many years. He'd be anxious to return to them as quickly as possible.

"I'm not going to pretend like I don't understand why you were quiet for so long, Sturg… fuck, _Silas_ , but why? Did you not trust me?"

He surprised himself by asking the very question he'd been so intent on _not_ asking. Any possible answers wouldn't have been good enough, Kingsley was certain. Without saying a word, he already knew that Silas didn't actually trust him. There had been a time that Kingsley trusted the other wizard with his very life. More than once they fought side by side. Was it all one-sided? Was he even his friend?

"Of course I trust you, Kings. That's never been a question. Do you know how many times I wanted to tell you? How many times I had my confession on the tip of my tongue?"

"Then why not tell me?"

Silas sighed, needing a few moments to stall. Kingsley had interrogated enough people over the years to know when someone was trying to figure out how to word their next response in just the perfect way. Usually, they were trying to fabricate a believable lie. The last thing he wanted was to let go of a friendship he'd cherished for so long, but if Silas was going to continue to lie to him, he wasn't interested. Life was entirely too short to spend it with people he couldn't trust or rely on.

"It's very complicated, Kings."

He scoffed, completely unimpressed by the weak answer. Maybe a lie would've been better. At least a creative lie wouldn't have felt so disingenuous.

"Of course it is. Forget it, Silas."

"No, I _wanted_ to tell you. Many, many times. Even before your brother… well, even before Tommy was killed. He worried I would tell you or Hermione and risk everything he and Albus Dumbledore had done. He made me take an Unbreakable Vow that I wouldn't say anything to reveal the secret."

"Tommy made you take an Unbreakable Vow to keep quiet?"

"The Vow was a little more complicated than that, but yes, he was afraid I would have a crisis of conscience as our friendship began to develop and muck it all up. Thought I'd also try to find Goldie. But, seeing as how I didn't _say_ anything and just removed the enchantments concealing my true identity, I didn't actually break my Vow."

The more Kingsley learned about his brother orchestrating these elaborate schemes and lies, the less he felt like he ever knew his brother at all. There was a time when they were close, even if Dolohov was never far out of the picture. He would've thought that he knew everything about his brother. Discovering another secret of his brother's was devastating. How many more would come out?

"How was it complicated? What else did the Vow entail?"

"I'm afraid that's something I don't feel right about revealing."

He clenched his fists, itching to crack the man's jaw in his frustration. Could no one give him a straight answer? Was his punishment for selfishly sending Hermione back in the past to be eternally bogged down with secrets that no one would tell him? It was a miserable position to be in and he was ready for some answers.

"I really can't say anymore, Kings, but if my instincts are correct, you'll find out soon enough anyway."

Silas Selwyn left the area abruptly to prevent any further questions he couldn't answer to be asked of him. Kingsley considered using his auror training to force the man to come back and tell him, but he didn't. After all, secrets always had a way of coming out on their own.


	85. Chapter 85

_Author's Note: I am no longer on Tumblr. My account has been deactivated. If you see it operational again, it's not me who is running it and therefore, I am not responsible for any of the content shared. I'm not trying to distance myself from the fandom, but it is a little overwhelming at times and there is an insane amount of drama and frustration that is too easy to get swept up in. That, and I often feel like the website is overrun with children who don't know what they're talking about, but are crazy aggressive about their opinions. Maybe I'll change my mind, but I don't think so. I'm still semi-active in a few Facebook groups and I am still actively writing. You just won't find me on Tumblr. : )_

* * *

Chapter Eighty-Five

March 28, 1980

 **10:30 am**

As much as she loved the Magical Menagerie, Hermione was thankful when her Friday morning shift was over. Many days she liked to linger in the shop to spend time with Caradoc and Rodolphus after she was finished acclimating the new owls to their new temporary home. She loved both men dearly and with the nagging knowledge in the back of her mind that she was running out of time with them, she tried to soak up as much as she could. They never failed to make her laugh or to remind her what was good in their world even when everything around her was falling to pieces.

The last Friday of March, however, she found the walls of the beloved shop to be too closed in and the smell to be overpowering. Any time she needed to get away from either the shop or her father's pub, she became increasingly sensitive to the unique scents in each location. Being frustrated wasn't nearly enough. She had to engage all five senses while she was at it. The newest owls had given her trouble too. Maybe she was off her game. It _had_ been a long time since she'd had a break.

Spring was only a few days old and the temperature was still quite low, but Hermione didn't care. She fastened her cloak around her shoulders and headed out into Diagon Alley. Her hope was that a brisk walk would knock out whatever it was that was upsetting her. Truthfully, she wasn't terribly optimistic. There was a lot to be upset about. The war continued in earnest. Time was both moving too rapidly and too slowly. She was growing weary of opening the newspaper every morning to discover the heinous acts of violence that were still being perpetrated by the Death Eaters and Lord Voldemort.

She had been pleased to discover that Antonin no longer felt the need to send her clipped out articles detailing all of Igor's misdeeds. That had been a pleasant change in events since Dean's birth. More than once he'd tried to resume their discussion about what he felt actually happened the night of Rabastan's wedding and each time, she shut him down. What was the point? Silas was dead. Nothing would change that. Not even knowing the reason _why_ he was murdered.

Another side effect of spending more time with her godson was she was often forced to spend more time with his godfather. Her interactions with Antonin had been cordial, if a bit cold. No longer could she just only think about herself in those moments they were thrown together in the Thomases' tiny London flat.

Kingsley had been far from pleased to discover that she was spending any amount of time at all with Antonin. She was growing weary of keeping secrets from him, so any time she had the opportunity to tell him partial truths, she did. Her boyfriend might not have known he had a new nephew and a new sister-in-law, but he was aware that Hermione was working on a special project with his older brother that, for some reason, required the presence of his hated rival. She feared that it would eventually cause an explosive fight at some point. Her concern wasn't enough to keep her away from Dean or Thomas, for that matter.

She only had a limited amount of time with Thomas. If the best-case scenario came to pass and she was able to get back to her correct timeline, she would never see him again. Each time she allowed her mind to travel to that debilitating revelation, Hermione worried that she would lose the last bit of control she had over her wits. How was she expected to keep moving forward each day knowing what she was headed to?

So, in defiance of the accepted common sentiments about it being safer to huddle at home whenever a member of their society was not at work, Hermione boldly walked down the Alley. It was eerie to see the similarities between the shopping district in that moment with the same area in the future during the second war. Several of the establishments were boarded up and empty. Others had broken windows indicating which businesses had had a late night visit from the Death Eaters. As time grew ever closer to the fateful night when the Potters were murdered and Voldemort was temporarily defeated, more violence existed in the district and the Death Eaters grew more brazen.

She wasn't sure where she was headed. There was no set plan or course for her walk. Hermione just knew that she needed an opportunity to clear her head with fresh air and physical activity. Muggle London had its benefits and she knew that she could find peace there, but all of her years in the past had made her less comfortable around the Muggles. Much like she always felt when she was a Muggle-born thrown into a group of witches and wizards, she felt like she didn't belong, that she was standing out in the crowd when all she wanted was to blend in.

Andromeda kept her store open during the chaos despite the _anonymous_ notes she received on a regular basis calling her a blood traitor and warning her that she would get to watch her Mudblood husband and daughter die first. Each time an owl showed up with an intimidating missive, Andy rolled her eyes, crumpled it up, and threw it into the fireplace. There wasn't any secret where the messages came from. Her older sister might not have deigned to speak to her in public and had often been known to say that Narcissa was her _only_ sister, but that certainly didn't mean she didn't resort to writing down her vitriol. Andromeda wasn't frightened of her sister. Hermione found her quite brave. She knew that she was protected somewhat because of being a Lestrange and because of the strange fascination the Dark Lord had for her. That didn't mean she had forgotten what Bellatrix was capable of.

Deciding she would take a look at what Andromeda had to offer in her store and maybe get a chance to exchange some gossip, Hermione headed towards The Junk Shop. Few people were out in the Alley. Those that were, rushed from place to place with very little time to spare. She appeared to be the only one who wasn't in a hurry. Rounding the corner towards the front of Andromeda's shop, Hermione was stopped by the sudden appearance of the werewolf. Completely unimpressed by his presence, she just rolled her eyes and tried to walk past him.

Greyback, however, was in a playful mood. And he didn't like it when she ignored him. Based on the fact that he was wearing his dragonhide gloves, he must have been preparing for their meeting. He was also completely covered all the way up to just under his chin. If she wanted to reach out and touch bare flesh, his werewolf reflexes would give him plenty of opportunity to stop her. She hated it when he was primed and ready to be a nuisance.

"Let me pass, Greyback."

"No, I don't think I will."

When she tried to move around his side, he deftly moved to block her. She was determined to get past him, but each time he was able to block her advance. Finally, frustrated and annoyed, she sighed and stopped.

"Just go ahead and taunt me with whatever cruel and obnoxious words you have been saving and then let me move on with my day."

"I don't like you this way, little girl. Has someone upset you? Would you like me to bite them?"

She almost preferred the leering and the obscene comments laced with promises of what he was going to do to her when he got the locket off her neck to the playful teasing. It was unnerving. Monsters should always behave like monsters. In her lifetime, especially during the time she was stuck in the past, she'd encountered too many of them that didn't behave like the conventional monster would. Lord Voldemort had even made it his mission to seduce her! Threaten her. Insult her. Remind her what useless scum she was. _Not_ pretend as if they actually cared what happened to her.

"The only person upsetting me right now is _you_ , Greyback."

He threw up an arm against the bricks of the building to trap her into a small space. It was gutsy on his part considering it wouldn't take that much in such close quarters for her to reach up and touch his face. She wasn't sure how he'd managed to get rid of the boils when she'd touched him in the past without Voldemort's help, but it wasn't as if she cared. If he didn't worry about how he was hurting her, why on Earth should she worry about the cretin?

"You do realize that even if you somehow manage to get this locket off of my throat, I will never _submit_ to you, right?"

His jaw clenched and his nostrils flared. Obviously, he did not care for her words. Emboldened by the effect she was having on him, Hermione persisted.

"That's necessary, isn't it? _Submission?_ To complete your little ritual?"

She raised herself up on her tiptoes and with her lips just outside his ear, she whispered.

" _Never_ going to happen." Hermione dropped backed to her feet. "You'll have to kill me."

There was clear anger in his mangled features. More than a couple of times she'd had the notion that he likely had been a very attractive man once upon a time. Maybe before he'd been bitten and he was just another mediocre wizard, he'd have turned heads. Whatever evil resided within him had taken that from him. He would never be handsome again. Especially not to her. Almost as if he could sense what she was thinking, Greyback's scowl morphed into a bright smile.

"I think I can change your mind when it happens. You say so now…". He twirled one of her curls around his finger. "… but you didn't protest before. You fought me in the beginning, but then you stopped." Greyback leaned down to lower his voice just outside _her_ ear this time. "I daresay before we were interrupted by your little mate, you were enjoying yourself."

Disgusted by his words, Hermione placed both of her hands on his chest and pushed him with all of her strength. She only managed to budge him far enough for him to pull her hair. Frustrated and in pain, she beat her fists against him and kicked him in the leg. Her actions only served to amuse the werewolf. His loud laughter rang through the narrow Alley.

"Hermione!"

Startled by the sound of a voice she hadn't had reason to hear in longer than she liked, Hermione ceased her attempts to injure the monster and spun around. Her cousin Rabastan stood only feet away with an incredulous look of confusion splashed across his features. On either side of him stood Bellatrix Lestrange and Salazar Selwyn, each in an increasingly delighted mood.

"Oh, dear, did we interrupt something?" Salazar teased. "We can turn around and clear our throats loudly first if you'd like. Give you a minute or two to finish up."

"Tsk tsk, Dumbledore. I knew you liked to wallow in the mud with the pigs, but I didn't know you'd go so far as to lie down with a diseased dog."

It was difficult to determine which of Rabastan's in-laws were more pleased with their unexpected discovery. Hermione feared that this was an experience they weren't going to keep to themselves. Especially not Bellatrix. If she thought for a moment that she could pull something over on Hermione and gain a bit more favor in her precious Dark Lord's eyes, she wouldn't hesitate. Only Rabastan was disturbed by the scene.

"What is going on here, Cousin?"

"Isn't it obvious, Rabby? We've just interrupted her having a secret meeting with her lover."

Bellatrix's giggle was so similar to what Hermione remembered hearing in the future when she was at her most dangerous that her entire body seemed to erupt into nervous goosebumps. What was going to happen next? It was bad enough that she had had to spend a single moment alone with Greyback. Now that Bellatrix knew, she would take a great deal of joy and delight in advertising that news to anyone who would listen. Even Kingsley was likely to hear about it. No, Kingsley was _certain_ to hear about it. Her cousin's wife was probably composing the message she would send to him in her head in that very moment.

" _Hardly_ , Bellatrix. This fiend tried to rob me. I'm thankful you arrived when you did, Rabby. Who knows what else he might have done?"

"Is that true, Greyback?"

Salazar's demand surprised both Hermione and the werewolf. Neither of them cared much for the wizard and it was apparent that he was only asking as a way to possibly trip them up in a lie. He knew all too well about Greyback's obsession with her. Antonin's threats to keep him quiet had been successful so far, but maybe he was looking for another way to reveal the truth. If Bellatrix knew the details, _everyone_ would know. She had no fear of Antonin's temper.

To Greyback's credit, and how Hermione _hated_ giving him any credit, he nodded his head. Salazar grew angry that his plan hadn't gone the direction we wanted, but he couldn't say anything. Not only would Antonin put his life in danger, so would Greyback. Hermione knew that her obsessed stalker had already attacked him at least once on her behalf. He was capable of doing much worse in the future.

"She's got a pretty bauble around her neck. I wanted to rip it off her throat."

"Should we alert the Ministry, Cousin?"

"No, Rabby, thank you. It's embarrassing enough that the three of you saw me with him. I wouldn't want anyone else to know he'd touched me. I couldn't live with the shame."

"Away with you then, Greyback. Don't come near my cousin again or next time I won't be so kind."

Before he followed Rabastan's instructions, Greyback couldn't help but wink at Hermione. She felt her skin crawl and her stomach churn. How could one being possibly be so disgusting? He turned his attention at Salazar to glare. Selwyn tried to appear unaffected and was unsuccessful. Only when Greyback walked a few steps away to Disapparate did Rabastan turn his attention back to her.

Other than a few icy formal greetings at family gatherings they both attended, the cousins hadn't actually spoken since the night Rabastan created the massive bonfire in his father's prized gardens. It was hard for Hermione to believe that longer than an entire year had passed without hearing her cousin's laughter or ridiculous jokes. Sometimes she missed him so much it was hard to breathe. How had life changed so quickly? She knew that he would never be completely over the loss of Sollie and Elanor. It was a pain that he would carry around in his heart for as long as he lived. But they were family. She should be there helping him. What made their estrangement immeasurably worse was the fact that he'd clung so tightly to Bellatrix's friendship.

"Are you sure you're all right, Hermione?"

"Yes, I'm sure."

Deciding that their hope for entertainment was gone now that Greyback was no longer there, Salazar and Bellatrix began to walk away. They beckoned to the third member of their group to follow. Rabastan stepped forward two steps and spun around in place. Conflict was clear on his face. He wanted to speak. Each time he opened his mouth to say something, he stopped himself. Only when his companions grew frustrated at him not moving did he finally build up enough courage to say something.

"May I buy you a pint, Cousin?"

Hermione couldn't stop the bright smile that engulfed her mouth at the simple invitation. Maybe to most outsiders it would've seemed unimportant, but to her, this was a giant step forward in the right direction. Perhaps there would be hope after all that they could mend their relationship before she disappeared or was killed. As much as she might have tried to deny it to herself, their estrangement had been gnawing at her guts since its inception. If her relationship with her Uncle Albus was friendlier than theirs, what had the world come to? She wouldn't have even minded sitting at the same table as Bellatrix and Salazar if it meant she might get her Rabby back.

"We were supposed to be meeting Lucius, Rabastan. There's not time to sit around with gutter trash like her."

"Go on ahead, Bellatrix. I'll make my apologies to Lucius later."

Neither his sister-in-law nor his brother-in-law cared for the brush off. Rabastan didn't seem to be bothered by their huffs of annoyance and snide comments. At one point, he even seemed annoyed they hadn't left already and threatened to _make_ them leave. Hermione could've cried with joy when they walked on and Rabastan offered his arm.

The two cousins walked towards the Leaky Cauldron in silence. It seemed that neither of them was sure what to say first. How did one apologize for not speaking for over a year? Especially when, as in Hermione's case, they didn't feel like they had done anything wrong. If she was perfectly honest with herself, Hermione felt certain she would agree to take full responsibility for the entire disagreement if Rabastan would just speak to her again. The awkward silences and stilted formalities were tearing at her heart. She couldn't bear the thought of going through the rest of the year without making up with one of the people she loved the most. What would happen when December came?

They settled into a table in the corner furthest away from the bar. Even years later, Tom the proprietor still was not her biggest fan. She had been there countless times over the years, but he still managed to make her feel like an annoyance each and every time she darkened his doorstep. Rabastan was kind enough to leave her alone at the table to fetch a couple of butterbeers. Privately, she was thankful he hadn't opted for anything stronger. Not only was it too early in the morning to drink fire whiskey, she wanted her head to be clear. And his too. Alcohol had a bad habit of making a tense situation even worse.

"Well, this is bloody uncomfortable, isn't it?"

Rabastan waited until the moment Hermione was taking a sip of her drink to make the remark in his old teasing tone. She snorted and feared for a second she might choke on the butterbeer. He had a bad habit of always waiting until she was eating or drinking to try to make her laugh. _Just like the old Rabby_ , she thought, until she looked into those same pain-filled eyes she remembered seeing in the glare of the bonfire. Time had not yet healed those wounds.

But, he was trying. She felt heartened by the effort. Maybe they would never be able to get back to where they were before Sollie and their baby daughter died. No one could blame the man for being irrevocably altered. If they didn't get back to what they once had, Hermione would be heartbroken, but she would understand. The loss of her child and the hope of her future had been difficult. What Rabastan experienced was enough to keep men stronger than him in a bottle for the rest of their lives.

"It is a little, yes."

"I don't know where to start, Hermione."

"I don't know either."

He sipped at his drink, hardly making an impact on the amount of liquid swirling in his glass. Over the previous year, Hermione had imagined what she would like to say to him if she ever got the opportunity again, if he ever stopped listening to the vipers whispering in his ears long enough to hear what she had to say. Somehow, no matter the amount of months she had to rehearse her words, they didn't sound right. They all seemed to be a bit _lacking_.

"How is Kingsley?"

"He's doing well, thank you. Very busy. I'm sure you can imagine."

In an instant after the words came out of her mouth, Hermione wished she could push them back in. Her cheeks flushed crimson and she wanted to swallow her own tongue. Of course Rabastan knew how busy the Ministry was. He was now officially a Death Eater, possibly even high in the ranks of Lord Voldemort's Inner Circle. Once more to his credit, Rabastan didn't flinch or even act as if she had said something she shouldn't have.

"Yes, I can. Lots going on right now. That's part of why I was surprised to see you out in the Alley by yourself earlier. I trust now that you were almost assaulted by that _creature_ you'll be more careful in the future?"

Sometimes the words that came out of Rabastan's mouth sounded so much like Regnault that Hermione felt the unmistakable urge to argue. It was strange how Rodolphus looked so much like his father and shared almost none of his traits. The opposite was true of Rabastan. He resembled his mother so much that it was hard to find anything about his father in him until he put on the Pureblood Head of the Family persona. Yet again, she saw how unfair it was that Rodolphus was born first. If their roles had been reversed, everyone involved would've been much happier. Perhaps even Bellatrix would have found less fault in her husband if it had been Rabastan instead.

"I am not some weak, defenseless lamb in need of constant protection, Rabby."

"I never said you were. These are dangerous times. People are disappearing and getting hurt all of the time. You can't afford to be so blasé about your safety."

"I'm not. I had everything under control."

"It didn't look like it."

She knew that if she continued in that direction of the conversation, she would have to admit to more than she was comfortable admitting. Rabastan didn't know about the power of the locket Igor gave her or why she never took it off. If he had reason to suspect that she was in constant danger and fear of Greyback, Rabastan was the kind that would overturn every stone in his path to the truth. He was less than subtle in his endeavors. Or worse, he'd go straight to Regnault to inform him of his suspicions.

The last thing she needed in her life was to worry that _any_ of the Lestranges would find out her history with the monster. Not only would it be too humiliating, they would never let her forget it for a second. Forget being concerned that they would just _look_ at her like she was broken. They would, even if they meant well and acted purely out of love, punish her again for what was out of her control. She would lose all freedom. Kingsley would know the truth that she'd been shielding him from. Her father would know more than he already knew. Bellatrix would gladly spread the news far and wide. If Regnault and his overprotective sons had their way, Hermione would spend the rest of the time she had left in the past locked up in some opulent room in the manor 'for her own safety'.

"Well, no matter. You came by to stop what was happening. I'm not going to allow one frustrating incident to keep me locked up in my own home. That's maddening, Rabby, and I will not do it."

"All right. I won't argue with you about that anymore. Just promise me that you will try to be more careful in the future. I may not always be steps away."

"I promise."

Another silence fell over them as they searched for the next difficult topic to breach. Finally, Rabastan took a deep breath and spoke again.

"I owe you a rather large apology, Cousin. My behavior _that_ night and in subsequent months has been unforgivable."

"It's all right. I understand now and understood then that you were simply hurting. You didn't mean what you said."

"Except I did a little."

Hermione's eyes shot up from her glass to meet his. At least he had the sense to look a little bit ashamed about his confession. His cheeks were pink and once they made initial eye contact, he allowed his to fall back to the scratched top of the table.

"You know, I used to be Father's favorite?"

She wasn't sure how to respond, so she didn't say anything. Experience had taught her in times like that that the other person would share as much as they were comfortable sharing. There was no need to direct him or encourage him in one certain direction.

"He and Roddy have never gotten along. They don't understand each other. Frustrates them both. Father always said that he wished I had been born first. We're similar. Much _harder_ and tougher. I just needed some growing up first, in his opinion. Suppose we all do."

Rabastan slowly built up enough courage to raise his eyes. It was evident that he did so reluctantly, almost as if he was afraid that he would find judgment or anger looking back at him. Hermione strived to keep her countenance as impassive as possible. She knew a man who needed to unburden his soul when she saw one.

"I got used to being first in his affections. I suppose it's probably not for the best that Father would often pit us against each other when it suited him. He made us work for his love and approval. No matter how hard Roddy tried and how little I had to, I was always the favorite. Then you came along."

"I never meant…"

"No, I'm not blaming you, Hermione. Please don't think I am. You must understand, of course, that it wasn't easy to feel… _replaced_. I suppose a big part of me has always resented you. I know you didn't ask to be a part of our family…"

She almost laughed out loud at how accurate his statement was. It had taken her a long time to get over being angry about the fact that Kingsley orchestrated her past so that she would be a member of the Lestrange family. It was almost as if he purposefully picked the most difficult of all of the Sacred Twenty-Eight families to place her in. Hermione spent a large part of the first few years in the past wondering what she had done to deserve her fate as Regnault Lestrange's only niece.

"…but it was hard for me to accept you. Even when I pretended like there was nothing wrong. Sometimes, whether you realized it or not, I prodded you and Father a bit when you both would start arguing. Foolishly I hoped that if you two had a large enough row, I'd be back in his good graces again. Back to being the favorite."

"I'm sorry, Rabby."

"No, I'm sorry, Hermione. I lashed out at you that night because I was hurting. I'd been better about keeping my true feelings under control. There's no excuse for my behavior."

He reached across the table to take her hand in his. Only holding it for a few seconds, he squeezed and released it. Hermione almost burst into tears right there at the rickety table in the corner of the Leaky Cauldron. She'd missed him so much.

"Do you think that we can move on from that night? Try to be what we once were?"

Hermione didn't trust her emotions well enough to speak. She just swallowed the lump that formed in her throat and nodded her head. Pleased that they were making the next step to get back the unpleasantness of before, Rabastan rose from the table to refill their drinks. They had a year of catching up to do in a single afternoon.

* * *

July 10, 1980

 **7:15 pm**

"And then, if you can believe it, Bellatrix actually _admitted_ she was wrong! You could've heard a mouse fart, the room was so silent."

"No, she didn't! I don't believe it!"

"It took me a minute to believe it too, Cousin."

Hermione snorted into her half-empty glass of fire whiskey. She wasn't sure how many she'd actually consumed since her cousin Rabastan stopped for a 'drop of tea' earlier that afternoon. With the rebuilding of their strained relationship months earlier, they had grown just as close as they once were. Many times she would be at home and hear the familiar _tap-tap-tap_ at her front door announcing his arrival.

Though it angered her slightly that she was giving in to the pressure, Hermione had stopped taking so many strolls around the Wizarding world on her own. All of the men in her life from Kingsley to her father to her cousins to the wizard who delivered the owl treats to the shop had been clear in their opinions that she needed to stop being so flippant about her safety. She couldn't tell them that she knew she would be safe at least for a few more months. In time, it was easier just to give in. If she wasn't at the shop or at the pub, she was almost invariably at home.

Rabastan liked to come by to check on her, to ensure himself that their relationship was still mending. With the exception of the few times that he would bring up the night of the bonfire, they both usually tried to keep their conversations as light and easy as possible. The world around them was falling apart and there was death and destruction everywhere. Inside the tiny kitchen in Hermione's home, they were safe to be silly. It was nice to be able to forget for a few blessed hours that there was still joy to be found.

He always started off asking for tea. Always tried to make the visits as carefree and simple as possible. Inevitably, they would finish one pot of tea and just as she would suggest fixing another, Rabastan would pull out a bottle from his pocket or steal one of Kingsley's. She didn't care. On days he visited, she didn't usually leave her home afterwards. There was no harm in having a few.

"I didn't realize it was getting so late. Why isn't Kingsley here yet?"

"It's not that late. Only a quarter past. Some nights I'm already in bed when he gets home."

Her cousin narrowed his eyes and his lips straightened into a single line. Clearly, he was not pleased with that response. Hermione prepared herself for the same argument they had had over and over again the past few months. Just like his father, Rabastan could be entirely too tenacious when he set his mind on an idea.

"I know you love your house, Cousin, as _cramped_ as it might be…"

He tried to prevent the sneer from appearing on his face, but as always, he was unsuccessful. Rabastan was a purveyor of the finer things in life. Living in a small home wasn't something he would ever see the joy in. Even though he'd suffered so much loss in his family's manor, he'd picked out a different room from the one he shared with his late wife and continued to take advantage of the luxury that privilege had to offer.

"…but you and Kingsley are more than welcome to move into the manor with us. Father may require that you two marry first, but surely that's what your eventual plans are anyway. None of us like the idea of you being alone while he's off doing Merlin knows what each night."

Hermione had to bite her bottom lip to keep from laughing out loud at the thought of Kingsley living under the same roof as Bellatrix. They would kill each other within the first twelve hours. It might even be worth the aggravation just to see the two of them fight each other. Kingsley continued to bait Bellatrix every time they were forced to be in the same room together. There was a legitimate fear that eventually her cousin's wife would lose her patience or try to hurt Hermione by striking out at Kingsley. Though she tried not to think about it too closely as she was certain that she would never _stop_ being afraid for his safety, she knew that he was in even more danger simply because of his association with her. It was almost enough to make her want to cut all ties. If it could keep him safe, maybe it would be worth it.  
"Thank you, Rabby, but _no_. Absolutely not. I've made my feelings about moving into the manor painfully clear to Uncle Regnault many, _many_ times. He even brought it up at lunch today."

"Why do you think Roddy and I have both been making so many 'unplanned' visits to you lately?"

"I just assumed you were both enjoying my company."

"We don't like the thought of you being helpless and alone."

Frustrated with the sudden change in the conversation, Hermione groaned loudly and polished off the last of her drink. The urge of all of the men she knew to keep her swaddled and hidden and protected was wearing, to say the least. She was perfectly capable of caring for herself. None of them, except for Thomas, had any idea what she had already experienced and survived, and he certainly wasn't foolish enough to try to make her out to be some weakling.

"I am _not_ helpless. I can take care of myself."

"All right. All right." He held up both of his hands in front of him, palms out. "I concede. You win."

They moved to a safer topic of conversation. Something less likely to get Rabastan hexed in places he would regret. Just as their earlier tension dissipated completely and they were back to laughing loudly at a number of stories about the people they all knew, the door to the kitchen opened abruptly. Kingsley stormed in, frustration and exhaustion clear in his expressions. He had nothing against Rabastan. Only wished he didn't come home from a long day at work so frequently to find him in his house. Just like Hermione, Kingsley valued his privacy.

"Ahh! There's the conquering hero back from the trenches!" Exclaimed Rabastan, slurring his words and sloshing his fire whiskey over the side of his glass. "Tell me, Kings, did you catch any bad guys today?"

The auror was not amused. He stared at Rabastan as if he was nothing but an irritant standing in his way of having a peaceful evening. And, Hermione supposed, he was. Most nights when he had to work late, Kingsley wanted nothing more than to climb straight into the shower to wash the filth of his stressful day off and enjoy a quiet evening with his witch. Finding her well on her way to being intoxicated and with her obnoxious cousin was not his favorite manner to be greeted upon arrival at home.

"Not yet, but the night is still young."

Either Rabastan was dutifully pretending like he didn't understand the true meaning of Kingsley's words or he'd had more to drink than Hermione realized. Any other Death Eater might have taken offense to the pointed look that Kingsley gave him. Rabastan, however, poured himself another drink and ignored the man of the house.

Hermione understood with one glance that Kingsley was close to losing his temper. Likely he'd been so busy all day that he hadn't taken the time to eat. When he had days like that, he always came home in a sour mood. She hopped up to her feet, kissed him hello, and set about making him something for dinner. Most days when she didn't have a visitor, she had a hot dinner waiting for him. There was little else to occupy her time as she sat home alone. That was also likely another reason that he was grumpy.

"Hermione, would you like me to summon one of the elves to do that? You know Rosie would trip all over her ears in a rush to make sure 'Master Kingsie' had his fill."

"Not necessary, Rabastan."

Kingsley's tone left no room for argument. As much as he adored Rosie's cooking, he was exhausted. If Rosie came over to cook for him, she wouldn't leave until she'd served at least seven courses, laundered all of his robes, and tidied up their entire house. Rabastan, no doubt, would feel obligated to remain even longer and Kingsley's patience was wearing thin.

"Would you like a glass, Kings?"

"How generous of you to offer me my own fire whiskey."

Her cousin simply laughed off his remark as a joke. He filled a glass, and just as he was handing it over to Kingsley with his left hand, Rabastan hissed and spilled part of the caustic liquid on the table top. Everything about his demeanor changed in an instance. In a series of just a few moments, he finished handing Kingsley the drink, shook his hand, kissed Hermione's cheek, and rushed out of the house with his apologies. As the front door slammed shut behind him in his haste, Kingsley swallowed the entirety of his drink in one swallow.

"Looks like I may be called into work later tonight after all."

Bitterness and rage dripped off every single word. Hermione knew when her wizard was reaching his limit. Something had happened and the uncomfortable reminder that his witch was related to Death Eaters could not have been the greatest welcome. She finished making him his favorite sandwich and set it down on the table in front of his customary chair. Seconds after he sat down, she refilled his glass. Maybe he needed a little bit more to help relax.

She didn't want to refer to his statement, but something in the manner in which he stared at her as he made it gave her the impression he was itching for a reason to continue discussing her family member's 'political' activities. Hermione would've rather crawled into the fireplace without throwing Floo powder in first. Their private conversations had drifted to the terribly-kept secret that she had family in the thrall of the Dark Lord. She tried to ignore his look and turned her back to him to make herself something to eat. It probably wouldn't be a terrible idea to soak up the alcohol sitting in the pit of her stomach.

"I love you, Little Witch, but your family…"

He sighed, but didn't finish his thoughts. A sinking feeling washed over Hermione. Somehow she knew that this wasn't going to be one of those pleasant, relaxing nights they often shared. Asking him about what he had done during the day wasn't usually a good idea. If it had been bad, as it often was in those dark days, he would only get more riled up and angry. There was a limit of what the aurors at the Ministry were capable of doing to combat the forces of the Dark Lord. Too much influence from Voldemort himself resided within the walls. Every step forward they took in the war was followed by at least two steps backward. It would be _generations_ before the war was over if it continued in that same vein.

The more she thought about her wizard's treatment of her cousin, the more frustrated Hermione became. Everyone wanted her tucked up and safe at home. Did they not understand how bloody boring that could be? She was alone all of the time. Except for those precious few hours that she was able to escape to help her father or her cousin. Business had been slow for both establishments as the war's violence increased and she had been needed less and less. Wasn't this her home too? Kingsley might have purchased the house, but he invited her to live with him and share his life. And, if she hadn't been so vocal against the very idea of marriage, they likely would've already been at least engaged by that point. Did she not have a right to have guests over?

"I'm sorry that Rabby's presence upset you. I'm alone _a lot_. His visits help fight the boredom of being stuck home instead of out there doing something useful."

Kingsley muttered something at the same moment he took a bite out of his sandwich. Ordinarily when Hermione heard him make a snide comment under his breath, she let it go. Peace in the home was more important than who had the last word. Besides, she was just as guilty of being as immature and petty when it suited her too. Though she liked to tease him in happier times of being nothing but a 'young kid', he was a grown man and his experiences in life had already forced him into a maturity he likely wouldn't have achieved so quickly in a country at peace.

That night, however, it rankled her nerves more than it should've. There had already been a tension in the home for weeks. As the world got scarier and more dangerous, their home became less of the safe place it once was. Rows over the most insignificant issues cropped up a lot. Just the other morning she'd thrown a tube of toothpaste at his head simply because he'd forgotten to put the cap on it… for the hundredth time. He got angry when she kicked her shoes off in the lounge and left them on the floor. His claims that he'd tripped on them several times and almost cracked his skull open on the fireplace mantle fell on deaf ears.

"What was that, Kingsley? I couldn't hear you."

"Nothing."

"No, clearly it was _something_. Be a big, strong, brave man and tell me what you said."

He slammed his sandwich back down on his plate. Hermione was well aware that her taunting was only making the situation worse. They could act just like petulant children when it suited them.

"I said that you _could_ be out there doing something useful."

Hermione sighed and dropped down into the chair across the table from him. This was an argument she had been expecting to have again. Too long had gone since he last brought it up. They must have not talked about it for two, maybe _three_ , whole days.

"You could be out there fighting for the Order instead of entertaining known Death Eaters in my kitchen."

" _Your_ kitchen? I keep forgetting when you invited me to share your home that you were in charge of deciding whether or not I could have my own family over to visit."

"Hermione, you can't keep pretending like you don't know what Rabastan and Rodolphus and Bellatrix are up to."

"Have you ever seen Bellatrix in our home?"

It was a weak argument and she knew it. Kingsley opted to let it slide. He continued to pick at his sandwich, but the tension in the room was still heavy and cloying. Hermione poured herself another drink. As she took her first sip, she didn't fail to notice the disapproving look Kingsley was giving her. Was he about to bring up another one of his ridiculous concerns? She stared back at him as she swallowed the entire glass in a single mouthful, daring him to make a comment. He took the bait.

"Maybe you should stop drinking so much, Hermione."

"Maybe you should mind your own business, Kingsley."

"I think your health and safety is absolutely my business!"

She rolled her eyes and set the empty glass down on top of the table. Maybe she'd had a few more drinks lately than she normally did. There wasn't a whole lot else to do when she was stuck alone in the house. And, she was stressed with the looming deadline of her existence in the past. Was she not allowed a little bit of relaxation from time to time? After all, they were growing more testy around each other, more quick to anger. Though they weren't the only ones experiencing unhappiness in their relationship because of the additional fear and stress of the war, it felt magnified because of close quarters and stubborn personalities. In an effort to move the impending argument away from her drinking habits, Hermione changed the subject.

"Dare I ask what the something useful is that I could be doing?"

"You know very well what I'm referring to."

"The Order."

Her feelings hadn't changed about joining the resistance group led by her uncle. It was bad enough that she already knew most of the members. Their paths crossed whether she wanted them to or not. Wizarding Britain was a small society. Just simply moving through life she'd met many of the people who wouldn't survive the war. Actively surrounding herself with those people and being forced to open herself up again to the heartbreak of knowing that she couldn't change anyone's fate was enough to drive her completely mad. She couldn't do it. Her heart could not take it. As much as she wished she could change the past, she couldn't.

"Your distrust of your uncle isn't fair."

"Respectfully, Kingsley, you have no idea what you're talking about."

"He's trying to fight You-Know-Who. Trying to bring him down. _You_ , of all people, should be supportive of that."

She was exhausted of him throwing the 'you, of all people' back into her face every time they had this argument. Of course she wanted to end Voldemort! If she could, she would love to reach into his chest, rip out the blackened mass that had once resembled some kind of human heart and crush it in her bare hands. She wanted to leave magic aside and rip him apart like a wild animal. Her hatred of the evil wizard was visceral, unyielding. How dare Kingsley question her feelings!

"I _am_ supportive of bringing him down. I would kill him myself if I could."

"Then why do you sit at home every night alone complaining about being lonely and bored when you could be out there by my side fighting the bastard that ruined our future together?"

"'Ruined our future'?"

The cold tone that repeated his words back to her didn't even sound like her own voice. Hermione startled herself with the chill and the clear anger. Realizing he'd said something that might have been misconstrued, Kingsley pushed the remnants of his sandwich away and stared at her across the narrow table.

"Yes, he ruined our future. Without his interference, without his _assault_ on you, we would be parents, Hermione! We would have a lifetime to look forward to of watching our children and our grandchildren grow up. Assuming, of course, that we survived this madness long enough."

"I see. So no children means that our future is completely ruined? We can never be happy?"

He sighed.

"That's not what I meant."

"That's what it sounds like. It sounds to me that your entire reason for fighting against the Dark Lord is because you're angry that he _stole_ any hope that we might have a future worth being happy about."

"You remember the night that you told me what he did to you?"

She almost laughed out loud and there was nothing funny about their discussion or his question. How could she forget the night that he stormed out of the house and she feared that he would never forgive her for not telling him about her history with Lord Voldemort? It was etched eternally in her memory. Not something easily disregarded.

"Of course."

"When I left here, I made the decision that I was going to do whatever I could in my power to kill that man and bring him down. He interfered with my family. That's not easily forgiven. That was the night I knew I was going to join the Order."

"And you honestly think that my uncle and his group of foolish, idealistic recruits are going to be able to bring him down?"

Kingsley stared at her as if she had suddenly sprouted a few extra heads. He didn't know what to do with her, what to say to make her see his kind of reason.

"Of course I do."

"Then you are just as big a fool as my Uncle Albus."

Unable to stay seated any longer with the buzz of rage flowing through her entire body, Hermione stood up from the table and moved to the kitchen window. Darkness had already fallen and she couldn't see anything in the back garden, but she couldn't tear her eyes away from the scene. What were they even fighting about?

Her insecurities flared up as they always did when the topic of conversation turned to the fact that she wouldn't be able to have children. It always came back to that. Despite his assurances that she alone would make him the happiest man alive, Hermione didn't believe he actually felt that way. Not with his not-so-subtle hints and comments stating that they could always adopt or see if there were other less abrasive Healers, maybe in another country, that could find a cure for the Dark magic that ravaged her body.

"Nothing I do ever makes you happy, Kingsley."

"Now you're just being morose and unreasonable!"

She turned around to face him over her shoulder.

"No, I'm not. You're not happy that I'm content just working in Roddy's shop or helping Dad in his pub. You seem to think I need to have something more impressive as a career even though I'm happy doing what I'm doing. You hate when I spend time with my family. Excuse me, when I spend time with the _wrong_ part of my family. If I stayed every second of the day with Uncle Albus, you would be just fine with that arrangement."

"You're just being silly."

"No, Kingsley. You're angry that I don't want to join the Order. You've all but accused me several times of being more concerned with Death Eaters than I am with the good people they're hurting."

His scoff of derision settled in Hermione's gut like a stone. He stood up from the table and stalked closer to her at the sink. The man that loomed over her with fury on his features was not the man she shared a bed with each night and hoped for a bright future with every morning. She finally understood what it must be like to be a Death Eater on the wrong end of this auror's wand.

"You _do_ care more about Death Eaters, Hermione! You were just drinking _my_ fire whiskey in this very kitchen with one of them!"

"He's my cousin. What do you expect me to do? Refuse to allow him in our home? Have nothing at all to do with him?"

"If he's going to continue to devote his life to evil and murder, then yes, I want you to have nothing to do with him."

Kingsley had never gone so far as to forbid her from seeing her relatives. Something in his stance and the way his fists were clenched told her that it would just be a matter of seconds before he finally gave in to his unspoken desire.

"Are you telling me that you are _forbidding_ me from seeing my family?"

Those weren't his words, but Hermione wanted it all out in the open. She was tired of them stepping around the issue. If she stated it right out, he couldn't run from it again. Kingsley understood that it was something of a trap. He was at war within himself on how to proceed. Finally, he was perfectly honest.

"Yes, I am forbidding you. I want you to have _nothing_ to do with your family as long as they are serving You-Know-Who. I don't even want you to work in the Magical Menagerie anymore."

"You can't _forbid_ me to do anything, Kingsley! I'm not a child that you can order about. If I want to see my family, I _will_ see my family. If I want to have an entire Death Eater family reunion in the back garden, I will! This is my home too."

"Not anymore, it's not."

His words were spoken so calmly, so firmly that Hermione was startled. Shouldn't he be screaming at her? Yelling at her that she was being unreasonable? This is what they did. They allowed their tempers to control them, screamed ridiculous nonsense at each other, and then somehow figured out a way to calm down and think the problems through rationally later. Never… _never_ did he make such a bold statement and remain so detached.

"You can't be serious, Kingsley."

"Yes, I am, Hermione. Deadly. If you aren't going to join the Order and fight against people like your cousins, I want nothing to do with you. If you want to remain here in this house, you will cut off all ties with anyone who has ever been a Death Eater."

"Are you throwing me out of our home?"

"Are you going to stop seeing your cousins? Stop working at the shop? Join the Order?"

She shook her head emphatically in the negative. Of course she wasn't! What a ridiculous notion. She loved her cousins and she adored working in the shop. Kingsley didn't get to make decisions for her.

"Then yes, I'm throwing you out."

His continued calm demeanor was at complete odds with what he was saying. As she stood in the kitchen with her mouth hanging open in complete shock that she had just been cruelly dumped by the wizard she loved most of all, he exited the room. Hermione needed a few moments to process what had just happened.

By the time she fully understood the implications of what he'd proposed, Kingsley was coming back into the kitchen with a battered leather satchel in his hands. He threw it down on the table with a scowl.

"These clothes should get you through the night. Send Andy or Tommy for the rest later. I don't want to see you again."

Hermione could feel the torrent of emotion threatening to overtake her, but she wasn't going to be weak enough to allow it through. Not until she wasn't in his presence. He didn't get to see what an effect he was having on her. Instead, she grabbed the handle of the bag and pulled it off the table.

"You're making a mistake, Kingsley."

"No, you are, Hermione. If you continue to surround yourself with people that support the wizard that ruined our future, you'll end up just like them."

The repetition of the reminder of the ruination of their future together tore at her heart. She knew she would regret asking, but she had to know the truth.

"Have you just been lying to me all this time, Kingsley? When you said that you would be happy with just me and no children?"

"Yes, I suppose I was."

"I'm not enough for you?"

She swallowed the lump in her throat and cursed the tears rolling down her cheeks. Kingsley couldn't even meet her eyes when he answered the question that had been bothering her for years.

"No, you're not."

Unable to bear another moment in that house, Hermione rushed out of the kitchen and through the front door. At the end of the front garden, just before she passed outside of the protection of the Fidelius Charm, she spun in place to Disapparate away from the home she'd naively hoped she would share with Kingsley for the rest of her life.

She didn't want to go to her dad's. He might be angry enough to physically hurt Kingsley and she didn't need the aggravation. Besides, she knew how disappointed he would be that their relationship ended. She wanted to wait to give him the news when she was calmer and not quite so raw.

News travelled at an insane rate in Hogsmeade so staying at the Three Broomsticks wasn't an option. When she opened the door to the Leaky Cauldron, Hermione hoped that she would find Tom in a good mood. If he wasn't, she didn't know where else to go. She didn't have any Muggle money and it was too late to get any exchanged at the bank.

Maybe he sensed that she was in a low place emotionally and that was always good for business. Or maybe he saw the streaks of tears running down her face and decided to give her a break. Tom accepted her money for a night's lodging without giving her even a scowl. He directed her to sit down at the bar while the room was freshened up. While she waited, he offered her a drink. She took the bottle.

She lost count the number of glasses she filled. Too many. Way too damn many. All she wanted was the chance to drown out the pain she was feeling trying to well up inside of her.

"Are you all right, _daragaya_?"

Hermione didn't even protest when Antonin sat down next to her.

* * *

December 16, 1998

 **7:50 pm**

Searching for a murderous werewolf served to keep the Minister's mind off of the fact that the deadline with Hermione's return was approaching rapidly. _If_ she was to return, and he was not allowing himself to believe in any other possibility, she would be back in less than a week. There was still a great deal of worry and concern lingering in his mind that she wouldn't be as excited to see him as he was to see her.

They'd patched up their argument weeks after it happened. It had been one of the most difficult times in his life. Until the week that Hermione disappeared and his brother's broken body was discovered, it had been the _most_ difficult time. But, Dolohov was right. He'd had years to move past that night. Would Hermione still be angry and hurt by the idiotic things he said when he was a dumb kind who was hurting? Some of them he meant, unfortunately, but that didn't mean he had to _say_ them. Kingsley foolishly dreamed of her rushing into his arms the moment they first saw each other again. They would kiss and touch and immediately disappear into some private space to reacquaint themselves with the feel of the other against their skin.

But, what if that didn't happen? What if she couldn't forgive him for being a selfish prat? Both in 1980 _and_ in 1998? He knew that he would have to answer for his crime of sending her back in time against her will. That would be an uncomfortable conversation to say the least. Was it even possible to forgive him?

None of these questions had any immediate answers. He was forced to just wait and see what happened when his witch returned. In the meantime, he tried to stay busy with discovering the whereabouts of the werewolf. After his makeshift den was found in the Shrieking Shack, nothing else had been uncovered. No sign or trace of the beast. It was as if he had vanished yet again.

Dolohov had been able to track down a couple of werewolves he knew that had had issues with Greyback in the past. Unfortunately, they were unable to provide any information of value. Just like most everyone else, they assumed he hadn't survived the final battle. Kingsley scoured the reports in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures daily to make sure there weren't any sightings in other parts of the country. Those had all been frustratingly void of any use.

"You're going to work yourself to death, Old Man."

Kingsley looked up from his desk to see the smirking visage of Iain Proudfoot just feet away. He might not have known the particulars, but Iain had been assisting in tracking down the werewolf too. With a name as well-known as Fenrir Greyback, the Ministry wasn't taking any chances.

"I'm not _old_."

"You're certainly looking it."

Without waiting for an invitation, Iain took a seat across the desk. He might have been one of Kingsley's closest friends, but he wasn't thrilled to see him that night. The job of the Minister for Magic seemed never-ending. He had been hoping for a few more hours of peace and quiet to review his official reports before going home to an empty bed.

"We tracked a lead on your werewolf to Wiltshire. A couple of aurors are in St. Mungo's now, but they should be fine."

"Did you catch him?"

"Afraid not, but you're right. There's no question that Greyback is still alive. Weakened, but still able to fight."


	86. Chapter 86

_Author's Note: This chapter got away from me! Definitely went in a direction I wasn't expecting which means it was becoming too long and unruly. So… hopefully I will have another update soon. We're coming up to the last few chapters. Ninety or ninety-one chapters is my current estimate, but once I get writing, who knows? Sometimes things happen I don't expect. But, we're close! Thanks for sticking with it so long._

* * *

Chapter Eighty-Six

July 10, 1980

 **10:25 pm**

Antonin moved to take the bottle away from Hermione and she ripped it back out of his hands. She'd already had one man who thought he knew better than she did how to take care of herself that night. She would be damned if she allowed her ex-boyfriend to make decisions for her, as well. If she wanted to drink until the world was empty of fire whiskey or she was dead, she would do it. _No one_ was allowed to tell her again what to do.

"You may sit here with me, Antonin, _only_ if you are drinking too, and you don't get to have an opinion about or ask how many glasses I've had. I'm a big girl."

The wizard seemed all right with the terms she presented. Once Tom slid over an empty glass into his hand, she filled it up with the bottle she still held firmly in her hand. Drinking alone was pathetic. In her current state, she might have willingly shared a bottle with Lord Voldemort himself. At least with the Dark Lord she wouldn't have to worry about him digging around for the words that would hurt her the most. The worst he could do was kill her, not break her spirit.

Angry that she was doing a terrible job at keeping her thoughts off of Kingsley, Hermione knocked back another glass. She wanted her body to feel as wretched as her heart felt. Maybe then it would be easier.

"Why are you alone, Hermione?"

She spun in her seat to stare at him with a hateful glare. Why was everyone so bloody concerned with her being alone? She was Hermione fucking Granger… err, _Dumbledore_ , by Merlin's wrinkly todger! Best friend to Harry Potter who, if she was entirely honest, would've been dead a hundred times over if it hadn't been for her help. Rescuer of a fucking dragon she rode out of Gringotts on under threat of death! Child soldier in a war that should've never been fought by children. And that was _before_ she came to the past!

Who else had defied Lord Voldemort as many times as she had? Yes, she might have used cunning and familial influence to keep safe a few times, but she had managed to avoid being dragged into his army or murdered in his anger for almost _ten_ years. Every day she was stalked by a homicidal werewolf who dreamed of biting enough children to outnumber the wizards. Two of the most dangerous men alive wanted to harm her and yet, she continued to breathe. Each of them had injured her in some of the worst ways imaginable and she wasn't hiding under her bed in fear.

Why did no one give her any credit? If the men she knew and loved were to be believed, she was in constant danger from her own weak, female actions. She apparently needed to sit at home hidden behind a locked and warded door because what? Her breasts and her feminine genitalia kept her from being able to fight and protect herself? It was preposterous. They were all idiots and entirely too old-fashioned. She glared at Antonin, daring him to make a comment about her inability to perform basic defensive functions because of her lack of a penis.

To his credit, Antonin gulped his drink down without saying anything else. Silently, he gestured to the bottle for more. He wanted to at least attempt to catch up with her. Hermione thought it would be fun to watch him try. She'd been drinking for hours and had much more practice than he did.

"I am alone because I needed some time to think, Antonin. And a drink. I didn't want to go to my father's pub to drink because he'd do something obnoxious like ask me if I'm all right and tell me not to drink so much."

"Must be dreadful to have a father that loves you so much."

Unused to hearing playful sarcasm in his usually too-serious tone, Hermione stared at him for several seconds wondering if he was being serious. Realizing he was under such intense scrutiny, Antonin laughed. That single act made him look younger, more like the shy boy she first met nearly a decade earlier. Her anger with him had made her look at him as if he was a hateful monster. It was jarring to see his dimples again and remember what had once existed between them.

Deciding that she must not be drunk enough if she was beginning to have charitable thoughts about the man, Hermione kept drinking. Was it possible to imbibe enough that she'd eventually feel numb? Or would the alcohol only mask the pain that still throbbed with each heartbeat and breath she took? She wasn't sure more would help, but it couldn't exactly hurt any more than she was already hurt.

"You're in an odd mood. Murder an entire family of Muggles for sport this evening?"

Anger flashed in his dark brown eyes causing him to seem more like the Death Eater she remembered from the Department of Mysteries. Hermione wasn't sure what prompted her to make such a remark. She couldn't even blame it on the fire whiskey as she'd made similar remarks completely sober many times. It might have been foolish to not be afraid of Antonin. He'd been responsible for the death of countless people over the years. His violence would only grow more prolific as time crept by. Once his mind was lost in Azkaban and he returned to the service of his Dark Lord, he would reach staggering heights of depravity.

She thought back to the man that entered the Muggle cafe with Thorfinn Rowle the night of Bill Weasley's wedding to Fleur Delacour. There had been darkness in him that took Hermione's breath away. Very little about him reminded her of the shy, quiet boy who had to work up the courage to kiss her on New Year's. How close was he in that moment to being like the man he would become and how far away was he from the wizard she once loved?

"Could my good mood not simply be because I'm pleased that you didn't tell me to bugger off the moment I sat down next to you?"

His decision to rise above her words and be mature was not like him at all. Rarely did he take the metaphorical high road. Antonin's favorite place to be was right there in the mud with the rest of the beasts. Hermione had seen that side of him over and over again. She thought it strange that their roles seemed to be in reverse that evening. Was she about to revert to petty jealousy or do something worse like twist his wrist until it cracked? Or freeze his feet to the ground so he couldn't run away as she screamed in his face all of the ways that he'd managed to disappoint her?

She stopped herself from thinking back too far into the nightmare that had been their relationship. It was bad enough that she was already feeling the sting of a freshly broken heart courtesy of Kingsley. She didn't need to dredge up old hurts. There were enough still lingering from only a few hours earlier to keep her occupied.

"I highly doubt that would put you in a good mood, Antonin, but I'll allow it."

"Every time I've seen you lately, you have hardly spoken three words to me. It's a nice change that you're not running away from me right now."

"Well, I've already left one wizard tonight. Not sure I have the energy to leave a second."

Though she spoke her words softly as she brought her glass up for a sip, Antonin didn't miss what she said. He narrowed his eyes and examined her longer than she was comfortable with. It was unnerving to be under his critical gaze again. There was once a time that a single look from him would cover her body in nervous goosebumps. Or fill her belly with the sweet anticipation of what she knew would be coming next.

Hating herself for allowing her traitorous mind to even think about past amorous encounters with the man, Hermione looked away to stare at a spot behind the bar. Even without checking to be certain, she knew that her ex-boyfriend had not stopped his staring. What lingered behind that man's intense gaze was anyone's guess. She was almost positive she didn't want to know what he was thinking.

"What do you mean by that, Hermione?"

She sighed. Years of knowing the man on a rather intimate basis meant that she knew when he was likely to give up a topic and when he wasn't. His voracious curiosity had been stirred. He wouldn't move on until he knew _exactly_ what she had run from earlier in the evening.

"I suppose it's not likely to be a secret for much longer. Kingsley threw me out of _his_ house."

Antonin narrowed his eyes in complete disbelief. He didn't speak for several long moments after her announcement. No doubt he was assuming that she was about to smile and tell him that she was just kidding. Hermione wished it was that simple.

"It's true. He and I are…" She blinked her eyes to rid herself of her foolish tears and swallowed the hard lump of emotion in her throat. "… no longer together."

"Always knew Baby Shacklebolt was a fucking idiot."

In the past, she would've been angry at him for using the childish nickname for Kingsley. Something about the way he said it or maybe just because she was desperately searching for anything solid to hold on to before she crumbled into a million pieces, made Hermione burst out in loud laughter. Pleased by her response, Antonin smirked.

"How odd that we can finally agree on something again, Antonin. I was beginning to wonder if that would ever happen."

They sipped at their glasses, no rush to further their conversation. The night was still young. Promises of several more glasses of their favorite Ogden's Finest teased them from within the glass bottle inches away. Hermione was grateful that her ex didn't immediately push for an explanation. She wasn't sure that she had the fortitude to remain calm if she had to relive what happened earlier that evening. It all still seemed like a horrible nightmare, something tragic that happened to someone else.

He might have kept silent, but Antonin's full attention was on the distraught witch seated next to him. Always one who could appreciate a good silence now and again, he didn't press. Hermione found it comforting to be in his presence for the first time in a very long time. There had been so much bitterness and anger that had passed between them since both their romantic relationship and their friendship ended that she believed they would never be able to just sit and enjoy the other's presence.

Tiny, precious Dean had done a lot to repair the frayed ends of their relationship. Often they found themselves thrown together in the same room when something happened with their godson. Thomas had not been shy about the fact that he wished she wouldn't be so friendly to his best friend. More than once when the icy tension between the two began to thaw, Thomas would remind Hermione in ever-increasingly _less_ subtle ways about Silas. Usually, she was glad for the reminder. If she didn't keep her promise to Antonin that she wanted nothing to do with him because of his part in Silas' murder, she felt she was dishonoring the memory of her friend. And putting herself in danger.

Antonin was unpredictable at the best of times. One never knew when he was going to rein in his temper or allow himself to lose control. It had been the single most distressing part of their relationship. How anyone could live with someone who could change so rapidly from one person to another was beyond her understanding. Many times she began an evening with the nice, gentle, attentive Antonin only to end it with the furious, terrifying, violent Dolohov instead. She knew from conversations she had with him that he was just like his father in more aspects than he cared for. Hermione had witnessed Vadim Dolohov change personalities in the blink of an eye a few times. Each incident had left her unsettled, fearful that a future with Antonin would mean never being sure who he was going to be from one minute to the next.

She wished that she could forget the whole argument with Kingsley happened. Flashes of memories from earlier in the evening kept threatening to spoil her attempts to get in a better mood. Not even the fire whiskey was helping. In her drunken wisdom, she decided that the solution was simply _more_ whiskey was required.

"I haven't seen you drink this much since that night in my old Knockturn Alley flat when you were angry at your uncle for some reason or another."

"Which uncle?"

"Does it matter?"

Hermione chuckled. As her relationship with Regnault improved, hers with Albus got much worse. The 'great and powerful' Albus Dumbledore would never stoop from his lofty height to actually be _rude,_ but he had his own ways of making his niece feel how displeased he was with the manner in which she chose to live her life. It was odd to her that she had ever felt so safe with the Headmaster, so willing to put her life on the line to do what he believed to be right. In her former life as Hermione Granger, she'd been just another pawn on his giant chessboard, following orders and being grateful for the tiny amount of attention his honored person bestowed on her. She had been so young, so gullible. It made her want to both laugh at her naïveté and weep for her foolishness.

Uncle Albus had willingly helped his niece when she asked for it. Hermione still wasn't over that shock. Clandestine meetings with Benjy Fenwick had grown fewer and further between. There was little information to pass on. The Order was struggling already and there was still over a year to keep going. Halloween 1981 would be there soon, but she wouldn't be there to see it.

It was only going to be a matter of time before Lord Voldemort approached her again with some terrible task. He had lain dormant too long. While his focus was situated on other aspects of the war, Hermione was forced to just sit and wait in fear of what was coming. She was now counting down her time in the past in months. Soon it would be weeks. And before she was ready, days. She wished there was some way to know one way or the other what her fate would be. The waiting around was driving her mad.

"No, I don't suppose it does matter. I'm always angry with one. Sometimes both."

"Families are never easy, are they?"

"I suppose not."

They continued drinking in silence, listening only to the sounds of the other patrons behind them. Their laughter and loud speech sounded strange to Hermione's ears. Even in a time of war and constant danger, there were those who were able to distance themselves from the pain happening all around them to enjoy what life still could offer. She envied them. Envied their ability to compartmentalize their fears enough to forget for a moment or two that they weren't all just biding their time until the violence reached their doorsteps. Her only respite from her never-ending fear was the liquid she kept pouring down her throat.

"Are you about to lecture me on the dangers of drinking too much, Antonin?"

He only laughed in response. Once, and only once, had he ever made a comment that she needed to slow down on the amount of alcohol she was consuming. It had not ended well for him. Clearly remembering the result of his interference in her chosen vice, the wizard wasn't anxious to reengage her in the same argument.

"You've spent enough time angry with me, _daragaya_. I'd rather not ruin what is becoming a surprisingly enjoyable evening."

"Good man. There may be hope for you yet."

"Will I be at risk of ruining the evening if I asked you _why_ you're here alone drinking so much? What did Baby Shacklebolt do exactly?"

Part of her wanted to throw her drink in his face and tell him to bugger off with his impertinent questions. Mostly though, she wanted to talk. There had been a time that she felt free to talk to Antonin about almost anything. Secrets about her past in the future and her experiences with Greyback notwithstanding. Maybe talking would help to numb the piercing ache in her gut.

"We had a row. A _big_ one. He's not happy that… well, if you must know, he's not pleased that I'm not willing to join my Uncle Albus' ridiculous little resistance group. He thinks I'm some kind of privileged coward."

"That's not being a coward. Nothing but fools follow your uncle. They're all in danger. Those that choose not to follow the Dark Lord _will_ die."

He didn't have to explain it all to Hermione. She knew better than he did. The list of the Order's members ran through her mind as she mentally ticked off the names of each person who would be dead before the world was truly safe again from Lord Voldemort. Antonin's neck began to flush with his familiar anger. Concerned that he would escalate the conversation to a dangerous level, she reached across the bar to place her hand on his clenched fist. The simple touch calmed him somewhat.

Hermione didn't rush to move her hand from his. She knew it was wrong to encourage the wizard in any way, but the feel of another human being next to her made her feel like she wasn't entirely alone in their dangerous world. Sometimes she would snuggle up against Kingsley's chest as they lay in bed to breathe in his familiar light cinnamon scent and remind herself that she had people who loved and cared about her even in the past. The future of the war didn't seem so terrifying. Almost as if he could read her thoughts, Antonin unclenched his fist and turned his hand over to intertwine his fingers in hers. She stared at their fingers for several seconds without moving or saying a word. Finally, she pulled her hand back to rest in the safety of her lap. Instead of being offended, Antonin offered her a small smile in return.

"Kingsley threw me out of _his_ house. Told me I didn't live there anymore and that unless I risked my life with the others to actively fight against the Dark Lord, I wasn't welcome there again."

Antonin exhaled a heavy sigh as he took another deep gulp from his glass.

"He's a fucking idiot, Hermione. Always has been. Anyone who could let you get away from them because of their own stupidity deserves to die miserable and alone."

"You let me get away."

"And I've never denied I was a fucking idiot."

Though his speech was impassioned, Hermione was able to find the self-deprecating humor in it as well. Her smile quickly turned into a loud laughter. Antonin followed up with his own chuckles.

"Do you believe you deserve to die miserable and alone, Antonin?"

"Yes, I do."

He knocked back his glass and reached for the bottle to refill it. By now, he had consumed enough alcohol to bring out the truth. _In vino veritas_. Hermione was all too familiar with that particular proverb. It was difficult to keep inhibitions from being lowered enough by liquor to not blurt out one's personal secrets. More times than she cared for over the years, she'd allowed her favorite vice to overcome her better sense. She knew she drank too much. Even the obnoxious hints from her dad and Kingsley that she needed to 'slow down' weren't necessary. Sometimes the only peace her mind experienced was when she had had too much to drink.

"That's sad."

"Yes, it is, but no less true. I've done horrible things in my life already, _daragaya_. Things I regret. And, I know I'm going to do more before my life is over."

"You don't have to. You could _decide_ to be a better man."

"Not sure it's that easy. If it was, we'd be at home right now putting our children to bed and spending all night trying to make more."

Antonin might have coupled his statement with a wink and smile, but Hermione could see right through his attempt at humor straight to his pain. Maybe that's what she'd been so attracted to all of those years. How many women had she known in her life that wanted to 'rescue' or 'fix' their men? There was an attraction to the idea that one person could mold another into the perfect version of themselves. Attractive, but dangerous. She was grateful that she'd learned to move past that reckless fantasy. No one could change another person. If that person didn't want to change themselves, they would always be the same. And, based on Antonin's statement, he didn't believe it was even possible for him to be the man she once thought he could be. What an absolute waste of time and energy it would be to travel back down that road with him. She deserved better than that. He deserved better than a woman who would never be able to love him just as he was. Or, like he said, he deserved to die miserable and alone. Who was she to argue with that kind of wisdom?

"Still have feelings for me after all of these years?"

It was a weak attempt to tease him with the truth that she knew already. Hermione gave him a half-smile before the intensity of his suddenly serious gaze forced her to look away. She didn't want to see what was written all over his expressive face. His hand slipped through her curls to gently cup the back of her head. Startled by the unexpected touch, she met his eyes again. The familiar swirl of rage and fierce fervency clouded his irises. Once again she was reminded that passion wasn't always a good thing. Sometimes it was deadly.

"The way I feel about you has not changed. If anything, I care for you _more_ now than I did when we were younger."

She needed to move the conversation away from the treacherous depths it was heading. Pulling out of his touch wasn't difficult. Antonin didn't protest, only removed his hand to grasp his neglected glass once again.

"I'm afraid any future with me would be a future without the hope of children."

The words dripped off her drunken tongue without her permission. In vino veritas, indeed. Never had she intended to bring up the lasting problems she was experiencing. Kingsley had struck at the heart of her worst insecurity that night. Even as it stung straight to her heart, she knew that she'd done the same thing to him many times in the past. When one truly loved another, they always knew the exact button to push to break them. Everyone pushed the buttons eventually. It was only a matter of time. Humans were imperfect, cruel creatures. She should know. She was one of the worst.

Antonin didn't look surprised by her confession. Maybe the great secret of her infertility wasn't as secret as she hoped it was. The loss of her child became common knowledge once the truth about her hospital stay was uncovered. Rita Skeeter wasn't foolish enough to incur her Uncle Regnault's wrath by publishing the information publicly, but she'd always had her ways to make certain everyone knew what she wanted them to know. And besides, Thomas was Antonin's best friend even after everything that had happened. It seemed likely that nothing would come between them, not even murder. Of course Thomas would tell him in confidence the reason she was in St. Mungo's. Knowing him, Antonin was probably even _there_ at some point to testify with his own eyes that she wasn't dead. Boundaries were hardly a concept to a cursebreaker like him.

"I will never be able to carry a child again. My own body will reject and murder any baby that tries to form in my cursed womb."

She slammed back a mouthful of fire whiskey, desperate for the burn of the liquor to distract from the stinging tears developing in her eyes. Anything to get her mind off of the pain and anger that she felt every single time she remembered what Voldemort had done to her. Why had life been so vicious?

"Kingsley said I wasn't enough for him."

Once she got started, she found it hard to stop. Antonin sat on the stool next to her, attentively listening to every single word that she said. Hermione wasn't sure why she was confiding in him. It didn't make any sense. He wasn't her friend anymore. If he was anything at all to her, he was nothing but a sad remnant of her past that continually lurked in the shadows of her present.

"He's told me before over and over again that he didn't care about children. Told me that if we wanted to have a family, we could adopt or visit other Healers outside the country. He even said he'd steal a baby if it would make me happy."

An echo of a smile crossed her lips at the reminder of his fervent promise. It had been a nice thought. Completely irrational, of course. Kingsley would never be able to steal a child. Not even from the most heinous of parents who didn't deserve the miracle of an innocent being in their care. He would be racked too much with guilt to ever follow through with a kidnapping. Even if he managed, it wouldn't be long before his conscience made him return the stolen child. When he declared that he would do it for her, she'd felt loved.

"He always told me that I was enough. Just the two of us would be fine. He'd consider himself the luckiest man in the world. But I never believed him. I asked him tonight before I left. Asked him if it had all been a lie. He said it was. I wasn't enough."

She had to close her eyes to slow the torrent of tears rolling down her cheeks. Showing weakness at any time was bad enough, but in the middle of the Leaky Cauldron with one of Lord Voldemort's most trusted followers inches away was potentially deadly. Antonin had already hurt her several times in the past. It was foolish of her to believe that he wouldn't do it again under orders or simply because his temper got the better of him.

Antonin's thumb brushed tears from her cheeks with a tenderness she had forgotten he possessed. The last time his hands had been on her body before that evening was the night in her father's pub when Aberforth had to physically pull him off of his daughter. Hermione had been seriously afraid that her dad was going to kill Antonin. His violence drowned out all memories of the sweet and gentle touches he once bestowed on her frequently. She almost wept at the loss of their innocence. Neither of them were coming out of this war unscathed.

"Would you like his death to be swift and painless or would you like me to make him suffer?"

Startled at his inquiry, Hermione opened her eyes. An amused smirk quickly morphed into a full-blown grin when he saw her fear that he was serious. It took her a moment before she could snort and swat his hand away from her face.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you? To kill Kingsley? You two have only been threatening to kill each other as long as I've known you."

"It's been much longer than that, _daragaya_. I think I was four the first time I tried to drown Baby Shacklebolt in the bathtub."

"Oh, the _first_ time? You tried to drown him more than once?"

"Lost count actually. Five or six times, maybe. Tommy always saved him."

Hermione rolled her eyes. He might have been smiling as he told the story, but she knew he wasn't teasing her. It was not a surprise that he'd started trying to get rid of his rival at such an early age. She didn't even have to ask to know that Kingsley gave just as good as he got. The two wizards were incorrigible. They would be arguing up until the very moment of death.

"Thank Merlin for Tommy then."

She raised her glass in a toast. Antonin clinked his glass with hers in agreement. They were both thankful for Thomas. Without him in their lives, they each would be terribly different people. A heavy sadness settled back on Hermione's shoulders at the thought of her life without him. She didn't want to imagine moving on without the comfort of his laugh and his wise counsel. How would she survive without Thomas? Desperately, she wished there was some way to change the past before he was murdered. Saving Silas hadn't worked. Maybe she could appeal to her Uncle Albus once more for help. Or Regnault. He was a powerful man too. _Something_ had to be possible.

"That was a rotten thing he said to you. I'm sorry he hurt you."

"Thank you."

"I hate to give him any credit, but you know he didn't mean it, right?"

Nothing Antonin could have said would have possibly surprised her more than that. He could've admitted to being half-penguin or that he was running away from the Death Eaters to become a professional ballet dancer and she wouldn't have been as shocked as she was to hear him come to Kingsley's defense. Expecting him to be making a cruel joke, she was further surprised to see that all hints of mirth were gone from his countenance. He was as serious as he could possibly be.

"Baby Shacklebolt loves you more than he loves anything and anyone else. Doesn't take anyone more than a minute or so in the same room with the two of you to realize that. Or, maybe I just know what it's like to be in his position."

Hermione dropped her eyes from his when he made his confession. She didn't need to hear any more about his feelings for her that night. Everything was already confusing enough. Between her consumption of large amounts of fire whiskey since Rabastan came to her home earlier in the day to the raw ache she still felt after Kingsley threw her out of his house, she wasn't sure what to believe, what to trust. Her vulnerability could easily cause her to make some wrong decisions. Like, forgetting she was sitting next to a cold-blooded murderer, for starters.

"You hurt him tonight. I don't need to know the details of what all was said and I am certainly not excusing him, but if anyone knows what it's like to lash out at the woman they love when they're hurting…"

He didn't need to finish his sentence for Hermione to understand his point. It was strangely mature of Antonin to recognize his own failings. Usually when faced with them, he ignored them or tried to pass them off as someone else's responsibility. Often Hermione's. Maybe the alcohol was making him every bit as introspective as she was feeling. Or, perhaps more likely, his dark activities and the rapid growing up he'd been forced to do in the service of his Dark Lord was maturing him. Too little, too late, of course. He was long past hope.

"He had no right to say what he said, but trust me, _daragaya_. As one who has watched on the outside of your relationship since the beginning, that wizard would crawl naked over hot coals to make you smile. When you have both calmed down, he'll come find you and beg for you to come back to him."

"What if I don't want that? What if I can't get past what he said to me?"

Antonin sighed again. Their discussion was reaching strange depths. Hermione never would've expected they would have so much to talk about when he sat down next to her just a short time earlier.

"Then you'll end up like me. Alone. Unhappy. Forever wishing that you'd made the decision to move past your own insecurities. Stuck in an endless cycle of 'what-ifs' that never leave you alone all because you couldn't make yourself trust the nine hundred and ninety-nine times the one you loved assured you that you were being foolish and fixated instead on the one time they used the power they held over you to hurt you."

She felt ashamed of her past behavior. A relationship with Antonin was never going to go anywhere. That had been clear from the very beginning. He might have been so similar to Kingsley in countless ways, but the biggest differences were the ones that mattered. Kingsley's loyalty and the belief that good always won out over evil made him a more attractive prospect for her affections. At least with him she didn't have to worry as much about what his 'master' would force him to do. Even though Uncle Albus had done a number of questionable acts over the years, she felt certain that he would never demand that Kingsley murder an innocent family of Muggles simply to prove his loyalty.

Antonin had his problems and was by no means innocent. Hermione felt badly about all of the times in the past that she had knowingly used his insecurities about Igor against him. He wasn't wrong. She'd promised him until she was blue in the face that there was nothing going on between them until a few times it suited her purposes to hint that he might have reason to worry. It was petty, _embarrassingly_ petty, but strangely effective in hurting him just the right amount. And, if she was honest with herself, hadn't she also done the same thing to Kingsley in regards to his feelings of inferiority against Antonin?

She'd hurt Kingsley many times just because she was heated in an argument. There was no cause for cruelty. Nothing she said or did _excused_ his behavior that night. Just like nothing he did excused _her_ behavior. They were both wrong, horribly so. She feared that they wouldn't be able to mend this rift between them this time. Was part of the reason why Kingsley sent her back in time because he wanted a chance to try to change what happened? Maybe he was banking on one or both of them making better choices the second time around.

"You don't have to be alone, Antonin. You choose to be alone."

He raised a skeptical eyebrow, an invitation for her to keep going.

"There are plenty of women out in the world who would make you happy if you let them."

"Maybe, but I don't want any of them."

There was a wealth of emotion behind his simple words. The expectant gaze, the lowering of his tone, the subtle moving of his body closer to hers. Hermione knew what he wanted. Knew that even though something about the manner in which they interacted seemed to set his temper off faster than with anyone else, he still hoped there was some flicker of hope, some shred to cling to. As if it was moving of its own accord, she found the palm of her hand rest on the outside of Antonin's cheek with a featherlight touch. The flicker of hope grew stronger, brighter.

She was a fool. Every decision she'd made that night had been the wrong one. Kingsley was wrong to say what he said, but she'd been just as culpable in the argument as a whole. She hadn't chosen her words flippantly or carelessly. She _knew_ what would hurt him and what wouldn't. What right did she have to be so angry when she'd done the same thing?

"Do you have so little respect for your wizard that you publicly flaunt your indiscretions?"

The haze of the moment with Antonin disappeared with the angry voice in Hermione's ear. Dropping her hand from her ex's face, she spun around on the barstool to come face to face with an irate Fabian Prewett. If there was anyone alive who had worse luck than she did, she wished them well. It seemed impossible.

Kingsley's best friend was furious, his face as red as his hair. Righteous indignation must have given him an entirely new vocabulary to work with. Ordinarily when he was angry with her, he just went with base insults and crude remarks. It also occurred to Hermione, too late, of course, that it was likely that every single known or suspected Death Eater had some kind of Order trail whenever possible. Fabian probably witnessed their entire conversation, only choosing to reveal himself when she physically touched Antonin. He was always seeking out reasons for Kingsley to break it off with Hermione. Not even a happy relationship with Emmeline Vance had improved his feelings towards her.

"Fabian… how _lovely_ to see you this evening."

"If you think for one second that you're going to somehow charm or bewitch me into _not_ telling Kingsley what I've seen, you're an even bigger fool than I thought you were."

"Piss off, Prewett. You're upsetting the lady."

Fabian balked when Antonin addressed him directly. There was no love lost between those two wizards any more than there was between Kingsley and Antonin. Years of hatred and rivalry existed between them as well. Hermione tried to ignore the fact that a day would come when Fabian and his twin brother would be murdered because of Antonin and four other Death Eaters. As much as she truthfully despised Fabian, she adored Gideon and felt grief for the ones who would miss them when they were gone.

"'Lady', Dolohov? I don't think so."

He stormed off in a swirl of his robes that would've made Professor Snape proud. No doubt he was going to go straight to Kingsley with the news of what he'd discovered, his Order mission be damned. It wouldn't be any time at all before half of wizarding society knew that they were no longer together. Likely just as many would know that she was seen alone with Antonin only a short time later. It didn't take a genius to know what the hateful assumptions would become.

"I should go upstairs to my room."

She tried to get off the stool and found she couldn't trust her own feet. Antonin caught her before she went stumbling to the floor.

"Baby Shacklebolt will be here in about five minutes demanding to know where you are so he can scream at you more. Do you really want that?"

Ignoring the ache in her stomach and even more tears forming in her eyes, she knew he was right. Kingsley would rush down there and demand to know where she was at. Didn't matter that she had been kicked out of their home earlier. Didn't matter that he told her their relationship was over unless she met his unrealistic and impossible demands. Any hint that she was alone with Antonin would force him into action.

"No, I don't. But, I don't want to go to my dad's."

"Come home with me."

It was a terrible idea. One that she knew she would come to regret if she agreed to it. Seconds ticked by as she considered the potential ramifications. She would be meeting an enemy on _his_ territory. But, she had to remind herself, _was_ Antonin really an enemy? A murderer, definitely. Someone she didn't want to spend her life with, without a doubt. But, an enemy? She could always blame the alcohol the next day.

They were standing in the large front room of his dilapidated country farmhouse only a few minutes later. Neither of them seemed sure what to do next. Antonin couldn't stand still. He kept moving around the room, pointing out anything new or recently repaired that he thought she might find interesting. Clearly, he was as rattled by her being in his house and she was.

"You've gotten a lot done on this house, Antonin. It looks lovely."

"Thank you. Needs a bit of a woman's touch though, I think."

"Sybille Selwyn is still single."

It took him a moment before he realized she was just teasing him. She sat down on his couch when laughter combined with her intoxicated state made standing difficult. With his own chuckles echoing in her ears, Antonin sat only inches away. Loud warning signals screeched at her within her mind. Agreeing to go with her ex to his home in the middle of the secluded countryside was a serious error in judgment. They'd both had too much to drink and neither of them were thinking clearly.

"You joke, but her father actually approached me about a year ago to ask if I'd be willing to marry her again."

"St John can see the writing on the wall. Sybille is never going to get married."

"I think he's desperate. Doesn't even care that I'm the son of a Mudblood anymore, I guess."

He spat the slur out with a bitterness she was all too familiar with. She hated the word every bit as much as he did, probably more. Time in the past as a Halfblood Lestrange insulated her from the frustrations of blood purity for the most part. The only person who had called her a Mudblood since she arrived in the seventies was herself. But, that didn't make her less angry that anyone would still judge another based on something as ridiculous as their blood status.

"She refused everyone who ever asked except for me. Selwyn knows he can't expect any more grandchildren from Salazar."

Hermione giggled at the thought of the Christmas dinner she watched St John and his daughter-in-law flirt while his son made suggestive glances at Kingsley all night. No, St John wouldn't have _any_ grandchildren until his youngest son they all pretended was his grandson was old enough. It was no wonder he would ignore the problems with Antonin's bloodline in his desperation. He went from having four children with prospects for the furthering of their line to only Sybille. It was enough to make any proud man panic.

"I don't get the feeling that Salazar's ever even touched his wife."

"How is that even possible? They have a child."

By the time she finished describing to Antonin the details of that unforgettable Christmas dinner, they were both laughing hard enough that breathing became difficult. He seemed especially amused by learning of Salazar's crush on Kingsley. Even though she knew he would likely be humiliated to find out she told his oldest rival, Hermione couldn't resist telling him about Kingsley innocently trying to show Salazar the shortcut in the maze and the aftermath.

"I wish I could've seen Baby Shacklebolt's face."

"You're terrible! I shouldn't have told you that."

Hermione playfully swatted at Antonin's chest. When her hand touched his body, he grabbed it with both of his. Instantly, the mood in the room changed. Neither of them were laughing. The smile on his face morphed into another serious expression that made her stomach both twist with in fear and swoop in familiar anticipation. He was hesitant in his movements at first. Gently pulling her closer to him by her hand inch by inch.

She screamed at herself inside to run away, to put as much distance between the two of them as physically possible. No good would come from that. She was angry and sad and vulnerable and so very, very drunk. Being with Antonin again, even for just a single night, would be the ultimate betrayal. If the worst of her insecurities had to do with her infertility, Kingsley's was all about Antonin. Two wrongs never made a right.

His lips pressing against hers brought up an influx of emotions and memories better left undisturbed. It had been so long since they last kissed. Their lives were irrevocably changed and they weren't even close to being the same people they once were, but there was comfort in what had once upon a time been a familiar act. Neither of them rushed to deepen the kiss. Sitting still with their mouths against each other unmoving, Hermione wrestled with her conscience. This was a step forward in a direction that she couldn't undo if she allowed it to continue. Only when she felt the tip of Antonin's tongue run along her bottom lip, politely requesting entrance into her mouth did she push him away.

"We can't do this. Kingsley…"

"Kingsley threw _you_ out. You are doing nothing wrong."

The second kiss was much more insistent than the first. There was no gentle hesitation, no polite request for permission. Antonin kissed her hard and he kissed her deep. Just as she found herself returning the affection and even seeking a more dominant position, she knew what she was doing was wrong. Alcohol could only be blamed so far. Sensing that she was recoiling slightly, Antonin broke off the kiss again. Staring into her eyes, he repeated himself.

"You are doing _nothing_ wrong."

But, even as she kissed him again, she couldn't ignore the knots in her stomach. This would not end well.

* * *

December 17, 1998

 **10:05 am**

There were many duties as the Minister for Magic that were a bit awkward. Kingsley was learning as each day passed that there was a great deal more to the position than he was previously aware. It had been foolish to assume that he would get to experience only the best parts of the job now that the war was over. Fancy Ministry balls and receptions were important and there were certainly a number of public speeches that needed to be made to ensure the support of his fellow witches and wizards, but the office had some drawbacks.

Sitting in Narcissa Malfoy's drawing room politely sipping tea while an entire team of aurors and other Ministry officials scoured every square centimeter of her home wasn't how he wished to spend his morning. Their paths crossed many times in the past when their families attended the same social functions. When he became a serious enough suitor in the eyes of Regnault Lestrange to guarantee an invitation to even the most private of family gatherings, Kingsley spent evenings with Narcissa and her husband more times than he could recall. Though he wouldn't have considered either of them to be close friends, he knew them well enough to carry on inconsequential conversations over dinner or drinks.

He'd tried to ask after her health and the health of her family members when she'd first offered him a cup, but it was a topic that fell flat. With her husband locked up in Azkaban for at least another year thanks to a trial he presided over, Narcissa had grown quite cold very quickly. Her son was home from Hogwarts for the holiday season. Draco had been spending as little time around the Ministry officials as possible. Likely it was still awkward to be around them months after his own trial. He had been declared innocent of the worst of his charges. His only guilty charge came with a punishment that hardly seemed unfair. He had to repeat his final year at Hogwarts and commit to a great deal of service to the school itself. Parts of the castle and its grounds were still in desperate need of repair even months after the final battle.

"I don't understand why this is necessary, Minister Shacklebolt. As I already told the aurors who came by the manor yesterday evening, Draco and I haven't seen that horrible creature since long before the Dark Lord was defeated."

She spoke the words with a grimace. Like she was sucking on a lemon or simply choking on her own bitterness. Kingsley couldn't blame her. When he first heard that Greyback had been spotted in Wiltshire, he'd been immediately suspicious of the Malfoy family. It was no secret that they'd had the werewolf in their home on several occasions during the war. Voldemort liked to keep his pets on a short leash. Only moments with the exasperated woman told the Minister all he needed to know. She was as anxious to move on with her life as the rest of them.

But, there was a protocol that had to be followed. An investigation had to be completed before anyone could proclaim them innocent of harboring a known fugitive. Considering the creature was known to be dangerous and unpredictable, Kingsley hadn't suspected for even a second that Narcissa Malfoy had any reason to lie. She wouldn't want him in her house for any reason.

"I understand, Mrs. Malfoy, and I apologize again for the inconvenience. Fenrir Greyback was spotted in the area last night."

"Will we always be under suspicious if _anything_ happens in Wiltshire? I'd like to know if I should prepare myself to expect these unnecessary intrusions in the future."

He almost smiled at her blunt question. The war had changed the silly, vapid woman that used to go on at length about society parties and the current dress robes fashions. A hardness had settled in her that the Minister knew would never go away. She'd seen too much in her own home to return to any resemblance of the girl she once was. The change in her was another waste brought on by the war. No one escaped the same.

"For your sake, Mrs. Malfoy, I truly hope that we don't have to come back here again."

She seemed pacified for the moment, but no less frustrated. Kingsley sipped at his tea again for something to do with the abundance of time he had to waste. The manor was massive. A complete search of it would take hours. It would all be for nothing, he was certain. Greyback might have been in the area for the night. In the long-term, however, there was no telling where he would end up. Yet again, Kingsley cursed Antonin's carelessness in the village. If he hadn't made it impossible for the Shrieking Shack to remain Greyback's chosen den, they would've probably caught him already.

Another hour passed with little conversation. Kingsley occupied his mind by counting the window panes in the room or by going over his week's calendar of meetings and events in his head. Sometimes his mind wandered to thoughts of Hermione. If all went well, she'd be back in his arms in days. He could hardly sit still with his excitement when he considered how close they were getting to a reunion. Any creeping thoughts worrying about whether or not she would have the opportunity to use the time turner were promptly squashed. This was a time for faith and hope. Reality could be called upon when she was back.

"There's no sign of the werewolf, Minister."

At Iain Proudfoot's official announcement, Kingsley jumped up to his feet. Relief was evident on Narcissa's haughty features. She ignored his offered hand unshaken to leave the room when she was finally given permission to move around her own home again.

"I didn't expect to find anything in the manor," Kingsley declared to Iain as they followed the rest of the team of Ministry officials to the edge of the estate. "Greyback isn't stupid. He's reckless and dangerous, but not stupid."

Iain was in agreement by the nodding of his head. When they were far enough away from the manor that they were able to Apparate again, Auror Proudfoot placed a hand on Kingsley's arm. They were alone. Everyone else was already halfway to the Ministry.

"Something about this werewolf is unsettling to me, Kings."

"Of course there is. He's a killer. We're all in danger as long as he's alive."

"I just have a feeling. Do you mind if I act on an idea I have?"

He trusted Iain with his life. Trusting him with Hermione's was only slightly more difficult. Agreeing to allow him to continue the investigation on his own with minimal interference, Kingsley returned Iain's pleased smile. Both men Disapparated from Wiltshire to their individual destinations. If anyone other than the Minister himself could find the monster, it was Iain. Kingsley felt confident leaving the manner in his hands for the moment. There were a number of other concerns taking up all of his attention as it was.


	87. Chapter 87

**_Author's Rant_** _: Wow! So many salty reviews from Anonymous (and not-so-Anonymous) readers the last couple of chapters. I say this frequently, but maybe I should repeat myself once again so everyone is clear. If you are looking to read a story about a perfect, Mary Sue who does no wrong and always makes the right decisions, steer clear from every single story that I have ever written or will ever write. Characters, just like real-live human beings, are messy and complicated and very, very flawed. Where's the fun in perfection? There are plenty of other stories out there where the writers choose to write their characters as completely perfect and entirely unrealistic. Go read one of those if you want someone who never makes a mistake._

 _Maybe I'm a horrible human being (and I've certainly had enough anonymous a-holes tell me I am), but I've made PLENTY of bad decisions when I was drinking and when I've been hurting. It must be nice to have been in a relationship where no one ever said anything hurtful just to make the other person feel badly. Lord knows I've never been in one of those! Love, just like human beings, is never perfect. 'And they lived happily ever after' is complete and utter bullshit. Doesn't happen ever. No matter how much you love someone, they're going to get on your nerves at some point and you are going to imagine murdering them in inventive ways. Doesn't mean you don't love them. It just means you're human and the person you love the most in the world is the person that can drive you crazy the fastest. (Any parents relate to that, as well?)_

 _Oh, and reading eighty-six chapters of a story just so you can anonymously tell me that you hate how I characterize Hermione doesn't make you some kind of martyr. It makes you an idiot. Don't like this story? Don't read it. Very simple concept. Leaving rude reviews like that is a waste of your time and a waste of my time. Why are you reading something if you hate it? Life is too damn short! Go hug a puppy instead._

 _And before I forget, having consensual sex with three men over nine years does_ ** _NOT_** _make a person a whore. If you feel that women shouldn't be allowed to enjoy a healthy sex life, please stay away from my stories with your judgment. You just sound petty and like it's been a really long time since you've gotten laid. _

**_TL;DR: Don't be a dick! Have a lovely day._**

* * *

Chapter Eighty-Seven

July 11, 1980

 **12:45 am**

There was something oddly comforting about the familiarity of kissing Antonin. If Hermione allowed herself to completely ignore all of the negative aspects of their repeated failings at relationships, she could focus on the chemistry they possessed. The pure physicality of the act between them had always left her breathless and aching deliciously in just the right places. They had always been able to communicate more effectively with their bodies than with their mouths.

She wanted to push him away. Wanted to slap him and scream at him for taking advantage of her in a vulnerable moment. He had no right to press his body against hers and run his hand freely through her loose hair. No right at all to make her forget even for a moment how much she loved Kingsley. It wasn't fair. She wasn't thinking clearly with his familiar scent filling her nose. Scent was supposed to be the strongest sense when it came to invoking nostalgia and other memories of the past. In that moment, she could believe the veracity of that fact. All she could think of were the nights she spent in his Knockturn Alley flat before everything turned sour. That had been a happy time, an era of relative peace in her chaotic life.

Living in the past was a luxury she couldn't afford. She _knew_ what kind of man Antonin was and what he would further become. This was a man who would go on to curse a sixteen year old girl with the intent to snuff out her life before it even began. A dangerous man who would follow the whims of a madman to such an alarming degree that his most basic humanity was stripped from him was certainly not a man she needed to have anything to do with. It didn't matter if there had always been that _potential_ to be a good man. Hadn't he said it himself that he didn't believe simply choosing to be good would help?

And then another part of her wanted to make Kingsley suffer. It was petty and wrong, but she was only human. What he had said to her hadn't been kind. It was _cruel_. More than once over the course of their relationship since the day she learned that she wouldn't be able to have children, she'd made the comment to him that she feared he would one day realize that she alone wasn't enough for him. He _knew_ she felt inadequate. _Knew_ she worried that he deserved better than someone like her. If he could go for what would cause the most pain, why couldn't she do the exact same thing? Turnabout was fair play and all that rubbish.

No one was ever truly happy when they were petty. How many times had she seen that truth play out firsthand? Maybe the act felt good in the moment, but there were always repercussions that would come later. Could she live with the person she might become if she went for what would hurt him the most instead of rising above?

There wasn't a simple formula for love. Some easy procedure to follow step by step to ensure maximum happiness. That had been another lesson she'd had to learn the hard way. Just as had happened when she was still with Antonin so many years earlier, Hermione knew that sometimes the person that one loved the most, was also the one person who wielded the power to wound the most. Why were fairy tales so quick to ignore the part where the princess moved into the castle with her prince and they discovered that _staying_ in love was infinitely harder than simply falling in love?

"I've been dreaming that something like this was going to happen again. Never thought I'd get to be alone with you like this again, _daragaya_."

"Please stop calling me that."

Antonin stared at her unblinking for several seconds when she made her whispered request. It felt wrong somehow to her to hear him call her that name after what they'd gone through. This wasn't right after Hogwarts when they were still young and unburdened by the horrors of war. This wasn't before he was marked by the Dark Lord and she was almost marked by Greyback. Neither of them were the same people. How could he pretend for even a moment that they might be?

"I meant what I said in London earlier. My feelings for you are still…"

"Antonin, stop."

"No, Hermione. I'm serious. I still care about you. More than I've ever cared for any other woman I've ever known."

"I'm only going to disappoint you again, Antonin."

She started to stand up from the sofa, but a firm hand brought her back down to the cushion. His touch wasn't painful, only ardent. He ran his hands up and down the outside of her arms and her back. His lips moved from her neck to her lips to her collarbone without ceasing. It was a possessive gesture she remembered from the days they were still together. Usually irritating her, Hermione found it oddly comforting to experience again. She didn't push him away.

"You won't disappoint me. You _never_ disappointed me."

It wasn't the time to argue with him even if she thought he was lying. Of course she'd disappointed him. Numerous times. That was part of being in a relationship. At some point, each person was going to be disappointed in the other for any number of reasons. He accompanied his assurances with even more fervent kisses to her mouth.

The voice within her that had been shouting to run away wasn't as noticeable the longer she remained seated on his couch. Maybe it was lying dormant or maybe it realized that it was fighting a lost cause. Hermione knew what she was doing was wrong, but in that very second in time, she wanted to continue. Some of the sting of her earlier pain could be soothed if she gave in to the act that always made her feel better in the past. It was easy to push aside her concerns for the fleeting joy of the illicit encounter.

She couldn't remember how they ended up in Antonin's bedroom. Maybe he carried her or maybe she'd demanded he lead her there. Everything seemed to happen so quickly. All she knew was that as she laid on top of his bed completely naked and exposed waiting for the moment that would change everything, her thoughts returned to Kingsley. Would he ever forgive her if he discovered where she was? When the words 'probably not' echoed through her brain, Hermione closed her eyes and tried to distance herself from her poor decision.

If Antonin was aware that she wasn't as invested in the act as he was, he didn't make it obvious. Though she hardly participated, he was as enthusiastic as he had always been in the past. Stopping frequently to whisper endearments in his two languages, to remind her how beautiful she was, how amazing it felt to be with her again. She simply tried not to cry.

It was a small favor that Antonin had attempted to catch up to her with his drinking at the pub. Because they were both so intoxicated, he wasn't keen on turning their unexpected encounter into an all-night show of acrobatic skill and precision. He was able to finish once, wrap his arms around Hermione with promises that once he got his strength back up he would prove to her why choosing him was the best idea, and promptly fell asleep. It was hardly a memorable showing. Even if she hadn't been so tense, it would've been one of those rare nights with him that she was forced to find her own release with his contented snores in her ear.

The gravity of what she had just done struck her entirely only moments after it was over. There had been a moment downstairs before they moved to the bedroom that she could've stormed out of his house without it escalating to the point it did. She would have still be in the wrong for kissing Antonin and even entertaining the idea of going to bed with him again, but at least then she could've left before the possibility of Kingsley never forgiving her became a reality.

Yes, their fight hours before had been the worst they'd ever had. She knew that at least when he was saying so, that Kingsley meant what he said about not wanting anything to do with her until she started fighting for the Order and turning her back on those she loved who just happened to also be Death Eaters. But, eventually he would've calmed down. Given some time apart, they would have both been able to come back together to calmly and rationally discuss their concerns. He would have understood what she was saying or at least understood that cutting off members of her family in her life just wasn't practical. She would have agreed to keep Rabastan and Rodolphus out of their home for his peace of mind. He would have thrown himself at her feet to apologize for the horrible thing he said to her right before she left. And, she would have forgiven him.

But, everything was different. One unsatisfactory tumble in Antonin's bed later and nothing would be simple again. If Antonin was right that she wasn't doing anything wrong because Kingsley broke up with her first and threw her out of his house first, why did she feel so bloody awful? Why did her stomach ache and her chest felt tight? Why did she hear the pounding of her heart inside her head?

Careful not to wake up the wizard who was fast asleep next to her in bed, Hermione slid off of the mattress. Antonin was a light sleeper even when he'd been drinking. She half-expected him to demand to know what she was doing with each step she took. Experience taught her how to move around a dark room without waking him. She gathered her discarded clothes and snuck down the corridor to a bathroom. As she dressed, she caught sight of the locket still hanging from her neck in the mirror above the sink. She snorted softly and rolled her eyes. Antonin's mind had clearly been on other things if he hadn't demanded that she immediately remove the reminder of his own worst insecurities. No doubt he would have if she'd allowed there to be a second round. Once was enough.

She was surprised that a sleepy Antonin hadn't yet come out of his bedroom to find her. The sickening realization that not only had she completely betrayed Kingsley but that she'd given Antonin a reason to hope there might be a reconciliation in the future struck her just as she pulled the last of her clothes on. He would be relentless. Convinced that he could somehow manage to make her happier than Kingsley, her ex-boyfriend wouldn't rest until she gave in to him again. She was exhausted just thinking about what the next several weeks would be like.

As soon as she was satisfied that she wasn't leaving anything behind, Hermione carefully descended the stairs to the ground floor. Each step creaked loudly. Every second she feared her exit would be halted. Only when she reached the front door did she relax again. No intricate locking wards covered the way out to her great relief. A simple turn of the knob and she was out in the night air. Before she closed the door behind her, she strained her ears to hear any movement upstairs. Antonin gave no hint away if he was awake. She closed the door as softly as possible and ran.

There was something rather freeing about running full speed ahead away from the farmhouse where she'd committed one of, if not _the_ , biggest mistakes of her life. She wasn't as physically active as she knew she should be. Life seemed too chaotic at times and unsafe for her to dwell on something as simple as going for a jog. The men in her life would most certainly tell her that she was being unsafe by going outside alone when there were bad people about intent on doing her harm. Maybe it was just easier to avoid those admonitions wherever possible.

Outside of the wards surrounding Antonin's hidden home, Hermione wasn't sure where to go next. It was the middle of the night. Her father would likely still be awake if she headed to Hogsmeade. Aberforth kept strange hours. Not only because of his profession, but for his own personal preferences. He was of the opinion that his best ideas and thoughts came to him when the rest of the world was asleep. If she went there, she would be welcomed with open arms. She wouldn't even be asked _too_ many questions at first. When she woke up the next morning, however, he would have a large goat cheese omelette waiting for her and the expectation that she would tell him everything that happened. She wasn't ready to face Aberforth's disappointment that her relationship with Kingsley was over. He was liable to be as heartbroken as she was.

Technically, the Lestrange Manor was her home, as well. Regnault made it clear on numerous occasions that she was welcome to stay there any time she wished. He had even gone so far as to change her usual bedroom suite to one on the other end of the family corridor. His hope was if she was given a place without the memories associated with that horrible night with Lord Voldemort, she might actually take him up on his offer from time to time. Before she even had a chance to ask, her uncle informed her that he'd personally removed all 'anti-shagging' charms from each bed in the manor, but he reserved the right to add them again if it turned out one day he had a particularly beautiful granddaughter. She'd kissed his cheek with a laugh.

Regnault _wouldn't_ allow her to sleep through the entire night to wait for answers to his questions. His inquisitive nature would require that she satisfy every single one of his inquiries before she retired for the night. And if she bothered to show up upset and completely pissed, he would have lectures awaiting her that she didn't have the energy to withstand. There would also be the very real possibility that she would be plagued by an overjoyed Bellatrix who adored seeing her in pain.

Andromeda and Ted had their own worries. Hermione didn't want to add to their troubles. To their great sorrow, granting Nymphadora's most fervent wish for a little brother or little sister had not been easy. It saddened Hermione that a couple as much in love as they were struggled with the same problem she had. Though Andy hadn't been given the dreadful news that trying was a waste of time, because she had the benefit of knowing the future, her best friend knew that there would be no more children for the Tonks family. They would have opened their home to her in a second if she asked, so she didn't.

It seemed wrong to seek out any of the Shacklebolts or Shafiqs for comfort or a warm bed to sleep off her bender and poor decisions. Not only did she not want to push in where she wasn't wanted, Kingsley had more right to his family than she ever did. Even if Thomas had his own flat in London that his little brother had never been to, it felt wrong. Besides, Tommy would take one look at Hermione and she would blubber out the whole truth of her shame. She didn't want to see the disappointment in his eyes when she told him that she'd gone back to Antonin for even a second. He'd made it no secret that he wanted her to stay far away from his best friend.

The only other person she could think of who would give her a place to stay without asking a lot of questions was Igor. Running from one ex-boyfriend's arms to another was the worst possible idea she could come up with. He would be sympathetic about her argument with Kingsley up until the point she told him she went home with Antonin. That seemed like an act of desperation that he wouldn't be able to understand or forgive.

As she thought about the kind of comfort she'd received in Igor's flat in the past, Hermione remembered the very first night she'd slept there and the events of the following morning. The answer to where to spend the rest of that horrible night became clear. Ignoring that it was never a good idea to Apparate while intoxicated, Hermione spun in place with her destination firmly in her mind.

If the men in her family could disappear to the hunting lodge to hide in the bottom of a bottle, she could do the same. Although it had a been a long time since she had cause to visit the mansion in the woods, she arrived right where she intended. None of the windows were lit up to her relief. Someone else might have had the idea first. All she needed was to walk in on Rodolphus with Mafalda Hopkirk in a _delicate_ position. He might have tried to keep the identity of his mistress a secret, but Hermione had figured it out with little effort. She even liked the woman. Their interactions had been few in number, but she always was left with the feeling that she was good for her cousin. He needed some kind of happiness in his sad life.

She pushed open the front door with ease. To satisfy her curiosity and to ensure she would have complete privacy, Hermione cast _Homenum Revelio_ before she crossed the threshold. Calling out for her favorite of her uncle's house-elves, she waited patiently in the chilly lounge for tiny Bissy to arrive.

"First of all, Bissy, I _order_ you not to tell anyone that I'm here. Not Master Regnault. Not Master Rodolphus. Not Master Rabastan. Definitely not Mistress Bellatrix. Don't even tell Rosie I'm here."

"But…"

"No, 'buts'. No one must know I'm here."

Hermione knew that by asking the elf to keep her secret she was probably asking more of her than she should. As she had gotten older and spent more time around the house-elves in the past, she understood more that her previous position about the welfare of house-elves hadn't been entirely accurate. She wouldn't give up completely on the idea that they deserved more than they'd been given in life, but she knew that lecturing them about freedom wasn't the best course of action. Rosie didn't care for her because she so frequently was obstinate with Regnault. _Anyone_ who argued with her Master Reggie was a suspect. And, any witch or wizard who said 'please' or 'thank you' to a house-elf just doing their job was an oddity she didn't care for.

She tried to put Bissy's mind at ease with her simple requests for food to soak up the alcohol still rolling around in her stomach and more alcohol to wash the food down. Once the house-elf lit a fire to warm the drafty room and winked down to the kitchens to comply, Hermione found the nearest bathroom. Stripping out of her clothes and scalding her body with hot water seemed to be the only way to cleanse the errors of the night away. Not one to usually linger too long in the shower, she took her time as if extra minutes under the steaming stream would somehow wash away the whispers of Antonin's fingers on her flesh.

A large, delicious spread awaited her when she returned to the lounge in clean clothes. Hermione couldn't remember when she'd last eaten. Perhaps that had been a determining factor in why she had gotten so very drunk. When she sat down at the table Bissy had even taken the time to cover in a linen tablecloth, she thanked the house-elf once again for her help and ordered her back to the manor. She took her time picking at the food provided, only realizing that she had no appetite.

Her thoughts were still plagued with Antonin and what she'd just done. She had to make a plan about what she was going to do next to make this all right. No matter what he said to her, she still loved Kingsley. Being thrown out of _their_ home had been the single most painful moment of her life up until that point. It was as if he was telling her that the safe place she'd found with him, the hope of the future she desired with him, didn't exist anymore.

She didn't even bother pouring the fire whiskey into a glass. Once the lid was removed, she carried it with her to the sofa in front of the fireplace. The next day she would make a plan. Until then, she was going to see how much alcohol it took to drown her sorrows or kill her. Whichever came first. She wasn't picky.

* * *

 **6:05 pm**

Hermione passed out or fell asleep long before she finished the bottle of fire whiskey like she intended. A few times throughout the day that followed she woke up, groaned at the light bleeding through the drapes, and hid her face under the blanket that Bissy had covered her with at some point. Despite being ordered to return to the manor, she was certain that the house-elf returned to the hunting lodge almost immediately to make certain that she didn't harm herself in any way.

Her dreams were filled with upsetting images and reminders of mistakes she had made in her her life. For whatever reason, her damned conscience thought _that_ would be the night to plague her with all of the poor choices she'd made. Maybe it was a feeble attempt to make her feel better about herself or maybe it was just her own way of reminding herself what a failure she was turning out to be. She was leaning towards the latter.

As afternoon turned to evening, there was a subtle shift in the air of the hunting lodge. If she hadn't been laying completely still on the sofa trying to ignore the pain in her head, she wouldn't have noticed. Sounds from both outside and inside of the building warned her that she'd been discovered. The crack of Apparition. The sound of the front door opening. Footsteps in the corridor. She braced herself for the inevitable confrontation that was moments away.

Regnault was never quiet about entering a room. Especially not when it was in a house that he owned. He had a commanding presence at the best of times and a foreboding presence in the worst. Hermione jumped and immediately groaned at the sound of the door violently opening and slamming against the wall. Each click and clack from his heavy footsteps made her whimper. Was common courtesy a lost art? Something spoken of only by frustrated old women when its lack was painfully obvious?

"Have you _any_ idea the stress and fear you brought upon your family in the last twenty-four hours?"

"Haven't even been gone twenty-four hours."

Her muttering was ignored by her irate uncle. She wasn't surprised by his appearance. If anything, she was surprised that he hadn't arrived _sooner_. She'd been hiding in the hunting lodge all day. Wasn't he supposed to have some sort of knowledge of every person who passed through the wards of one of his family's properties?

"Rodolphus was beside himself when you didn't show up to work this morning. Couldn't be bothered to send him an owl?"

"I was too drunk to hold a quill."

Her uncle rolled his eyes and took a deep breath. When Hermione had enough strength to open her tired eyelids, guilt washed over her in violent, crashing waves. Fear was etched into every single line on her uncle's face. Somehow she hadn't noticed him growing older right before her eyes the last several years. He could barely stand still he was buzzing with so much nervous energy. Nothing about him from his untucked shirt to his uncombed hair to his unshaven face looked like himself. Had he truly been that worried?

"Nobody knew where you were, Hermione! Not your father. Not your cousins. Not even Kingsley."

"You spoke to Kingsley?"

"Of course I did! That's the first place I looked for you when Rodolphus said you hadn't come in to work."

She covered her face with her hands. Would she have no respite from her own humiliation? Everything in her life was going wrong. How could so much change in less than a single day? It wasn't until she felt the sofa dip next to her and Regnault's arms around her shaking body that she realized she was crying.

"We were so… _I_ was so afraid that something had happened to you."

Regnault's voice cracked with the intensity of his emotion. Hermione felt horrible that it never occurred to her that those she cared about would be worried when she didn't show up in her usual places. How could she ignore the fact, even for a moment in her drunken night of embarrassing debauchery, that there were innocent people she knew disappearing every single day? For a man who spent his life trying to be as stoic and calm as possible to become so vulnerable and so _human,_ she knew she had been selfish.

"The boy was clearly drunk too. What the devil happened?"

"I've ruined everything, Uncle. Everything!"

Fresh sobs shook her body anew. Regnault tightened his hold. She wasn't even aware there were enough tears left in her to keep flowing. It seemed like she should've been completely dried for days. Maybe even years. One body could only cry so much.

Her uncle had very little experience in the calming of frantic and distraught women. That was a fact that was evident after only moments in his embrace. To Hermione, knowing that she was valued enough by him to throw aside his usual dignified, cold demeanor, meant the world. The hesitancy and the initial awkwardness only made the experience that much more precious. He was a man who loved deeply even if he didn't always know how to show it.

"There, there, my darling. That can't possibly be true."

"It is! When Kingsley finds out what I've done, he's never going to want to speak to me again."

She wasn't ready to explain herself. Regnault would demand to know details she couldn't give yet without completely falling to pieces all over again.

"Kingsley loves you. Any fool can see that. You will mend this."

Regnault barked out an order to Bissy, who in her concern about her mistress didn't even bother to hide her presence. She rushed out of the room only to return moments later with a vial each of Sober Up potion and Hangover potion. Her uncle carefully pried her off of his chest to give them to Hermione. She didn't dare argue. Almost immediately she felt the relief from the potions and with it, the embarrassment of her breakdown.

"Better?"

She only trusted herself to nod 'yes'. Despite all of her efforts to seem as unruffled and stoic as her uncle, Hermione still felt her emotions strongly. Always had. As much as she tried to, she never felt like she'd distanced herself much from the sad twelve year old girl crying in the girls' lavatory with a mountain troll. If anything, the stress and weight of the war and all of her life experiences made it even more difficult to keep a cool head. There was a time when she was at Hogwarts that she knew all of the good places in the castle where she could have a good cry alone. It was the hazard of being sensitive and a frequent target for cruel bullies. Having clueless Ron Weasley as a friend and then later, a crush, didn't help matters.

"Now, tell me what's happened."

The simple change in the tone of voice that her uncle used to address her made all of the difference. When he spoke to her ordinarily, he was all business in his brusque and sometimes harsh authoritative tone. Listening to him speak to her gently with more care and concern than she'd ever head before allowed her the ability to calm herself down. A glance in his worried light green eyes assured Hermione that she had no reason to fear Regnault's response to her tale. He was unequivocally on her side.

"Kingsley and I had a horrible fight last night. He was angry that I… well, to be perfectly honest, he was angry that I was spending part of the evening with Rabastan."

"Surely he has no reason to believe that anything inappropriate is going on between you two. I mean, after all, we're not the _Blacks_."

She appreciated his unexpected attempt at humor. More than once in the past she'd been admonished by her uncle for making a similar remark about his daughter-in-law's family. Knowing that he was trying to lighten the tense mood meant everything to her. It was rare that anyone got to see that side of his personality.

"No, nothing like that. He thinks I'm spending too much time with people that… well, with those that… ugh. He doesn't want me…"

"To be around followers of the Dark Lord?"

Hermione felt her cheeks flush. Both of his sons were Death Eaters and so was his daughter-in-law. There had been a time when he was a fervent supporter of Lord Voldemort even without being Marked himself. It was a sensitive subject at the best of times. Regnault, to his credit, didn't seem offended in the slightest. Of course, he might have just been hiding his true feelings.

"Yes. He thinks I'm picking a side that he's against just by associating with them. He had the nerve to tell me that I could either pick my family or I could pick him."

"And I imagine that did not sit well with you."

"Of course it didn't! The fight got very… _ugly_."

She lowered her eyes and shifted slightly in her seat. Repeating the hateful words to her uncle wasn't something she wanted to do. Many times in the past he'd made careful remarks that he thought of her almost like the daughter he'd lost. Their relationship had a rocky beginning, but she no longer laughed in disbelief when one of her cousins referred to her as Regnault's favorite. She knew it was true. And, she also knew that he wanted her to have a long life filled with children and happiness. His part, even if it had been unintentional, in pushing her into the dangerous arms of the Dark Lord wasn't something he could forgive himself for. Regnault blamed himself for the misfortune that took away any chance she had to have the children he so desperately wanted her to have. Hermione hated bringing the subject up for fear that her uncle would be saddened yet again. She never once blamed him.

Almost the moment she lowered her gaze, she felt Regnault's hand gently grasp her chin. Startled by the touch, Hermione watched as he examined her face in the light of fire. He was a man clearly searching for something. Not seeing it on her face, he gently pulled the edge of her collar down a couple of inches to view the skin around her neck and shoulders. Still not seeing what he was looking for, he reached for her arms. He slid the fabric of her sleeves up past her wrists to her elbows on each arm. Only then did the tense set of his shoulders relax. Relief shone on his countenance. Hermione wasn't sure what to make of his odd behavior. Regnault gestured to her torso and then to her legs.

"Are there any marks that I'm unable to see?"

She almost burst into tears again when she realized what he was doing. Regnault had made it no secret that he very much wanted his niece to settle down with Kingsley. His opinion of her wizard had been high from the very first day they met. It would have made her sad to think that Regnault worried even for a single moment that Kingsley would ever hurt her physically if it hadn't also made her feel so loved. She shook her head. He sighed.

"Kingsley threw me out of the house. Said that I didn't live there anymore. Told me that I could send someone over to get my things later because he didn't want to see me again."

The heaviness she'd felt in her gut when he uttered those words returned in full force as she repeated them. Sensing she was even more upset than she already had been, Regnault snapped his fingers and ordered Bissy to bring him parchment and a quill. He scribbled a note down before giving her another order to see it posted immediately. The terrified house-elf bowed deeply to her master, relieved to have a reason to leave his presence. Regnault could be quite intimidating without even meaning to at times.

"I've just informed the boy that I will be there later this evening to retrieve your belongings."

"Uncle, that's not necessary."

"Nonsense. You will stay here as long as you wish. It will afford you some privacy until you know what your next move will be. Of course, you are always welcome to stay in the manor if you'd prefer."

"Thank you, but I'm not sure I could bear being under the same roof with Bellatrix for any length of time. She will probably enjoy holding this over my head."

Her uncle nodded his head in agreement. They both knew of the witch's hatred for her husband's cousin. The longer Hermione was stuck in the past and the more she thought about it, the more she was convinced she understood why Bellatrix had been so cruel to her in the future. When she was tortured by the crazy witch the night she was dragged to Malfoy Manor, there had been something quite _personal_ about her actions. At the time, Hermione didn't quite understand what it was that was different. All she knew was that the woman hated her for much more than just a belief that she'd broken into her Gringotts Vault.

Bellatrix knew Hermione for _years_. She sat across the dinner table from her countless nights before and during her marriage. There could have simply been no way that she wouldn't have recognized a young girl that looked so much like the person she detested so thoroughly. Even in her madness brought on by years in Azkaban she couldn't have overlooked the physical similarities. Perhaps Bellatrix thought that young Hermione Granger was the look-alike daughter of her biggest rival and the wizard she longed for more than any other. Voldemort's interest in Hermione _Dumbledore_ was a source of contention between the women. It was very likely that the horrid woman believed that when she disappeared, Hermione took with her the child of the Dark Lord inside her womb. The well-known family secret of her infertility wouldn't matter to the insane woman. She would just assume that her beloved Dark Lord wasn't confined by such trivial matters as a cursed womb. Knowing that Bellatrix would be so fervent in her desire to torture the girl she believed to be Hermione's child only stoked the fire of hatred within Hermione's heart. And, knowing that whatever was left of her broken body was promised to Greyback only made her desire to rip the insane woman's still-beating heart from her chest with her bare hands.

"You said that you ruined everything."

Hermione suddenly found the wooden floors fascinating. Meeting the sadness in her uncle's eyes with the story of running straight into Antonin's willing arms was something she wanted to avoid. Foolishly, she hoped that he wouldn't press the issue any further.

"It doesn't matter, Uncle. I was upset."

He slipped two fingers under her chin to gently force it up so their eyes would meet. She knew better than to resist. Though he wouldn't hurt her, he had a tendency to get what he wanted. It was usually easier in the long run to just comply.

"We have all committed grave errors when we were upset, my dear. Especially, when there was alcohol involved."

Part of her feared that he was about to launch into a tirade about her drinking. There was no one alive who was more aware of how much she drank than she was. No longer could she look down on people like her beloved Rodolphus for succumbing to the temptation of too much alcohol consumption. She belonged in those meetings Muggles always had where they sat around talking about the deplorable acts they'd done to secure another glass. Maybe one day she would wake up and find that she didn't desire another drink, but she didn't see that day arriving any time soon.

"I am not here to pass any judgment. I know better than most."

"He's never going to forgive me, Uncle."

"Nonsense. You're smarter than that."

He pushed a clean handkerchief in her hands. She didn't waste a moment before dabbing at the tears that were beginning to fall again. How did anyone make it through an entire day without crying? She wasn't sure she could remember what that was like. So many of her days had been filled with such sorrow and pain that it seemed strange to imagine that other people living and breathing in the exact same world that she was didn't experience the same level of pain. Were there actually people who were _happy_ all of the time? She was beginning to doubt that such a fairy tale existed in reality.

"I will go to his home with Rosie. Between the two of us, we can put a little fear in the boy's heart. Show him what it will truly be like without you in his life. It's best that you stay here. If you wish, I will let Aberforth know where you are."

"No. I'll tell him later."

"All right. Stay here for a few days. A few weeks. I promise you, if the boy is half as intelligent as I believe he is, when he calms down he will be frantic to find you again to apologize."

Hermione didn't want to crush his hopes. Once Kingsley found out about Antonin, he wouldn't want anything to do with her again. They would be over. Of course, she couldn't ignore that small voice in the back of her mind reminding her that Kingsley wouldn't have had any reason to steal a time turner if he wasn't willing to forgive her failures.

* * *

December 17, 1998

 **8:30 pm**

Kingsley waited until after he was finished with his daily reports and interminable meetings before stepping into the fireplace in his office. He didn't like staying at the office as late as he had. That was certainly a habit he would gladly curb when Hermione was back in his home in her proper timeline, but until that glorious moment, he needed the distraction. As much as he liked to complain about Rodolphus staying in his house for months before leaving, he was missing the presence of the other man. Going home to an empty house was a habit he was beginning to loathe. So, instead he waited until most of the Ministry officials had been gone for hours and he called out the least used public Floo station in all of Hogsmeade.

There were no patrons inside The Hog's Head. Unfortunately for his old friend, that wasn't an unusual sight in the pub on Thursday nights. Most of Aberforth's questionable clientele took advantage of the menu Madam Rosmerta had on Thursdays. It was hard to pass up her steak and kidney pie on a cold winter's night. Or, perhaps more likely, they appreciated the deep crimson robes she wore on those nights that left absolutely nothing to the imagination. Some of Ab's customers were likely to stumble into the pub later in the evening after they were thrown out The Three Broomsticks for unsavory behavior.

Knowing that he was always welcome to pour his own drink whether Aberforth was behind the bar or not, Kingsley crossed the deserted pub. He cast a couple of scourgifying spells on a glass to give his mind a little peace. Hygienic standards had gone painfully down since Hermione's disappearance eighteen years earlier. He didn't doubt that one of the very first tasks she would undertake when she returned would be a thorough cleansing and refurbishing of the entire disreputable establishment. Aberforth would grumble and fuss through it all even if his heart was singing with her return. If she was charming enough, and he felt certain that she absolutely would be, Hermione might even be able to finally talk her adoptive father into serving food. That had been an issue that they could never fully agree on.

"I should be heading back to the castle."

"What's the rush? All of your students are gone for the holidays."

Kingsley almost dropped the bottle he was holding when he heard the voices in the next room and the almost girlish giggle. Realizing that Aberforth and his lady friend had no idea they were no longer by themselves, he cleared his throat loudly and called out.

"Hope you don't mind I'm helping myself, Aberforth! I'll put a sickle in the till when I'm done!"

Seconds later the red-faced proprietor burst out of the next room. Knowing it would make the entire situation infinitely worse if he didn't, Kingsley tried to keep from laughing at the older wizard's clear discomfort. He kept his eyes focused on the glass he was pouring.

"I didn't hear you come in."

"Sorry, Ab. Came straight from the Ministry. Used the Floo."

"Yes, well, very few ever use the Floo. I wasn't expecting."

"Would you like me to slip outside for a few minutes and come back later?"

The man's cheeks grew an even darker shade of red in his embarrassment.

"That's not necessary. Nothing to be ashamed of."

The door to his private quarters opened slowly. Kingsley couldn't hide his curiosity. He had his suspicions of who was visiting the empty pub, but wanted to see for certain.

"Oh, Minister Shacklebolt! What a pleasant surprise."

He couldn't suppress his grin. His suspicions had been spot on.

"Please call me Kingsley, Professor Sprout. Several of your magnificent plants allowed me to keep fighting during the Final Battle. There's no reason for such formality amongst fellow defenders, is there?"

She smiled shyly at the compliment. One of the first lessons he'd learned from his father was how to speak to the ladies in such a way that they felt both respected and valued. Not a day went by that he didn't remember how to put his education into practice. The slight flush in her cheeks proved that she had been a pretty little thing in her youth. Maybe she still was under her frumpy clothes and multiple layers of soil.

"You are absolutely right, Kingsley. You must call me Pomona as well."

"With pleasure, _Pomona_."

Aberforth cleared his throat loudly before they could continue any further down that path. Kingsley found the ability to annoy the man an attractive use of his time. It had been a long time since he'd been able to find something to rile the man up about. Pomona turned her full attention back to the man she'd been there to visit.

"Now don't go overwatering your garden again, silly man. I might not be readily available to pop down here to show you what you were doing wrong."

He mumbled under his breath as he showed his guest to the front door. Kingsley bit his bottom lip. By the time Aberforth returned alone to the bar, the Minister was seated comfortably on his favorite barstool. A challenge in the elder wizard's eyes just dared Kingsley to say something. He _almost_ was mature enough to ignore the opportunity for teasing.

"Overwatering your garden, huh? Is that what you kids are calling it these days?"

"You mind your business. You're not so important or so big that I won't hurt you, son."

The memory of the night Aberforth punched the new Minister _twice_ in the face came rushing back to Kingsley. He rubbed his jaw right where the blows landed. Yes, he was well aware of the fact that the wizard had no fear when it came to him.

"I didn't mean to interrupt your evening."

"You didn't. Pomona was just on her way out. I had some cabbages that were doing poorly and I asked her to come take a look at them when she had a spare minute."

Deciding that the man had been teased enough and was entitled to his own private life, Kingsley changed the subject. He relayed all of the latest developments to the search for Fenrir Greyback. Though he didn't give Aberforth _all_ of the details, he hadn't felt right about not telling the man that the werewolf was likely to be a danger to Hermione when she returned. He didn't ask many questions, but something in the set of his jaw when he advised him that he believed Greyback was the source of the purple thistles led Kingsley to believe that Aberforth already knew more than he was letting on.

"You taken the time to actually go home and get some sleep, son?"

"Sometimes. When I get the chance. But, I'll be honest, I haven't been able to sleep much lately."

Aberforth nodded his head.

"I understand. Seems like the closer we get to Christmas, the more nervous and anxious I get. Haven't allowed myself to even imagine the possibility that she won't be back in a few days."

"Neither have I."

Of all of the people that Kingsley had had the pleasure to know in his life, he regarded Aberforth Dumbledore as being one of the greatest. Sure, it had been easy to admire his older brother, but there was a quiet strength to his witch's father that he'd always admired. His counsel was one that he had sought out countless times over the years. He wanted to hear his opinion and get his advice on something that had been eating away at him since Dolohov said the words.

"It's no secret that Hermione and I had a terrible argument months before she disappeared."

"No secret at all."

"I hate to listen to anything that Dolohov says, but he reminded me that although eighteen years have passed for me, only five _months_ have passed for her."

"And you're concerned that she's not going to have forgiven you for what happened?"

He nodded his head. Aberforth refilled Kingsley's glass and poured himself one before he resumed speaking.

"My girl loved you. Plain as the sweet little freckles on her nose. She told me what you said and I won't lie. I was very angry. Ready to strangle you. I didn't think you were good enough for her, but… I calmed down. I remembered what it was like to be in love. Remembered all of the bloody stupid things I'd said and done when I was angry or hurt. Doesn't excuse it, of course, but love isn't usually bestowed on the people who _deserve_ it or _earn_ it. We can't help who we love. Hermione forgave you because she loved… _loves_ you. What a pitiful world this would be if we couldn't learn to forgive."

"What I said was…"

"Awful, but not unforgivable. Especially since you didn't mean it. Or did you?"

"Of course I didn't mean it!"

He almost knocked over his glass in his exuberance to declare that he'd been nothing but an idiot. A hint of a smile tugged at Aberforth's lips. It was the expression of one who had lived long enough to understand a great deal about the human experience.

"You know where she went after you threw her out. Knew _who_ she spent her night with."

"Yes." Kingsley clenched his jaw and willed away the anger that still threatened to bubble up inside him every time he remembered. "I've since learned all of my suspicions about what she did that night were completely true."

"And do you hate her?"

The question caught the Minister off guard. What a preposterous notion! How could he ask such a question? He had been angry. Hurt. Rejected. Heartbroken. But, no, never did he actually _hate_ Hermione.

"Absolutely not."

"If you can forgive Hermione for seeking temporary comfort with a man you despise, what makes you think that she doesn't have the same capacity to forgive you for words spoken in the heat of an argument?"

Kingsley knew the old man was right. The weeks that passed following their argument had been some of the hardest of his entire life up until her disappearance and the discovery of Tommy's body. A hundred times he wished he could go back in time to prevent himself from saying the words he didn't mean. When Fabian arrived at his doorstep with the news that he'd seen Hermione alone with Dolohov, he'd been devastated. Instead of being furious with her, he'd been so angry about what he said that he could hardly stand to be in the same room with himself. And then when her uncle showed up with his house-elf to pack up all of her clothes and belongings, he couldn't remember a time that he'd ever felt so bereft. It hadn't occurred to him how much of a mark she'd made on his home until she was gone. He'd broken down in tears when the door slammed shut behind Regnault. A large part of him was convinced that he'd never be able to make it right.

Eventually, she agreed to speak to him again. It hadn't been easy. Not once did he even bring up the suspicions he had about what she'd done with Dolohov. He didn't want to know the answer to the question. By the time Christmas rolled around, they were almost entirely back to normal. He'd even made plans to finally propose to her that Christmas Eve. They were happy.

"Don't let Dolohov get in your head, son. The sneaky bastard is just hoping that you'll trip yourself up and leave an opportunity for him to weasel his way back in with our girl. Don't second guess yourself. That's what he wants."


	88. Chapter 88

_Author's Note: Thanks for all of the encouragement last chapter! Or rather, thank you to those that were encouraging. Those who left anonymous reviews to tell me how you think I should I write my story or what a horrible person I am, not so much. If you want to open up a dialogue, sign in. If you want to just insult me or the story, move along. This is my hobby and I don't_ ** _owe_** _anyone anything. I'm sharing this because I want to, not for any other reason. Don't like my artistic choices? Fine. I don't care._

 _Also, many of you have made suggestions and remarks that don't line up with the story. If you've been paying attention, I've left hints (some subtle but many quite obvious) throughout the entire story about what's going to happen. Maybe don't skim read? I know lots of you think the parts where there's not dialogue or sex are boring and should just be glanced over, but if you want to understand the story in its entirety, you have to actually read them. If you do, then you would already know what Hermione's decision regarding Kingsley was. And yeah, I'm not going to change it just because some of you have expressed that you don't like it._

 _Not sure how many more chapters we have left. I'm thinking about three or four possibly, but who knows? I might be able to condense them down into fewer chapters or I might go on a tangent and chase some bunnies down a path I didn't expect. That's the fun part about writing. Sometimes you don't know what's going to happen next._

* * *

Chapter Eighty-Eight

July 23, 1980

 **9:45 am**

With a little bit of shame in her heart, Hermione hated to admit that she spent the entire weekend following her visit with her Uncle Regnault alone in the hunting cabin in varying degrees of intoxication. No one knew better than she did that attempting to hide away from life's problems with a bottle (or several) of alcohol was about the worst use of time imaginable. She longed to forget her mistakes, imagine a world where she hadn't thoroughly mucked every part of her life up.

Bissy, no doubt on Regnault's orders, was never very far from her disgraced mistress. Hermione was grateful for her quiet presence. It made wallowing in her own self-pity that much easier when she didn't have to worry about feeding herself or refilling her own glass. Besides, there was a comfort in the tiny elf hand's tucking blankets around her body while she drifted off to another session of uneasy sleep.

By Monday morning, she was on her feet and ready to face her family members. Their love was absolute. Even Rabastan had proven that with his reconciliation a year after that horrible fight in the gardens. Every single one of them understood the need to disappear into the worst parts of themselves for a little while. Bissy had clean clothes and a large breakfast laid out for Hermione when she got out of the shower.

Aberforth was pleased to see her return to the pub even if he didn't make a dramatic show of welcoming her back or asking her where she'd been. She understood the taciturn man well enough to know what he was saying even when no words were coming out of his mouth. Regnault, she was certain, must have run straight to the pub after he discovered her whereabouts to gossip with Aberforth like old women. She long suspected that the two men often met when she wasn't around to discuss her life in depth. At least she didn't have to break the news that she and Kingsley were no longer together. That had been an experience she wasn't looking forward to.

She didn't linger long in the pub once she arrived. Only long enough to put away her belongings that Regnault and Rosie retrieved from Kingsley's house. As much as she loved her room in the back of the pub, she couldn't bear to be in it for long. It was a reminder of the ending of her relationship and the crushing mistake she'd made. Almost the moment that the last bit was stowed away, she left the pub for London.

Rodolphus and Caradoc were as different from Aberforth as it was possible to be. Where her father had been silent, the two wizards had dozens of questions for her. She appreciated their concern, but wanted to move on with her daily life. Throwing herself into the routine of the shop was her only plan. Later, when she had time to think, she'd decide what to do next. Decide if she even wanted to try to fix what happened with Kingsley before she disappeared. They both reluctantly stopped their interrogations.

If she was perfectly honest with herself once she no longer was under the influence of entirely too much fire whiskey, Hermione didn't know what she wanted. As much as she loved Kingsley, she wondered if they would ever be able to move past the events of _that_ night. She felt certain that she could forgive him given time for what he said to her. Words were often empty. Actions, on the other hand, were much worse. Kingsley had only told her something that she didn't even believe he meant. She had actually gone to bed with his oldest and worst enemy.

She didn't want to imagine that it was very likely she would disappear right before Christmas without there being a satisfactory resolution to their estrangement. Both of them were stubborn. If one or the other didn't want to move past that night, they wouldn't be able to. Not even the other would be able to drag them forward. Maybe that was why Kingsley was so determined to make sure she ended up in the past. He wanted a second chance to make it all right. She would never forget the pained and broken expression on his face that night in the Hog's Head when he admitted that he longed to marry Aberforth's daughter. There had been a rawness there that she hadn't expected from the man who always seemed so sure of himself. Before that moment, she was half-convinced that the Minister for Magic rarely showed any emotion whatsoever. At least in her presence he had been entirely confident.

A petty person who lacked the capacity to love absolutely would live in constant anger and bitterness. Over the course of the nine years she had been in the past, Hermione had to frequently stop to remind herself that the only person she would ultimately be hurting if she chose not to forgive Aberforth and Kingsley for sending her back in time would be herself. Each time something horrible happened, she would long to wallow in the anger she had pent up inside. Hadn't she already suffered enough by living through one war already? Making her live in the first one had been a cruel twist of fate. Many times she wanted to hate both of the men responsible for her sojourn. It was easy to make the assumption that staying in her correct timeline would have saved her from heartbreak and pain.

Blaming the two men she loved most in the entire world for the trials and tribulations she experienced in the past was as fruitless as blaming the parents of a murder victim for giving them life in the first place. If they had been aware of everything she'd gone through, they might have thought twice about sending her back and she would have missed out on so much. The positive experiences she had in the past far outweighed the negative. She could only imagine how unhappy she would have been to remain in the future without the experiences that shaped her into the person she was. Maybe she would have settled for an unfulfilling life with Ron, always working too hard to prove to herself that she was just as worthy to be a witch as everyone else. It was a life that sounded absolutely dreadful. She might have experienced tragedy in the past, but at least she was more sure of who she was a person. She no longer needed anyone else outside of herself to deem her worthy of being a witch. That was a gift she felt certain she would never have received if she'd stayed in the correct timeline.

Only a person who didn't know how to truly love would refuse to pull themselves out of the wasteful mire of self-pity and regret. It was too easy to remain angry. Too easy to hate. Hermione refused to allow herself to be defined by the tragedies of her past. Horrible things had happened to her in both timelines. The only person who was to blame for it all was Voldemort. Thomas once gave her permission to be angry with Kingsley and Aberforth. Told her that no one would blame her for hating both men for their part in bringing her to a time when she was hurt. The more she thought over the details, the more permission she gave _herself_ to be angry, the less she was.

She had seen too many people in her life wallow in the muck and the shit of their past. Saw too many of them cling to a wrong done to them, perceived or otherwise, and refuse to let go. How could anyone look forward to the promise of the future if they were always looking behind them with anger? She didn't know the entire story, and she certainly didn't care enough to find it out, but she'd seen that kind of bitterness in Dolores Jane Umbridge. If there was ever a motivation to learn to forgive and move forward, that horrid woman was enough. Hermione didn't want to spend a single moment, let alone her entire life, behaving in the slightest like that monster.

Of course, moving forward was most sometimes easier said than done. She could have forgiven Kingsley for telling her he hated her or for saying he was glad that their baby died before it was corrupted by the misfortune of having her for a mother. She could have forgiven him for insulting every single person that she loved and telling her that she wasn't worthy of being stepped on. Yes, she could even forgive him for telling her that she wasn't enough for him. There was very little, if anything, that she couldn't forgive him. But, she felt confident in her assertion that Kingsley wouldn't be able to forgive _her_ for her giant mistake.

By Wednesday morning, over a week after she was thrown out of her own home, Hermione had received no less than twelve owls from Antonin in varying degrees of pathetic neediness. He wanted to know at first if she was all right following her sneaking out of his house in the middle of the night. Each letter that she didn't respond to, another came of increasing desperation. Of all of the people in the entire world that she could have made a mistake with, picking Antonin was the worst. In his deluded mind, that night of drunken folly was the beginning of a fresh start for them. He had always been an intelligent man. How he could jump to that assumption was beyond Hermione. She would have been content to not see him for the rest of her life, however long or short that time was.

Alone in the Magical Menagerie while Caradoc made his weekly visit to see his grandmother, she sat behind the counter staring at the latest scrap of parchment with Antonin's scrawl. It was getting easier to tell the difference between the letters he wrote when he was drunk and the ones he wrote when he was sober. That missive even bore the mark of a faint splash of fire whiskey in the uppermost corner of the parchment. She knew he was angry and it wasn't exactly as if she could blame him. If it had been anyone else, she would've at least scribbled out an apology. With Antonin, however, she knew that he would likely just misinterpret anything she wrote to him. It was better in the long run to just ignore him completely.

The front door of the shop opened abruptly to break her out of her thoughts. With the end of the summer holidays coming in little over a month, the shop had been busy. She was grateful for yet another small favor. At least when her attention was focused on helping a new student pick out an owl or a kitten, she had less opportunity to dwell on more upsetting topics. Like her impending disappearance or whether or not she would ever feel Kingsley's strong arms around her again.

She didn't mean to audibly sigh when she looked up to see that her only customer was Thomas. The sound simply slipped out of her mouth. Far from being offended by her greeting, her best friend just smiled and chuckled. He was across the room in only a few determined strides of his legs. The two had not been in the same room together since before _that_ night. Hermione knew to expect his visit sooner rather than later, but she was still hoping he would change his mind at the last moment and exit the shop. Like a long-delayed appointment with a Healer, she knew it was better to get it over with.

"I was hoping I'd find you alone."

Hermione leveled her friend with an annoyed stare. Again, Thomas only laughed. He knew what she was capable of, but he wasn't intimidated.

"And that's why you specifically waited to come into the shop early on a Wednesday morning. _Not_ a coincidence."

"All right, all right. You know me too well."

To be fair, she'd actually expected him sooner than he came. She had been surprised when he didn't seek her out at her uncle's hunting lodge or come barging in the pub the moment she returned. If there was anyone else in the world, besides Regnault and herself, who knew the full story of what happened, Thomas certainly did. Not only would his extremely inquisitive nature bother him until he uncovered ever twisted secret, he was as close as possible to the two wizards involved. Kingsley would have told him everything the moment he asked. The Hufflepuff in him struggled to lie and keep secrets from family. And, she knew, he relied on his brother's advice and trusted his opinion. Antonin also would've announced his intentions to attempt a reconciliation. Based on Thomas' frequently stated opinion about her getting back together with her ex, Hermione wasn't looking forward to the lecture sure to ensue.

"Is that from Antonin?"

As he approached the counter where she sat, Hermione tried to hide that morning's message with no success. Either he knew to expect it or she wasn't fast enough. Without waiting for him to ask, she handed it over. Thomas quickly scanned the document, sighed, and handed it back.

"Has he sent any others?"

She really didn't want to talk about Antonin, so she settled just for nodding her head. Thomas didn't act as if he was surprised by her answer. He knew his best friend better than anyone else in the world. Certainly better than Hermione did at least. Nine years of knowing the wizard in varying stages of intimacy and she still felt as if she'd hardly scratched the surface.

"He told me what happened."

"I'm not surprised."

"He was hoping that this would be the beginning of another relationship with you."

Hermione sighed. She was painfully aware of Antonin's hopes and she was completely responsible for giving him the false impression that she was as invested as he was. He could be blinded by his own desires at times.

"Yes, well, I regret a lot of what happened that night, _especially_ the parts that involved Antonin."

"Do you want to tell me what happened?"

There was something about Thomas' calm, soothing voice that always encouraged Hermione to tell him all of the minutest details. She didn't want to hide anything from him. If there was one person in the entire world that she knew she could completely confide in, he was standing only inches away with his handsome face scrunched into an expression of concern that would give him premature wrinkles if he kept at it for too long. Regnault knew a lot of what happened. He knew enough to understand that she had made a horrible mistake with Antonin only hours after being thrown out by Kingsley. He was a worldly enough man to not need her to spell out all of the details. With Thomas, however, Hermione found herself unburdening herself entirely.

She was surprised that she remained as calm and as emotionless as she did. Maybe she'd finally reached the place where she couldn't possibly cry another tear for her numerous mistakes. Much of her time spent alone since that horrible fight had been spent obsessively going over everything that happened and alternating between crying and being so angry she could hardly see straight. She might have been able to make it through the telling of the story with little emotion because she'd already cried enough to be almost numb. It also helped that none of the shoppers in the Alley seemed to need anything from her shop. She was able to give Thomas a thorough account without a single interruption.

"Kingsie was wrong to say what he said. I hope you don't believe that he actually _meant_ it."

"Of course I don't. I did, at the time, but no, I've been guilty of saying the wrong thing more than a few times."

"My little brother has never loved anyone or anything as much as he loves you, Hermione. When he talks about you, there's a light in his eyes I've _never_ seen before. I always know just by looking at his face when you walk into a room. It's involuntary and I'm sure he's not even aware that his gaze immediately goes to wherever you are. His shoulders relax and that goofy grin of his can't be wiped off."

It was impossible to argue with the wizard when he was speaking so passionately. Kingsley might have often wondered if he did, but Hermione knew without a doubt that Thomas loved his little brother with an intensity he was rubbish at expressing in any sort of normal way. Hermione tried repeatedly to get Kingsley to see that his insecurities about his brother loving Antonin more than him were simply irrational, but so far, she hadn't been any more successful in convincing him that she loved him more than Antonin either. He always seemed to be in a state of expectation that his brother and his witch were both going to choose Antonin over him when it really mattered.

"If I didn't envy him just a little bit for what he's found with you, I might be sick."

Thomas tempered his remark with a grin and a wink. His words surprised Hermione enough that she didn't even acknowledge his attempt at humor. Hadn't he found that kind of love with Grace? She'd seen him with her on many occasions and it certainly seemed that he felt the same way. Her curiosity getting the better of her good sense, as it often did, she asked the question that perhaps she shouldn't have.

"How can you say that? You love Grace."

She regretted her words the moment she said them. A saddened expression fell over his features. Hermione wished she wasn't responsible yet again for causing someone she loved pain. Lately it seemed she couldn't do anything right.

"Of course I love Gracie. Have since I first met her. But… I'm not sure how to explain what I mean. It's not the same as what you and Kingsie have. Maybe she's the great love of _my_ life, but I get the feeling that I'm not the great love of hers."

There was such a finality in his words that tore at Hermione's heart. A small part of her wished that she had never told him anything about his future, let alone allowed him to view the memories of Dean being reunited with his mother and his stepfather in Hogsmeade. At the time, she thought only that Thomas would like to see that his wife and son were well cared for and loved in his absence. In hindsight, she should have realized how painful that experience must have been. To feel superfluous, unneeded, couldn't have been an easy potion to swallow. She reached across the shop counter to squeeze his hand. Thomas roused himself from his thoughts with a pained smile and pretended like she hadn't just been a witness to such a moment of weakness. Sometimes his larger than life personality hid how very flawed and human he truly was. Hermione was certain that she loved him best in the all-too-few moments his guard was completely down.

"So, I suppose the reason I'm here is because I want to know how long you are going to make him suffer for saying something he didn't mean?"

"Thomas, it's not that simple. He kicked me out of our home."

"Yes, my brother's always been a complete idiot. Doesn't mean he doesn't deserve a chance to apologize."

She held up the parchment covered in Antonin's drunken thoughts. He'd been angry that she refused to respond or to allow him the chance to speak with her in person. Because he was forbidden to set foot in the pub again without fear of Aberforth ending his life prematurely, she was spared his attempts to find her at home. She knew that eventually he would grow weary of her ignoring him. He would track her down, likely somewhere public, and remind her of all the reasons why they would never be good for each other.

"You've read this. You know what I did. I don't think it will be just as easy as you think it will be. Forget his apology. How can I expect Kingsley to ever forgive _me_?"

"Maybe you don't tell him?"

Of all of the suggestions to her problem that she imagined an intelligent man like Thomas would come up with, lying to his brother wasn't even in the top one hundred. She was not comfortable with the idea. How secure could a relationship be that was filled with so many lies and secrets? Hadn't she lied enough to the man she loved?

"I know, you don't like my idea," Thomas continued undeterred by her look of horror and disgust. "True love means telling the truth and all of that rubbish blah blah blah."

"I would hardly call it _rubbish_."

"In ordinary circumstances, I'd completely agree with you, but nothing about what is happening now is normal. Five months, Hermione. Five _months_. That's all the time you have left. Maybe a miracle will happen and you'll make it back to the future and you and Kingsie can find each other again. That's my hope. That's what I would make happen if I could. But… you and I both know the danger you are always in. Five months from now you will most likely be dead."

She hated when the pragmatic side of her friend came out in full force. For a man who could utter such comforting words when she needed to hear them, he could also tell her the truth in bold faced terms as well. Somehow, Thomas always knew when he needed to be perfectly blunt. Nothing about what he said was false. Every single day that she experienced knowing she was moving closer and closer to her inevitable disappearance, Hermione became more and more convinced that there would be no happy ending for her after all.

Who ever heard of a time turner that could travel backwards _and_ forwards in time? Years of examining the time turner that hung from her neck next to Igor's locket gave her plenty of opportunity to understand that there was something different in this particular time turner than the one she utilized in third year. She was certain no one knew everything that happened in the Department of Mysteries. Maybe there was an entire subdivision of the Department that tinkered with various kinds of time turners. Even running through the Department during the night she was cursed by Antonin, she knew they hadn't seen everything. There were doors that were left untouched, corridors they never ran down. For all she knew, there were time turners that could take her into the future hundreds of years. Or give her the chance to spend the morning wandering amongst the dinosaurs and be back in her correct year for tea.

Kingsley would never have sent her back in time without the ability to return. Neither would Aberforth. She could almost imagine how heated their discussion was the night they finally made the agreement to concoct their plan. Her father would want to make certain she was as safe as possible. If he suspected even for a moment that she would be injured by their actions, Aberforth would've thrown the younger wizard through the front windows of his pub, Minister for Magic or not. It was only this small sliver of hope that kept her from completely panicking the closer December came.

"Your suggestion is to lie to Kingsley until I make it back to the future?"

"Yes. You and I know how stubborn my brother is. If he knew that you and Antonin had one horrible drunken night together when you were broken up, he would _eventually_ forgive you, but I highly doubt he would come to his senses before Christmas. Seems like a bunch of wasted time. If you somehow make it back to the future, he will have had years to miss you and will most likely be willing to forgive you for anything. And if you don't, well, at least you will be with him until the end."

It was annoying that his suggestion made the most sense. Hermione had a belly full of lies and secrets she was ready to get rid of. As much as she would have loved to unburden herself, she knew that for everyone's safety, she wouldn't be able to until she was back in 1998. Only then when the threat of Voldemort's wars was over could she tell Kingsley everything. And she intended to tell him _everything_.

"I'm not sure I can do that, Tommy."

"My brother might be a selfish bugger, but his heart was in the right place when he sent you back in time. Your dad's too, I'm positive."

"Would you not agree that _actions_ were more powerful than words? What I did to Kingsley was so much worse than what he did to me. I wouldn't blame him for never wanting to see me again."

"If we waste all of our time trying to decide who wronged who the most and who deserves to be angrier, we stay stagnant, Hermione. We lock our entire existence into one single moment. Maybe that's fine for children who don't know any better and whose concerns are so much bigger in their minds than they are in reality, but no one can keep living that way forever. Do you _want_ to lose Kingsley? Do you _want_ to be that bitter person who continually looks back in regret at everything they lost because they were too stubborn to step forward?"

This was an argument they could have for the rest of their lives. Hermione was certain she would never have the definitive answer to what was the perfect move for her to make.

"I'm going to die soon. Probably in some horrific and terrible manner."

Thomas' statement caught Hermione entirely off-guard. They sometimes alluded to his future, never did they outright talk about it in such frank language. She could feel her chest grow tighter with the reminder of his fate. Her first instinct was to argue with him, to make him stop being so bold. But, she stopped herself. Did he not have a right to bring voice to his fears?

"There's going to be a day that I kiss my wife and kiss my son goodbye in the morning and then _never_ see them again. Do you think I'm wasting all of that precious time I have left with them to punish myself for all of my failures? Or to remind Gracie that she married an imperfect idiot? Of course not! I'm making every single moment I have left with them count. It's easy to forgive someone you love for their faults when you know your time is coming to an end."

As he always did any time they were together and the conversation took a serious turn, Thomas had given Hermione plenty to think about. She knew she hadn't made up her mind yet about whether or not to tell Kingsley what happened with Antonin the night they broke up, but she felt certain that the decision might get a little easier with more time to think. The wizard placed both of his hands on the counter and jumped up enough that he could brush his lips against her cheek.

"Better get back to the Ministry. I wasn't supposed to be gone this long."

"I'm surprised there haven't been any customers the entire time you were here."

A smirk crossed his lips. He pointed his wand at the front door.

"That's because I charmed the sign out front to show you were closed. Thought we could get through this conversation faster without the interruptions of those pesky customers."

Hermione rolled her eyes and laughed. Rodolphus would be furious to know that his customers had been inconvenienced until he discovered the reason was due to Thomas trying to get her to patch her quarrel up with Kingsley. Her cousin would've burned down the shop, once every last animal was safely evacuated, of course, if it meant she would be happy with her wizard again.

"I'll keep what you said in mind, Thomas."

"You promise?"

"I promise."

Their private discussion ended just as the bell above the front door tinkled to announce a new arrival. With her brightest smile on, Hermione looked up to greet the customer. Just as she was about to ask the new arrival if there was something she could help him with, she realized who it was. A low groan of frustration replaced anything else she might have said.

"Is that how you normally address potential customers, Dumbledore? If it is, it's no wonder there aren't any other customers inside."

She didn't have the energy to deal with Salazar Selwyn that morning. To be fair, she _never_ had the energy to deal with the odious wizard, but her spirited conversation with Thomas only minutes before left her with even less energy than usual. She didn't even hide the rolling of her eyes.

"What do you want?"

" _Tsk tsk_." Salazar wagged a finger at her in jest. "That's even less polite. It would be terrible if your employer received a complaint about your work performance."

"I don't have time for this, Salazar. What do you want?"

Not for the first time, Hermione thought it was a shame that such handsome features were bestowed upon the awful cretin. She never believed that it was fair when beautiful people were evil. Their outsides should mirror their insides. Understanding that perhaps she needed a little bit of silent support, Thomas stepped up closer to the front counter. His action did not go unnoticed by Salazar who simply laughed again.

"Did I interrupt some salacious tête-à-tête? Should I come back later?"

"Mind your tongue, Selwyn."

"Oh, my apologies, Mr. Shacklebolt. I didn't mean to strike an upsetting chord. Tell me, is your little brother around? I'd hate for him to see the two of you together and get the wrong impression."

Hermione wanted to curse the man's mouth shut. It would be a gift to humanity. Nothing that ever dripped from his tongue was worth hearing. Sensing that she was growing upset, Thomas squeezed a gentle encouragement into her shoulder. She was grateful that she wasn't alone. It restored some of her lost energy.

"No, Kingsley isn't around, but it doesn't matter. He knows how we feel about each other. Thomas is as close to a brother as I have."

"Yes, well, I had a brother once too… until _you_ had him murdered. Maybe one day I can have the pleasure of showing you what that feels like."

Her first instinct was to jinx the man's mouth shut. Nothing that came out of that orifice was worth the time it took to hear it. No one in the shop was stupid. Salazar's threat against Thomas was perfectly clear. Even though he was the target of the remark, Thomas simply smiled his most charming smile and pretended as if Selwyn had said nothing more than an innocuous comment about the weather outside.

"Always a _pleasure_ to be in your company, Selwyn. Were you simply passing by the shop and wished to say 'hello' or did you have a specific purpose in mind for visiting? In the market for a new kneazle? Perhaps a snake or some rat tonic?"

"My business is my own. Run along back to the Ministry, Shacklebolt. You aren't needed here."

Hermione felt confident in the assurance that no matter what was said to him, Thomas would not leave her alone with Salazar. He knew how contentious their interactions could be. She'd told him about the two times he'd physically attacked her. The way in which he moved his body closer to the counter to provide at least a small shield for her protection did not go unnoticed. She felt comforted by his show of support.

"No, I think I'll stay. I understand you have a nasty habit of placing your hands on witches in a less than _civil_ manner when you're alone with them. Guess that explains why your father had to step in to procure your heir."

Salazar's wand was out of his pocket and under Thomas' chin in less time than it took for Hermione to gasp at her friend's poorly chosen words. Little Sal's paternity might have been a source of gossip since the moment society discovered his mother was expecting, but no one was bold enough to actually utter the words where Salazar or any other member of the family could hear them. Instead of being frightened by the clear threat of attack, Thomas chuckled.

"Hit a sore spot, didn't I?"

"You are awfully bold, Shacklebolt. As I said before, my business is my own."

Knowing that there was a serious chance for devastation if she stayed rooted in her spot in fear, Hermione moved around the counter to stand between the two men. The thought of Thomas being harmed awakened a protective streak in her that she hadn't experienced in a long time. She wasn't about to let Salazar make good on his promise to her that day or any other.

"What do you want, Salazar?"

A few tense moments passed before her unwelcome customer dropped his wand from Thomas' chin. When his full attention shifted to her from Thomas, Hermione relaxed slightly. He wasn't foolish enough to hurt her when she wasn't alone. That wasn't his usual style.

"I want you to call your pet werewolf off of me, Dumbledore."

She could have been given a hundred chances and she wouldn't have guessed that was the reason he approached her in the shop. When she made the thinly veiled suggestion to Greyback months earlier that he could take care of Salazar if he wanted to keep her protected, she never expected the werewolf to take her seriously. If she was perfectly honest with herself, she hadn't given the monster much thought in recent days. It might have hurt his sensitive, little feelings to know, but Hermione didn't obsess about the werewolf anymore.

Between her protection from Igor's locket and the simple fact that each second took her further and further away from the night that her life changed, Greyback was hardly a major player in her life. The notion that 'time heals all wounds' wasn't entirely correct, though there was some truth to it. As time progressed, she had learned to live and exist within her new reality. She hadn't been broken by her experiences. If anything, she was stronger _because_ of them. She might have been the first one to wish that she hadn't attracted the notice of the werewolf, but she was done dwelling on what he did to her. No matter what anyone else claimed, she was not defined by one horrific night in her past. She was, however, defined by her actions _after_ the experience. Hiding in a dark corner shivering in fear had never been her style. She was made of stronger stuff than that.

"What are you talking about, Salazar?"

"You think I don't know that you've ordered him to follow me around?"

"I haven't actually."

It was only sort of a lie. She simply encouraged the beast to intimidate the wizard that wanted her dead.

"Everywhere I go, he's there. My mother and my wife are both frightened by his howls. He's come to our _home_! This has got to stop. _My_ son is in danger and I will not have that."

His eyes cut to Thomas at the insistence that the child that bore his name actually belonged to him, almost daring him to dispute his words. Little Sal might have been sired by Big Sal's father, but there was no question in anyone's mind that Salazar cared for the child. He proudly showed off his growing son at every social gathering. Even those who were skeptical that the man had any good qualities could see the sincerity in his affection for his son. For the first time in her long acquaintance with the horrid man, Hermione could see a flash of raw humanity emanating from the man. Behind all of that brashness and anger, he was in essence just a father worried for his child's safety. It was a convincing enough moment of vulnerability that she knew she would have to step in.

Greyback had a hunger for children. He'd proven that time and time again with his notions that the only way to give werewolves equal rights with wizards was to bite enough children to outnumber them. It was a horrifying tactic that he had acted on in the past. Hermione didn't want to know what he was doing when he wasn't skulking around leaving purple thistles wherever she was. Experience taught her that whatever it was would be horrific. As much as she loathed Salazar, she couldn't stand idly by while Greyback put another child in danger. Even though he had been a Slytherin and therefore had had no use for her at Hogwarts, Hermione still remembered Sal Selwyn from the future as being a quiet, serious boy who kept to himself. For the love she had for many members of his family, living and dead, Hermione would do what she could to make certain he wasn't harmed.

"All right. I'll talk to Greyback. I don't want him anywhere near your family anyway."

Salazar would never lower himself to actually express any gratitude for her no matter what she did. Instead, he nodded once in response to her promise, spun on his heels, and left the shop. Only when the door shut behind him did Hermione relax again. When she caught the amused grin on Thomas' face, she remembered her fears from earlier. With a swat to his chest with the back of her hand that couldn't possibly have hurt, she begged him to stop antagonizing the wizard.

"He's dangerous, Thomas. Leave him alone."

He promised her he would try with another kiss to her cheek. As he walked out of the shop laughing to himself, she couldn't move past the sinking feeling in her gut that Salazar Selwyn was destined to have something to do with his downfall.

* * *

 **12:30 pm**

When she stepped out into the sunshine over Diagon Alley to head back home for the day to help her father in his pub, Hermione wasn't surprised to feel the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. All she had to do was turn her head to see the smirking werewolf watching her from the other side of the pavement. His grin only grew wider with each step she took in his direction. Clearly, he had been waiting for her to emerge from the shop.

"Leave Selwyn's family alone, Greyback."

She didn't want to spend a single moment longer in his presence that absolutely necessary. Her demands were met with the soft chuckle of her nightmares. She detested the sound more than even the high-pitched laughter belonging to Lord Voldemort.

"I don't care if you continue to bother him, but leave his family alone. Don't go near his home and leave his son alone."

Knowing she wouldn't get a definitive answer from the werewolf and wishing to get out of his presence as swiftly as possible, Hermione didn't even wait for his response before she Disapparated away. At least she had done what she could. Maybe in his deluded mind Greyback would see that as an opportunity to make her happy. Truthfully, she didn't want to dwell too long on what he would be willing to do for her. It was too disturbing.

* * *

August 15, 1980

 **11:50 pm**

Hermione's life settled into a routine she didn't much care for. Thomas never once brought up the conversation they had in the Magical Menagerie again, but she often wondered every second they spent in each other's presence if he wasn't thinking she was nothing but a bloody coward. She had made no move towards even attempted reconciliation with Kingsley. Not even if she frequently woke up in the middle of the night, reached across her bed to touch him, and burst into tears when she remembered he wasn't there. Even if he hurt her, she still loved him dearly.

Love truly was a vicious cycle. Anyone who believed that two people who loved each other never fought or never caused the other pain was either a sad being who had never experienced true love, a naive child, or someone with an unrealistic relationship that made little sense. Just as she had been hurt by Kingsley, Hermione knew that he would be equally, most likely even more so, devastated by the knowledge she'd sought comfort in the arms of the man he hated most. To even attempt to put that horrible night behind them and to move forward together, she knew she had to tell him the complete truth. Doing anything else would be disingenuous and selfish.

Just as late Friday night was about to turn into early Saturday morning, Hermione stepped out of the pub to get some fresh air. The Hog's Head had been doing steady business even with the war in full force. It seemed that serving alcohol truly was a business that could be relied on even in difficult times. She always enjoyed interacted with her father's more colorful patrons. There was rarely a dull night when she worked. To keep her mind occupied, if she wasn't at the shop in London or sleeping, she was probably behind the bar.

She was no closer to making her final decision about what to tell Kingsley. That fact frustrated her. Likewise, he had made no efforts either. Every single day that passed without hearing his voice was a cold reminder that she was drawing closer to the day she disappeared. _Four_ months remained. It was all going to pass before she knew it.

"It's not safe to be outside alone."

Hermione closed her eyes and sighed. She was so exhausted of being told what she was doing and that where she chose to be was dangerous. It was exhausting to be seen as such a delicate flower. What was equally upsetting was the fact that in the few minutes she had to herself, she'd been so wrapped up in her own thoughts that she hadn't even noticed Antonin approach. Without waiting for an invitation that she would never give, he sat down on the bench outside the front of the pub next to her.

"If my father sees you out here, he will hurt you."

"I'm not _inside_ the pub. He's only forbidden me from entering."

"What do you want?"

It seemed pointless to not get straight to the heart of the matter. Though his pleading messages finally stopped after about the fourteenth or fifteenth one, Hermione was never convinced that he would give up entirely on his hopes that they would somehow be able to rekindle whatever was left of their relationship. Because she'd chosen not to respond to any of the owls, she had been expecting him to approach her in person. Considering her past interactions with Aberforth, she assumed he would approach her in London instead of Hogsmeade.

"Why did you leave me that night?"

She sighed again. It seemed that she was eternally destined to be stuck in these inane discussions with the wizard she once loved. Antonin had never been one to give up easily. Once upon a time it had been an endearing trait. Now it just annoyed her.

"Because that night was a horrible mistake. It never should've happened."

"Why was it so horrible? Seemed to me that no matter what, we always find our way back to each other."

He reached across the bench to push a few curls behind her ear. The unexpected touch caused her to jump. What had once been such a familiar gesture felt foreign and weird. There was a time that her body practically sung with his touches. Now, she wanted him far away. Flashes of that awful night ran through her mind, completely obliterating any chance for her to remember any of the good nights they shared in the past. Any moment they had now or in the future would be tainted. How could she get him to understand that? She moved down the bench away from him. He tried to hide the pain that her movement caused him, but was unsuccessful. She knew him too well to miss it.

"That night should have never happened. I was upset."

"Yes, because of Baby Shacklebolt. I would _never_ say something so horrible to you."

"No, you prefer to show your anger in a more physical manner than that."

Antonin clenched his jaw. There was nothing he could do to deny her words. The denial would be false and they both knew it. Twice in their past she had been the victim of his temper with much more than just words. He'd stopped himself before he touched or cursed her more times than they could remember. No, his idea of getting back at her for a perceived wrong was to either squeeze a part of her body with his large, strong hands or to fuck his neighbor on his dining table when he knew she would be a witness.

"Doesn't matter anyway. I love Kingsley. That's not going to magically change any time soon."

"And if he wasn't interested? Or not around?"

His questions made her uncomfortable for a reason she couldn't explain. Was he making a threat? Or just making conversation? It was difficult to tell with him. Always had been. Kingsley had never been the problem in their relationship. Antonin might have been the one person that brought out the worst insecurity in Kingsley, but that feeling was not mutual. Or, at least if it was, Hermione had never seen Antonin be the slightest bit jealous of her wizard. He didn't like him, of course. Never had. No, the real problem that Antonin had was a different wizard entirely. She decided to ask the tough questions. If he was serious about trying to rekindle their relationship, he would tell her the truth.

"All right, Antonin. You want to get back together and try to make it work again?"

He narrowed his dark brown eyes in suspicion. After a couple of seconds of staring at her face, waiting for her to continue, he nodded. Hermione reached underneath her collar to pull out Igor's locket. His eyes narrowed even further. The locket had always been a symbol of the wizard he hated most.

"Can you honestly tell me that you wouldn't have a problem with me continuing to wear this locket if we were together again?"

"I can't believe Baby Shacklebolt allows you to wear that. Does he know the significance?"

"First of all, Kingsley doesn't _allow_ me to do anything. He is not my keeper. Just like you weren't either. And if you are asking whether or not he understands what this locket contains, then the answer is yes. He knows Igor has given me the protection of his heart's blood."

"And he doesn't have a problem with it hanging from your neck? Does the idiot not understand that it is a claim upon your person?"

Hermione rolled her eyes yet again. With each word he spoke, Antonin's tone rose higher and higher. He was working himself into a temper. If she wasn't careful, she might be able to add one more night to the list of times his anger manifested itself into a physical attack. She hoped not, but had to be careful and prepared for anything.

"No, he doesn't have a problem with it. In fact, he thinks it was very kind of Igor to go to such lengths to make certain I was protected."

" _Kind_? Just more proof that the boy is an idiot. He doesn't understand anything!"

"You never answered my question. Would you have a problem with me continuing to wear this locket?"

His silence was all the answer that she needed. Even if she temporarily lost control of her better senses and decided to give him another chance, his reaction to her question was the proof that he would never get over his petty jealousy of Igor. She hadn't even laid eyes on her former boyfriend in months, but that didn't matter to Antonin. Igor's specter would always exist between them. And, she wasn't about to remove his locket until the moment she saw Greyback's lifeless corpse at her feet. Considering that wouldn't happen in the past, she had no intention of giving up her protection. She pushed aside the depressing reminder that cropped up in her mind that the talisman would be useless the moment Igor's heart stopped beating. That was a reality she wasn't ready to face just yet.

"Good night, Antonin."

She rose to her feet and entered the pub without waiting for him to utter a response. He'd already told her everything she needed to know.

* * *

August 26, 1980

 **10:40 pm**

Spending the night of the Full Moon alone was an experience that Hermione didn't much care for. With the silence still existing between herself and Kingsley even as the last full month of Summer came to a close, she wasn't looking forward to going to sleep with the sounds of Greyback's howls outside her window in her ears. She knew to expect him. He'd made that clear the previous month. Aberforth didn't question why she brought the goats inside or why she refused to step foot outside of the pub the entire day. If he had any suspicion of her fears, he wasn't sharing.

The night of the Full Moon grew even more dangerous during the heat of the first war. Most patrons stayed safely at home and out of danger. Aberforth's trade was scant those nights, especially after reports of the vicious werewolf they remembered from a few years earlier returned. Hermione kept herself busy reorganizing the glassware behind the bar. Her father's eyes watched her carefully without making it too obvious what he was doing. Ordinarily, she found the extra attention comforting. That night, however, she felt it grating and obnoxious.

" _What_ , Dad? Why are you staring?"

Aberforth was used to her changes in mood. His hopes for a reconciliation between his daughter and the wizard she loved had never flagged for even a moment. He understood all too well why she had been so irritable. And he hadn't bothered keeping his opinions to himself either. If she had to listen to one more kindly meant lecture about the importance of forgiveness, she was certain she would be driven completely mad.

"Only watching what you're doing, lass. You've moved those glasses three times now."

"Yes, well, I think there's a better place to put them. You've already broken three this week. Clearly they're in the way."

"That's nothing that a simple _reparo_ can't mend."

"That's not the _point_ , Dad. You shouldn't have to keep fixing the glasses."

He always knew when it was best to drop a subject and walk away. Before he made his excuses to slip down into the cellar underneath the kitchen floor to inventory the stock, he placed a hand on her shoulder to squeeze it gently. She appreciated the gesture. As her shoulders relaxed, she turned to apologize but he was already in the other room.

It seemed that she had a lot to apologize for lately. Whatever was happening couldn't be sustained much longer. She was going to go mad if she didn't figure out some way to make everything all right again. Or at least make an _attempt_.

The sound of the front door opening a quarter before eleven startled her enough that she knocked over two of the glasses she was rearranging. As she stared at the shattered glass on the floor, she couldn't help but think it was not a good omen. Neither was someone braving the dangers of the Full Moon to enter the empty pub. Her first instinct was to remain crouched on the floor behind the bar. Only the sound of a familiar and much loved voice encouraged her to stand up.

"Hermione? Aberforth?"

Hermione was sure she had never seen Dean Shacklebolt so rattled in her entire acquaintance with the wizard. There was a fear and a concern in his voice that she had never heard before. When she stood up and rushed towards him, meeting him in the middle of the room, he didn't even reach to pick her up as he normally did. That alone was enough to tighten her chest. Something was terribly wrong.

"What's happened, Dean?"

All of the potential scenarios of tragedy went through her mind. Margie had fallen or gotten sick. Katie disappeared. Death Eaters had attacked their house. Maybe they were prisoners. Or… she had to take a seat in the nearest chair for fear that her legs would no longer support her… maybe _that_ was the day that Thomas kissed his wife and son goodbye in the morning and never saw them again. She could feel her heart rate increase with her fear.

"Is it… is it Thomas?"

Dean was momentarily taken aback by her question. He blinked his eyes, stared at her with his mouth half-open for a couple of beats, and then shook his head.

"No, no. Tommy is all right."

Hermione exhaled the breath she had been holding.

"I just saw him a few minutes ago at St. Mungo's."

"St. Mungo's? What's happened?"

"Kingsie's been attacked. He's…"

She didn't even wait until the wizard finished his explanation. Without a single moment's hesitation and with no care whatsoever that the moon hanging in the night's sky was completely full, Hermione ran outside. The floo would take too long. Steps outside the pub, she spun in place to land on the pavement in front of the seemingly abandoned London storefront. Moving entirely on adrenaline, she pushed through the chaotic building to the Welcome Witch's desk.

"Kingsley Shacklebolt. Where is he?"

Holding the post of the Welcome Witch in the main magical hospital in Britain required a person who was efficient and not easily intimidated. As Hermione opened her mouth and heard her Uncle Regnault's authoritative voice come out, she could sense immediately that the poor dear wasn't expecting to come up against a witch like her. The witch hesitated a second before pointing down the corridor and giving her a room number.

She was already too far away to hear anything else the Welcome Witch might have said only seconds later. For weeks she had done everything she could to avoid the wizard she loved. _Nothing_ was going to get in her way that night. Even if he threw her out of his hospital room, she _would_ see him.

The door to the lift opened and Hermione stepped in without paying the slightest bit of attention to whether or not anyone else was trying to step out. Proper etiquette fell by the wayside as her fears grew exponentially. How bad was the attack? She knew he would live, but that was a small comfort when she knew he was somewhere in that building in pain.

"Good evening, Miss Dumbledore. I certainly did not expect to see you this evening."

Hermione didn't have time to escape the lift before the doors shut. She could have screamed. How could she have been so careless? All thoughts about her own safety had been secondary. Her moment of inattention was enough to ensure she was completely alone with Lord Voldemort. How much worse was the night going to get before it was over?

* * *

December 22, 1998

 **4:32 am**

Kingsley woke up the Tuesday morning before Christmas much earlier than he usually did. Mornings were never his favorite time of the day. Often he met them with a grimace and a scowl. Even a whine if there was a sympathetic witch in bed next to him to make laugh. Of course, there hadn't been one of those in longer than he cared to admit. Since definitely before he discovered Hermione was a time traveler. Once he met the fifteen year old version of his former girlfriend, he hadn't been able to look twice at another woman. Not even when they tried very, very hard to get noticed.

He shook his head of thoughts of his personal assistant Gemma. Her efforts to catch the eye of the Minister for Magic had grown increasingly desperate and a bit sad. Either she was going to have to put an end to the incessant eyelash fluttering or he was going to have her reassigned to another department. Perhaps she'd be happier on Level Two in the Auror Department. There were plenty of young, attractive wizards who would be pleased to have her attention. Kingsley certainly wasn't one of them.

Sleep had been difficult to find, but he wasn't in a hurry to get out of bed. One way or another, the day that loomed before him would change the rest of his life. Eighteen years had come and gone since anyone had seen Hermione last. Though he was ashamed to admit that he hadn't even been aware that she was missing until Christmas Eve due to their busy schedules, the twenty-second day of December was the day that everyone could agree on that she disappeared. It also, as it turned out, was the last day anyone could remember definitively seeing his older brother alive before his body was discovered almost a week later. Even without proof, it had long been suspected that the two events were related.

If his suspicions were correct, Hermione would be coming back to the future at some point that day. Assuming, of course, that she hadn't been viciously murdered by a Death Eater and her time turner was still operational. Rabastan had a late lunch with her that day at the Leaky Cauldron. Where she went after their meal was anyone's guess. Kingsley was just running on the assumption that she would come back to that day. If he didn't have a set date to fixate on, he would've gone mad long ago.

Only the thought that that might be the last morning he had to wake up alone in his bed again enticed him to get up. Throwing his covers off his body, the Minister hissed when the cold air brushed against the bare skin of his chest. Countless arguments over the years with both Hermione and Hestia about proper nightwear had fallen on deaf ears. Both women assured him that getting out of bed in the middle of winter was much easier if he wore more than just his pants. Ignoring the small voice in the back of his mind feeding him lies that maybe there had always been some truth in their statements, he quickly rushed to the warmth of his shower.

One way or another, he felt confident that he would have an answer what happened to his Hermione before the moon rose again in the night sky. He had to remain positive or he'd go mad. He had to imagine all of the possibilities of where she would eventually end up in their present day or he'd go mad. He had to keep his mind occupied or he would go mad.

Sifting through the piles and piles of official paperwork and confidential reports required by his position hardly seemed like a good use of his time, but he knew he couldn't stay idle all day. Or… he'd go mad. Even taking his time in the shower and lingering over one of the reheated breakfasts Rosie insisted on keeping him stocked with, he entered his office a quarter past six in the morning. No one except the night guards and the elderly witches who ran the Ministry canteen were in the building. Taking the first piece of parchment off the top of the stack that magically appeared on his desk each night, Kingsley hoped he could keep himself busy. He'd already done eighteen years of waiting. Surely a matter of hours wouldn't be too difficult?


	89. Chapter 89

_Author's Note: We are getting so close I can hardly stand it! But, I wanted to let everyone know something super exciting that might delay future updates. (I'm hoping it won't, but you never know.) After four frustrating months of unemployment, I finally have a new job starting very, very soon. (Finally, something positive happening in my life! Woot woot!) My goal is still to continue to write every day. I apologize in advance if it seems like it's taking longer to get updates. This story is soooooo close to the end that I would never dream of abandoning it, so please don't fret. Be patient with me! You cannot even begin to imagine how excited I am to feel like a productive human being again._

 _Oh, and just to clarify: When I said I wasn't sure how many chapters remained in the story because I wouldn't know until I started writing if certain planned events could be condensed into fewer chapters or I could go on a tangent, that did not mean that I was saying I was going to condense the whole story or I was going to just cram it all in one go to rush through to the end of the story. What that means is, writers often don't have any idea how long something is going to take until we actually start writing. I have several events that I want to happen before the story ends. I won't know if I can get them all in three or four chapters or if I'll need more chapters or fewer. It will all depend on what happens when the writing is done. Just as I refuse to allow this story to go longer than its logical conclusion, I won't be rushing through the end or condensing the story._

* * *

Chapter Eighty-Nine

August 26, 1980

 **10:50 pm**

There was no way out of the lift after the doors shut. Hermione's main concern was still with what was wrong with Kingsley. Lord Voldemort had always been an uncomfortable obstacle in her life to overcome. She dared to look the evil wizard right in the face. He was amused by their close quarters. No doubt he was even instrumental in making certain they came about.

"Good evening, my Lord. I trust you aren't ill."

Maybe it was foolish to be so clear about the fact that she was trying not to be intimidated by the man, but she didn't care. If she had to endure a lift ride with him to get to Kingsley, she would. _Nothing_ was going to keep her away from her wizard. All concerns about the fact that they weren't even speaking had flown out of her mind the second she heard that he had been injured. Not even the Dark Lord himself was going to keep her from Kingsley.

Voldemort appeared to find her sarcastic response to his greeting amusing rather than ill-mannered. At least he probably wasn't going to harm her if she continued to make him chuckle that unnerving laugh she hated so much. There had been a large change in his physical appearance over the years since they first met at her uncle's party. She knew that he'd created more horcruxes. His body was showing the strain. Perhaps few noticed the changes because they were unaware of the magic he was utilizing. Though still quite handsome, a gift from his dearly departed Muggle father, his features were taking on an unearthly, waxy quality. He wasn't as serpentine as he would be after his first body was destroyed and a new one created inside a cauldron, but his eyes were growing darker. She could almost imagine them looking like the red slits they would become in the future.

"I am in perfect health, Miss Dumbledore. I trust you are, as well? I remember there was a time you were a patient here."

Hermione clenched her jaw and resisted the urge to strike out at the man. To do so would be certain death even if it did feel good for a second. It was _unpleasant_ enough to be in his presence because of the memories of those weeks she had been under his disgusting spell, but to actually remind her cruelly of the side effects of what he did? He deserved a painful death. As a witness of his final demise, she knew that he didn't suffer much. She hoped that the night he killed the Potters and his spell backfired would be enough.

A disturbing thought she had never allowed herself to imagine flashed through her mind. The madman was likely still creating horcruxes or making plans to do so. No one knew when all of them were made or even _how_ they were made. All she knew was that a murder had to be committed. Would she become one of his victims? She shook her head to try to stop that line of thinking. Voldemort would murder her without thinking twice if it suited his purposes. Did it really matter if he would create an object of pure evil?

"Thank you for your concern, my Lord, but no. I am only here to visit a patient."

"That is wonderful news for your sake. I would _hate_ to hear you were ill again."

The lift continued its journey to the Level she desired. Just as it was about to open onto Level Four where the Spell Damage ward was located, she felt the entire lift jerk and come to a complete stop. One glance in the direction of her fellow passenger confirmed her suspicions. The Dark Lord had his wand pointed at the control panel. He would only allow her to leave under his terms. She tried to keep her fear under control or at least not visible.

When he stalked across the small space to loom over her in the corner, she found it more difficult to keep from showing her fear. Hermione knew better than most the sicks levels of depravity the wizard would sink to when he desired something. It became clear in the moment he first smiled down at her from only inches away that he had engineered this meeting. He knew why she was there. He knew that she would show up when she did concerned about Kingsley. Was he also responsible for _putting_ her wizard in the spell damage ward too?

"I've missed our chats, Miss Dumbledore."

Every cell in her body froze when the cold palm of his hand brushed against her cheek. The wizard made it obvious to everyone he met that physical touch was not something he cared much for. His sycophants kept a safe distance from him, never grabbing him or reaching for him. Only Bellatrix seemed to forget that he didn't desire to be touched. Hermione's experiences with the monster taught her that he only initiated such base physicality when he wished to use it as a weapon. She prepared herself for the onslaught of another nasty spell. Why else would he be there waiting for her in the hospital lift?

"I still remain hopeful that one day you will get over this rebellion and join me. You could have more power than you could ever dream of."

"My Lord, I don't wish to have power. I wish to live a quiet, simple life."

His hand slipped around to the back of her head. What had been an almost tender touch became painful and jarring when he gripped a handful of her curls. He brought his mouth to the outside of her ear, his breath tickling her skin and making her want to cry out for the help that she knew wouldn't come. Even if someone became aware that the lift had stalled, no one would be able to protect her from whatever Voldemort had in mind. He had grown too powerful. She tried to push out the morbidly amusing thought that at least she would be near Healers if it all grew terribly violent. What was it about near-death experiences that made her seek out the potential humor? There must be something terribly abnormal about her, she'd decided many times.

"What happened tonight to Mr. Shacklebolt is only a very small taste of what is to come if you don't change your mind. Next time, I'll make certain he dies from his injuries. Would you like that?"

There was nothing amusing about a deadly threat against her wizard. If she hadn't already suspected that there was something more to Kingsley's attack than just his usual auror duties, she might have been shocked. As each day ticked by and she grew nearer and nearer to the moment she knew she would disappear from that timeline forever, her fear that her death was coming grew stronger. She couldn't possibly give in to Voldemort's demands. Not only would she be unable to face everyone that she'd ever loved, she wouldn't be able to look _herself_ in the mirror if she failed.

Voldemort would only grow more insistent. And, if she was perfectly honest with herself, Hermione knew that he _had_ been quite patient with her. Several of the people that he approached to become one of his followers or at minimum, one of his allies, were reluctant at first. He could usually persuade or coerce them to change their minds. Some never gave up their principles, never wavered for even a moment in doing what was right. She hoped that she could be one of those, even if it meant her life.

"No, my Lord. I don't wish any harm to come to him."

"I didn't think you did."

He released his grip, knocking the back of her head against the lift's wall as he did so. She ignored the ringing in her ears, ignored the pain. What he had done to her was only minor. If he wanted to do worse, there was nothing stopping him.

"Will you finally consent to make a more _permanent_ alliance with me?"

Refusing him outright could very well end in her death right there on the lift floor, she realized. She wasn't sure how many times she had been able to move the conversation away from making a declaration. _Many_ times. He was going to stop being so generous. Hermione represented a certain status to him that he longed for. His lifelong distrust and downright hatred for their former professor wasn't exactly a well-kept secret. She knew that the Dark Lord wanted her at his side for the ultimate _fuck you_ to her uncle. It was petty and a bit childish, but that glaring fact didn't matter to the madman.

"My Lord, I fear that I would never be an asset to you. I have nothing to offer you of any value."

"Your loyalty is worth something. More than I think you understand. What you represent…"

"You will have to forgive me, my Lord. I don't understand _why_ you think that my loyalty is valuable. You have many powerful wizards and witches with purer blood than mine already in your service."

"Do you honestly believe that I care how _pure_ your blood is?"

Voldemort seemed disgusted by the very idea he was nothing more than a simple blood purist like Lucius Malfoy or even her cousin Rabastan. Hermione knew the secret of his parentage that so few did. Whatever records existed of the man before he returned from a self-imposed exile had been destroyed or long-forgotten. She was certain that none of his staunchest blood purist followers would believe even for a moment that their Dark Lord wasn't as Pureblood as the rest of them. Many of them couldn't even _fathom_ that a person with a single drop of Muggle blood had the ability to become so powerful. How many times had Hermione heard it from her own cousin's mouth that he was impressed that she was every bit as powerful as he was even with her _tainted_ blood?

To ensure that he gained the influential followers he needed in the beginning and then to continue to hold their loyalties without the constant use of fear that would become a trademark of his later life, he had to make it seem that at least he was in favor of the Pureblood ideology. He was entirely too pragmatic to ignore the benefits that having such allies could provide. Hermione might have found it amusing to imagine how horrified cretins like Lucius and his horrible father Abraxas would be if they ever discovered that their master didn't care about whether or not a person had twenty generations of magic in their family or a Muggle father like he did. If they were powerful and he could exploit them to his own benefit, Voldemort didn't care. He'd just let the blood purists think he was in support of their ideas for as long as it suited him.

"No need to respond. I'll answer that for you."

She might have been grateful that he spared her from being forced to answer if he didn't follow his statement up with his chilling laugh. It seemed unnatural, even worse than it had years earlier when she first heard it the night they first danced. Of course, he wasn't as human as he had been back then either.

"You are more than aware I do not care about your heritage. That is not what intrigues me. The power I can sense in you…" He stepped closer to her trembling body, closing all distance between them. "…is remarkable." His hand reached for her curls again, but this time, he only gently tugged. "What could be unlocked if you only allowed me the opportunity…" He lowered his voice, attempting the seduction that had worked on so many other women and men before his current victim. "…would take your breath away."

Hermione knew it was dangerous to allow him to force their eyes to meet. There was something hypnotic in his manner of speaking. If he was casting a spell on her with just the power of his voice, she wouldn't have been surprised. Her head grew a bit fuzzy as his dark eyes, already beginning to take on their unnatural reddish tint, bore into hers. She was afraid of him, more so than she had ever been before. Not even the night she led him to her bedroom in the Lestrange manor was as frightening as that single moment in the hospital lift.

Her brain filled with all of the most damning memories she still possessed. Thomas thought it was unsafe to keep her memories related to Lord Voldemort's future or his horcruxes left in her mind where they could be easily accessed in a single moment of inattention when her shields were down. Most of them were bottled up in vials inside an enchanted box within Thomas' private bank vault in Gringotts. It was hoped that in the case of her disappearance and supposed death, no one would find the box inside her own vault. When his own death finally happened, the box would be taken into the possession of the Shacklebolt family. He felt certain that one of his relatives would keep it for sentimental reasons until she was able to retrieve it in the future. If she never arrived to take possession of the box, it wouldn't really matter.

Despite his best efforts to keep Hermione's brain ready for an attack at any time, there were problems. One could not live in a constant state of readiness for a Legilimency attack. Especially not when there was the chance of a traumatic or emotional upheaval. Hermione made it part of her daily routine to strengthen her mental shields, but she was only human. She was flawed and far from being perfect. And, she was horrified to discover that Lord Voldemort had only grown stronger since the last time he assaulted her mind.

She could never be completely confident that she was safe. Even as she _knew_ she was being manipulated by magic to stare into the darkness of his eyes, she didn't know how to resist. What magic had he been developing? To what horrid depths had he sunk? Images flashed through her mind of her life, pre-time travel and post. It took all of her to push against the barrage of memories she didn't want him to see. Only moments passed in the stalled lift, but they felt much, much longer. When she was able to push him out completely and regain control, she wanted nothing more than to slip under her covers and sleep for a week.

There was anger and confusion present in the evil wizard's chilling countenance. Either he did not like something that he witnessed or he was frustrated by the experience of trying once again to crack into her mind. She remembered years earlier when he made the comment that he could easily break her mind if she didn't comply with his wishes. It was obvious that he had not been lying. Imagining him trying to push past her shields again with such force terrified Hermione more than being murdered. To live without her wits, to wander through the world as a broken shell of a person was her ultimate fear. She would much rather someone end her existence than damn her to a lifetime of madness.

"What are you hiding from me?"

"My Lord, you've already uncovered all of my secrets. I have nothing left."

Voldemort narrowed his eyes, anger evident. Hermione could not even begin to imagine what was going through his mind. It was a place she never wanted to witness. He grabbed her upper arm and squeezed it until she felt the corners of her eyes prickle with tears of both pain and fear. There was nothing stopping him from doing exactly what he wanted to to do. She would be powerless against him. Even if she was on the same level of him magically, which she absolutely was _not_ , she would never be able to completely surrender all of her moral compunctions and sink as low as he would. There would always be a line she would not cross.

"Your uncle has been _aiding_ you? He has been the one giving you the names of his followers?"

Of all of the questions that Hermione might have assumed Voldemort would ask, the one he actually chose was nowhere in the vicinity of possibilities. Perhaps she had grown too complacent, too inured to turning over the names of innocent people believing they were doing their part to make their world safer. She had known from the beginning of her arrangement with her uncle that what she was doing was dangerous, but for a myriad of reasons she would hopefully live to break down later, she wasn't sure why she didn't think that was a fact that should have been removed from her mind for protection.

She had no weapons against Voldemort. Decades of delving into magic, Darker than she wanted to even contemplate, put him on a level she would never hope to reach. Physically she was as weak against him as she was against Greyback. There was an almost supernatural strength to the man. If she hadn't been terrified to know what he had done to his body to be so physically strong, she would have been fascinated. Even if she chose to do something as desperate as attempt to kill him with the aid of a Muggle weapon, she knew she would fail. He was protected by his horcruxes. Maybe if there was a way to change the past she might have been able to seek out those horrific artifacts and destroy them, but she knew better. _This_ past had already happened. He would be defeated on May 2nd, 1998 and no sooner.

All she could do was try to stay alive long enough to move forward to the future. The knowledge that she would likely be dead in December was easily pushed aside for the hope that she would somehow make it through everything. _Just stay alive_. The closer the end of the year grew, the more often she had to repeat those three words to keep from losing complete hope. Running away wasn't a great option. She would be found. If not by her worried family members or her terrified auror ex-boyfriend, then by the Dark Lord or his minions. What excuse could she give for running? Only guilty, suspicious people flee.

A thought suddenly came to her that both horrified and surprised her. Perhaps, if she gave the Dark Lord a _reason_ to keep from harming her, she might be able to wait out the last trickle of the sands through the hourglass. He was a man who desired knowledge almost as much as he desired power. If she could give him a reason to find her intriguing again, maybe he wouldn't hurt her… _yet_. Before she could stop herself, long before she weighed out the merits and consequences of a foolish plan, she blurted out two sentences that would change her life irrevocably.

"I have a _complicated_ relationship with my Uncle Albus. Much like you had with your Uncle Morfin."

The back of her head slammed against the wall of the lift once more, further exacerbating the pain that still was pounding through her brain. Voldemort's forearm pressed against her throat, a constant threat she could not ignore. Few times had she ever witnessed him so discomposed. It was bizarre to see the man so undone with just a few words. Hermione wasn't sure if she was being foolish or if she might have just saved her life in the short-term.

Little was known about Lord Voldemort's background. He had made certain of that when he returned from his travels around the world following his employment at Borgin and Burkes. It added to his mystery. Some, like her Uncle Regnault and the Headmaster, remembered him from Hogwarts when he was still going by his Muggle father's name. Of course, _most_ of them weren't aware of the Muggle origin of the name.

She'd carefully asked questions of her Uncle Regnault over the years to gauge how much he actually knew about the man. They had been in the same House but different years. Regnault, though a couple of years older, looked up to him as a model student. He was what all good witches and wizards should aspire to be like. Where he came from and where he spent his time away from the castle was entirely unknown. Her uncle brushed off her inquiries about his family as being inconsequential. He believed that only someone with an impeccable pedigree would be able to achieve what Lord Voldemort had in his lifetime. Though his feelings about the wizard were no longer as positive as they once were, he still maintained the antiquated belief that no one would be as powerful with a Muggle parent. Hermione chose to ignore the implied insult to people like her.

As far as Hermione was aware, _no one_ knew about Voldemort's connection to the Gaunt family. If any of the members of that once-venerated family still lived, Regnault was unaware and he knew _everything_ about the Sacred Twenty-Eight families. The Gaunts, though they descended directly from Salazar Slytherin himself, had fallen into a disreputable heap generations before poor Merope was ever conceived. They were something of a joke. To be uncovered as being one of the families Regnault classified as being 'lower than even the Carrows or the Weasleys', would have been a direct blow to the persona the Dark Lord had worked so hard to create. _Some_ would use his heritage as a way to raise the Gaunt family into a higher level of prominence. Most would find it funny. And, if there was one thing that Voldemort despised most of all, it was the very thought that someone would dare laugh at him.

" _How_ do you know about him?"

There was danger in his words, a fury that she had only witnessed in the moment Neville cut the head off of his beloved Nagini. Struggling to keep from killing her where she stood, Hermione knew he was close to losing control. Some of his lies were beginning to unravel. It was a heady feeling to know that she finally held power over the Dark Lord, but it came with a great price. He would dispose of her the _moment_ he discovered all of the secrets that she knew. It was too dangerous to keep someone like her alive for long. But, if she played the game well enough, she _might_ be able to stay alive long enough for Christmas to arrive.

Gambling had never been a vice that interested Hermione in the slightest. Not like Thomas who enjoyed the thrill and the calculations of the statistics. She felt more comfortable with one galleon in her pocket than she did with the thought of losing her galleon to earn three more. Much of her life in the past had been about taking as few risks as possible. After an adolescence filled with adventures with Harry that she would rather forget, she wanted to have a quiet, _safe_ life for as long as possible. The stakes were high, but she felt trapped. Her only alternatives to remain alive appeared to be Kingsley's death or accepting a Dark Mark on her own arm. She wouldn't be able to return back to her life in the present if she was marked. She would be too ashamed of her own weakness and cowardice.

Blackmailing the Dark Lord was dangerous and completely stupid. Now that the words were out of her mouth and she couldn't take them back, Hermione knew that she would have to continue. She couldn't back down. Weakness was a death sentence. It seemed less and less likely that she wouldn't become one of the countless victims destroyed by the war. But, she had to try.

"You told me once that the only two things I showed any desire for were increased knowledge and the feel of a powerful wizard between my thighs."

His eyes narrowed even further. She wasn't sure where the courage was coming from to continue speaking. Even her voice sounded confident and powerful.

"You have always intrigued me, my Lord. I wanted to know everything I could about you."

"I would have taught you everything you wanted to know about me from a place by my side."

"No, my Lord, you wouldn't."

Arguing with the evil wizard was never a good idea. One had to be very careful how they even spoke to him if they wished to keep on living free of any pain or suffering. Hermione was under no delusions that some of the victims in his terror were simply because he felt insulted or demeaned in some way by their words or actions. For someone who was so powerful, he was also incredibly sensitive. Anyone who dared question him was in grave danger. His nostrils flared at her disagreement.

"You would only tell me what you _wanted_ me to know. I'm not satisfied with that. It seemed only fair. You did your own research about me, my Lord. I discovered what I could about you."

He lessened the pressure his arm was putting on her throat. When he dropped his arm completely and stepped back from her body, Hermione almost breathed a sigh of relief. For the first time in their acquaintance, it finally seemed that she had the upper hand. Maybe it wouldn't last long. Maybe the flicker of bravado flaming itself inside her chest would be snuffed out before it could rage into an inferno, but, she couldn't ignore the kernel of confidence in her gut. She had power now. Though far from being evenly matched, the gulf between the two wasn't nearly as large as it had been.

"What do you know about me?"

She told him only the bare essentials of what she knew. Who his mother was. That his father had been a Muggle who died under very suspicious circumstances years earlier. Reminded him of his family tree, of the Gaunt relatives he was ashamed to share the same blood with. Of his uncle who died in Azkaban for the murder of the Riddles. Nothing about his horcruxes or any of the items he'd fashioned into the receptacles storing the pieces of his fractured soul. Nothing that would have even hinted that she knew what a horcrux was or that he had several. She was reckless, but not a complete fool.

"Did you learn all of this from your uncle?"

"No, none of it. Nothing except for your name before you became who you are now. I asked him, of course. Asked him _why_ he thought you were so dangerous and why I should stay away from you, but he wouldn't tell me anything. I had to do my own research. You might be surprised how much one can learn with the weight of the Lestrange fortune behind them."

There was a moment, half a moment really, where the Dark Lord blinked and revealed the small part of him that was still a man. Hermione could see a hint of respect in his eyes. It was not an easy feat to impress Lord Voldemort, but for a brief second in time, she'd been successful. Just as swiftly as it arrived, it left.

"What do you want from me?"

"To be left alone. To stop being forced to hand over names of people I know you're going to have murdered. I want the Shacklebolt family left unharmed. All I want, my Lord, is to live the quiet life you seem so intent on denying me."

She knew she could have demanded more from the wizard. Maybe she would have even gotten what she asked for. But, an unsettling feeling in her body told her she wasn't safe yet. Whether he punished her for her insolence, for _daring_ to question the Dark Lord, that day or months from then, she knew it would happen. Once he felt confident again that he was in control, he would find a way to end her. She was a danger to the life he'd created. Even tucked away by his side with her arm marked to prove to the world she was his loyal follower wasn't a guarantee that he would be safe. When he was no longer afraid of what she could do to him, he would kill her himself.

"You aren't even going to ask me to get rid of Greyback for you?"

He was skeptical of the relative simple requests she made of him. Not that Hermione could blame him for being suspicious. Anyone else in her position would have asked for much more.

"I can handle Greyback. He is more of a nuisance than anything. I just want you to leave me alone."

The suspicion was still present in his eyes despite her assurances. Part of her wished she could understand the madman. What was he thinking? She knew he would not rest until he was positive she hadn't revealed any of her secrets to anyone else. Thomas would have to be warned. He was well-known as being her closest friend. Even if Voldemort promised to leave the Shacklebolts alone, she wasn't naive enough to trust him. Andromeda and Ted were likely in danger as well, but that was hardly new for them. Bellatrix was always threatening to scourge their family of the shame that their very existence imposed. Everyone she had ever had a conversation with was likely to become a suspect in his eyes. They might _all_ know his secrets. No one would be safe as long as she was still around.

He seemed eager to be out of the lift. Perhaps he was worried that somehow she uncovered the secret of his horcruxes. She imagined that much like he would years later when it became clear his horcruxes were being stolen, he would wish to prove to himself that they were all still in their hiding places. The nervous energy was coming off him in waves. Hermione had never seen him so uncomfortable. A flick of his wrist set the lift back in motion. Instead of moving up to the level Kingsley was in, it began to move down to the ground level.

"Why is your uncle helping you? Doesn't he know that you gave those names to me? That doesn't sound like something a wizard obsessed with the Greater Good would do."

"Like I said earlier, my relationship with my uncle is complicated. He despises me in one breath and then professes to love me in the next. Maybe he's convinced I will come in useful for him later. He might believe that if he does me this favor, I might be willing to do him one later."

"What kind of _favor_?"

Hermione sighed. It was her fault for bringing up her frustrations with Albus. Nothing she said was a lie. He was a thoroughly infuriating man and she never knew what his true feelings were for her. Try as he might to convince her that he felt some level of affection for her, she didn't always believe it. He wasn't the kind of man to love without an agenda. So similar to his younger brother in many ways, there were many others he was nothing like Aberforth.

"Once he thought I might make a great spy. He actually thought I could _develop_ something between the two of us. Uncle Albus thought you might let slip valuable information during intimate moments."

There was no reason to lie about Albus' intentions. He might not have suggested it outright, but he would have been thrilled to get secret information no matter how it was uncovered. Voldemort seemed to find the confession amusing. Some of the anxiety he had been exuding began to dissipate, replaced with the grin that would've gotten him anything he wanted if his companion didn't know what a monster he truly was.

"That might have been a _diverting_ use of our time, though hardly practical. Unlike other mere wizards, I'm not in the habit of boasting to witches in bed. He would have learned nothing."

"That's exactly what I told him. And besides, I didn't care much for my uncle believing for even a moment that he had any level of control over what I did with my own body."

Any further conversation was halted by the opening of the lift doors on the ground level. Voldemort, reminded that she now had information to hold over his head, glared down at her before sweeping out of the doors. In his haste to exit, he almost ran straight into a wide-eyed Thomas. With another glare for the young wizard in his path, the Dark Lord rushed from the hospital. Hermione could only imagine which location he was going to check first.

Thomas stepped into the lift just as the last bit of strength Hermione had holding her legs up disappeared. She crumpled to the floor in a trembling mess. Her best friend pressed the button to the level his brother was on and knelt on the floor.

"Hermione, what just happened? Are you all right?"

"I just…" She didn't know how to express herself in words. Nothing sounded right in her head. "I just… Tommy, I think I just signed my own death warrant."

Under ordinary circumstances, Thomas loved when she spoke in Muggle cliches. He found the subtle differences even in their everyday language fascinating. It also gave him the opportunity to learn some of the phrases Grace used that he didn't understand. That day, however, he didn't even appear to register what she was saying. His arms were around her in seconds. Too numb even to cry or shout, she appreciated the comfort he provided. He didn't ask questions or press her to tell her what she meant. They remained silent on the floor wrapped in the embrace until the doors opened on the fourth floor. Carefully, Thomas helped her back to her feet and led her to a quiet corner in the corridor.

"He's going to kill me, Tommy. Not yet, but _soon_. I think I finally know what's going to happen to me in December."

Speaking her fears aloud helped. No longer was she breathing in short, shallow breaths. Her heart wasn't beating against her chest. A sort of resigned acceptance washed over her entire being. In the back of her mind she had always been aware that the cause of her disappearance could very well be because she died, but it was something she didn't allow herself to dwell too much on. It was morbid and depressing. She could almost begin to understand what so many meant about the peace of death. At least if she was dead she would have no reason to fear Greyback or Voldemort or anyone else ever again.

"I've been afraid of this all along. It's nice to imagine that you'll figure out a way to get your time turner working again and run back into my brother's waiting arms in the future, but I've known all along that that was just wishful thinking."

"He's going to come after you again. I made him promise me that he wouldn't hurt anyone in your family, but he's probably going to come after you anyway."

"What happened, Hermione? Tell me."

She gave a brief description of the conversation they had with promises that she would give him more details when time allowed. Thomas was impressed that she was essentially blackmailing the Dark Lord, but he understood that they were both in more danger than they ever had been before. Hermione knew he was trying to keep a brave face for her benefit. He needn't have bothered. She could see right through him to the fear underneath.

"There's nothing we can do about You Know Who tonight. We can worry about him tomorrow."

Thomas liked to take charge of the situation when he could. More than just making him feel important, Hermione knew that was one of his coping mechanisms. When life got a bit difficult, he wanted to feel like he was in control of _something_. If it meant he had to boss everyone he knew around, he wouldn't hesitate.

"I was downstairs looking for you. Dad was worried because you left the pub before he did, but he never saw you in the hospital."

"He must have been in the other lift. The one _not_ stopped by Lord… well, you know."

"Kingsley's been asking for you. He was pretty out of it at first, but even when he woke up…"

Hermione sighed, all thoughts of Voldemort temporarily forgotten. She hadn't spoken to Kingsley since the night he threw her out of their home. As much as she longed to rush into his hospital room, throw her arms around him and convince herself that he was all right, she wasn't sure that was possible. There was so much that needed to be said, so much they both needed to discuss before they could even hope to move forward. Where would they start?

"If you ask me, he's been regretting what he did ever since that night. He's told me more than once that he wishes he could go back in time so that night never happened."

"How can I just go in there and act like nothing is wrong? Act like I didn't... ugh, I don't even want to say the words again!"

"My feelings on the subject haven't changed. _Don't_ tell him everything. _Don't_ tell him about going to Antonin's house. That git Fabian told him that he saw you alone with Antonin in the Leaky Cauldron, but no one else knows what happened when you left. Clear your conscience in the future, love. Don't waste what little time you have left."

Knowing that she wouldn't ever be ready to face the consequences of her actions that night, but wishing desperately to move on, Hermione took a deep breath, wiped all evidence of emotion from her cheeks and headed for Kingsley's room. The walk to the semi-private room was shorter than she expected. Even with feet that felt like leaden weights, she was in the doorway long before she was ready.

"Mum, stop. Please. My pillow is fine."

The voice she'd missed so much was what gave her the final push she needed to step forward. Katie hovered around Kingsley's bed, adjusting his blankets and generally doing what mothers do whenever they can't bear to sit still for long. Dark circles under her eyes proved that she was exhausted and worried. Dean caught her eye as she crossed the threshold and gave her a relieved smile. Perhaps he thought she had grown nervous about coming to see Kingsley and lost her nerve. She would allow him to keep thinking that. There was no reason to ever admit she was trapped in the lift.

"Kingsie?"

Her voice was just barely a whisper, but everyone in the room heard the sound. Katie froze. Dean smiled again. Kingsley sought her out with his eyes immediately. Seeing him propped up the hospital bed, evidence clear all over his handsome features that he had been injured, she pushed aside all of her concerns about whether or not he would forgive her. He lifted his arms gingerly, a silent request that she didn't ignore.

The very second that his arms wrapped around her back as she laid her head on his shoulder, Hermione felt like sobbing. But, she held herself back from expressing everything that she was feeling. Kingsley was a patient, and from the looks of things, he was likely to be one for several days yet. He needed her to be strong for him, to give him a reason to keep fighting and getting better. Losing control in his arms would only be self-serving.

"Oh, Little Witch, I've missed you so much." His voice cracked with emotion, but like her, he was determined to be strong. "I was such an idiot. You deserve better than me."

He whispered a hundred apologies into her hair. Each one both encouraged Hermione and felt like a punch to her gut. Thomas' advice to get her mouth shut about the full extent of her activities with Antonin was all that kept her from blurting out the truth. When she couldn't bear to hear one more, she removed her head from his shoulder and kissed him firmly on the lips. Amused titters and promises that they would return in the morning followed the rest of the Shacklebolt family out of the room.

Hermione was the one to break the first kiss. As encouraged as she was by his response, she knew that he was in no fit state to continue. Ignoring his protestations, she pulled a chair to the edge of his bed. In exactly the same manner that he did when she was the one in the hospital bed, she reached for his hand and sat only inches away.

"Tell me what happened."

Asking him for the details of his injury seemed to be the best way to keep from moving on to the discussion they would eventually need to have. Though she could see the sagacity of Thomas' advice, she wasn't sure she was prepared to take it yet. Stalling would have to work for the time being.

"Fucking Death Eaters."

She rolled her eyes and snorted. It was highly inappropriate to laugh at an attack that could have cost him his life, but the overly dramatic way he said it, coupled with the relief she felt holding his hand and being next to him lessened the impact somewhat. Kingsley, always one to enjoy an audience, smiled and continued.

"Moody sent a couple of us to investigate this building in Knockturn Alley. Long, boring story really. Basically, I got separated from the others. Managed to sneak up behind two of the masked freaks. They were whispering, trying to decide where to go next. A third one came out of nowhere. Didn't see me at first. Stepped in front of me and started to shout to the others that he knew where they'd gone."

"What did you do?"

"Silenced him. Wasn't hard. He was distracted and didn't even know I was there. Inattention like that will end up getting that bugger killed at some point. He was angry. Immediately started throwing these curses at me I've never seen before. Hate to give him any credit, but he was an amazing duelist. Kept me on my toes, for sure."

Kingsley had a habit of growing more and more animated as he told his stories about work. One of her favorite parts of being in a relationship with him was to listen to him describe the excitement of his day. Something about this story, however, was unsettling. She wanted to know the rest, but at the same time, wished he would stop talking. Maybe discussing their relationship would have been the better idea.

"I _almost_ had him. His mates were too busy duelling the other aurors to help. I was able to shield or deflect most of the spells, but one finally hit me. It just took a moment. I was moving from a shield to an offensive spell and he got me. I could see it coming at me. Felt like time stopped. Couldn't move. All I could see were the bright purple flames coming straight at me."

" _Purple_ flames?"

"Yes. I've never seen that curse before. Must be something new. It hit me and I went down. Healer says I've had quite a lot internal damage. Wants to keep me for several days. He thinks I'll be fine, but look at this…"

He tugged on the collar of his hospital gown to proudly show off a deep, ugly mark across his chest. Hermione didn't have to take a closer look at it to know what it was. She saw the same mark every time she looked in the mirror without her clothes on. And, more than that, she knew _exactly_ who was responsible for almost killing her wizard that night.

"Looks just like yours."

"Yes, it does. That's horrible, Kingsie."

She kissed him again just to get him to stop talking about their scars. Either he was completely unaware of the danger he continued to be in or he was putting a brave face on for her benefit. It didn't matter. She was thankful he was all right and appeared to be in high spirits. It seemed that no matter how old they grew, Antonin and Kingsley were destined to keep trying to put an end to the other's life. Would there ever be a truce? Or did she have to worry that for the rest of their lives they would always be ready to kill the other?

"I'm glad you're all right. I was scared when your dad came to the pub."

"And I'm glad you came to see me."

"Of course I did. I wanted to make sure you were all right."

Kingsley squeezed her hand. Neither of them spoke for at least a minute or two. They weren't sure where to begin. Their apologies had already been made in the first few moments of their initial embrace, but somehow it didn't seem nearly enough. An awkwardness that had never existed between them as long as they were together was almost suffocating in its thickness. Hermione could understand Katie's need to tuck Kingsley in and adjust his pillows. She had the desire to keep her hands busy. Her wizard, however, had no intention of letting go of his grip on her any time soon.

"I know I have no right to ask you to forgive me for what I said to you."

She sighed. With her eyes closed, it was easier to think objectively. She had trouble focusing when his deep brown eyes looked into hers.

"Kingsley, it's all right."

"No, it's not. I _never_ should have said what I said and I had no right to kick your out of _our_ home."

"You were upset. I understand. You didn't mean what you said."

"Doesn't make it all right. I had no right to hurt you like that. You're much more than I deserve. I don't even know why you're here right now. I'm not good enough for you."

His words struck a chord deep inside. It pained her to know how upset he was over his treatment of her. She would never _excuse_ his actions or the hateful words he used, but she was willing to forgive him. Not forgiving him would only hurt her in the long run. Grudges only hurt those who held them. Besides, she was in as much need for absolution as he was. Perhaps more.

"I want you to move home. _Please_ move home."

She leaned across the bed to brush her lips against his forehead. Kingsley had never been one to plead. He was desperate for her forgiveness. Desperate to have things back to somewhat how they were before that horrible night weeks earlier. She wanted it as well. Too many nights were spent in her cold, empty bed alone. If she was going to die in four months, she wanted to die a happy woman.

"Kingsley, there's something you should know about that night."

But her conscience wouldn't allow her to remain silent. He had a right to know what she did. How could they even hope to move their relationship on if there was still such a large secret hanging between them?

"After I left the house that night, I went to the Leaky Cauldron…"

"And you got pissed and Dolohov was there."

She started to say something else, but he leaned his body forward to crush his lips against hers. The movement caused him a significant amount of pain if his hiss was anything to go by. When he made his point, she helped him to lie back down on the pillows. His eyes were beginning to droop with exhaustion. She remembered how much she needed to sleep after she'd been hit with Antonin's curse. Kingsley wouldn't be able to stay awake much longer.

"Fabian told me that he spoke to you."

"He wasn't very happy to see me."

"Yes, well, he hates Dolohov just as much as I do.

"And he hates me."

He wouldn't dignify her statement with a remark. There wasn't any need. They both knew it was the truth.

"The point is, Hermione, that it doesn't matter what you did that night. _I_ was wrong to throw you out of the house. Almost as soon as you left, I wanted to beg you to come back."

"What stopped you?"

"My pride mostly. And knowing that I'd hurt you."

She lost all of her nerve. Though she wasn't completely convinced that Thomas' idea to keep silent about her liaison with Antonin, she knew in that moment she couldn't bear to tell Kingsley the truth. Not when they were being so warm and civil. She wanted, more than anything, to go home. Maybe once he was out of the hospital and stronger she could work up the courage again to tell him everything. If not, she could only hope that if she returned to the future, he would figure out how to forgive her.

"We have all the time we need to talk about this later. You need your rest."

Hermione rose to her feet and kissed her wizard again. She was sure she would never grow weary of feeling his lips pressed against hers. How had she taken that act for granted for so long?

"You're right. I'm about to fall asleep."

"Do you want me to stay?"

"I always want you to stay, Little Witch, but you should go back to your dad's. Sleep in your old bed tonight and move back home tomorrow. Maybe Rosie can help you. She'll be excited to know that you're coming back. She cried the entire time she packed up your things."

It took all of her self-control not to roll her eyes. Rosie made it abundantly clear that she preferred Kingsley to Hermione whenever she had the opportunity. No doubt she was of the belief that her _perfect_ Kingsley was the injured party in that scenario. She probably assumed that Hermione was the one who made the decision to leave. It was just one more thing on a long list of things that Rosie would likely never forgive her for.

"If you're sure, I'll go home. Dad's worried about you too."

Only a few minutes passed before she was kissing him a final time and walking out of the room. He was already snoring softly when she stepped into the corridor. Hermione was nervous about stepping inside the lift again, but breathed easier when she found it empty.

She didn't waste any time leaving the chaotic St. Mungo's. Once outside on the pavement, she spun in place to take her to her first destination of the night. Before she could rest with a semi-clear conscience, there was a conversation she needed to have. She was encouraged to see lights in the windows of Antonin's house. Without a single care whether he was alone or not, she knocked loudly on the front door.

* * *

December 22, 1998

 **11:55 am**

Waiting had never been an act that Kingsley enjoyed. It was a necessary evil, of course, but hardly something that he wanted to spend his whole day doing. Even with almost constant interruptions throughout the morning, he completed all of his tasks for the day long before lunchtime. He spun around in his desk chair, alternating between staring at his fireplace and the magic window showing scenes of a blizzard. It was drawing near to Christmas and the magical maintenance staff was getting restless and weary of picking up after the raucous parties thrown by each of the departments. Kingsley made a note to have a visit with Reg Cattermole when he had a free moment. Perhaps there were some grievances he and his team would like to air to the Minister.

Minutes before the noon hour, he tried to think up a good place to have lunch that day. Having an actual meal in a restaurant might help the day pass by a little faster. Maybe his father was still in the building and would like to join him. Or Iain might have some developments on the Greyback case that he'd be interested in hearing. Before he could make a decision and send out an inter-office memo to either of the wizards he was considering inviting to lunch, a knock at the door startled him. Gemma had been faithful to use the intercom to announce guests. He hoped this wasn't another ploy of hers to have an excuse to come inside his office. Her incessant flirtations were getting on his nerves. Something would have to be done about it and soon. The Ministry was no place for romance, either solicited or unsolicited.

"Come in," he called.

Rodolphus Lestrange walked through the open door with a large basket under one arm. With a polite nod to Gemma only inches behind, the smiling wizard closed the office door right in her face. Kingsley had to bite back a laugh. It might have been slightly rude behavior, but it was damned funny. And, if he was honest, Rodolphus offered the opportunity for a distraction.

"I thought you might be driving yourself completely mad today waiting."

"You're not wrong."

He stood up from his desk and gestured to a more comfortable seating area in front of the fire. Rodolphus set down the basket on a nearby table and began to pull out a feast. Rosie, no doubt, had something to do with the meal. She was one hundred percent the reason why his robes were fitting a bit tighter than he cared for.

"I'm caught up on all of my work for at least the next two weeks. For a moment there, I was almost desperate enough to start color-coding all of my files."

They both chuckled at the subtle nod to the witch they loved in common. Kingsley was usually a tidy man with a few exceptions, but organization sometimes eluded him. There wasn't enough action to keep his interest. Sometimes there were such glaring differences between his witch and himself that he wondered how they ever were able to make their relationship work.

"How are you?"

Kingsley sighed before he answered the question. In the months since he'd been able to secure the man's freedom, the Minister had grown to be close friends with his witch's cousin. Living together in his small house had been a fun experience even if there were nights Kingsley was so jealous of the other that he wanted to jinx him. They had a lot in common and their mutual impatience for wishing to discover the truth about Hermione's disappearance had brought them even closer together. He knew that no matter what his answer was, Rodolphus would support him and understand.

"Simple question, complicated answer."

"Ahh, okay."

Rodolphus distracted himself for a bit by pulling out all of the food his house-elf prepared for their meal. Both men took their time choosing what they wished to eat. Only when they were both seated again with part of their lunch gone did they speak again. Their companionable silences had become one of Kingsley's favorite parts about their friendship. He could appreciate a man that didn't feel the need to prattle on about nonsense. Of course, he had to remind himself that too much silence also wasn't good. Following their attack on the Longbottoms, Rodolphus' late wife cursed him into silence for a long time. The spell eventually wore off, but the side-effects remained. He only spoke when he felt like he had something worthwhile to say.

"I appreciate you bringing this over, Rod. You didn't have to."

"No, I know you're perfectly capable of feeding yourself, but I thought you might be even more anxious as I am to find out what's going to happen later tonight."

Neither of them wanted to admit that there was a real possibility that _nothing_ would happen that night. All of the waiting they'd done for months could be a waste of their time. Hermione might not have been able to get the time turner working. She might have lost it. She might have been captured or killed before she had a chance to use it. The possibilities were endless and sadly, many of the potential explanations were tragic.

"I've been meaning to ask you since Hogwarts let out for the break, but I didn't want to impose. What was it like to meet your son?"

Every square centimeter of Rodolphus' face lit up at the mention of his son Jack.

"Wonderful! Absolutely wonderful. It was, I must confess, a bit awkward in the beginning, but thanks to all of the positive stories in the newspapers lately about me, not nearly as uncomfortable as I thought it would be."

They passed an interesting lunch discussing the events of Jack's homecoming. It seemed to Kingsley that Rodolphus finally had something positive in his life worth holding on to. Between Mafalda and his son, he was finally living the life that he'd dreamed of years earlier. Kingsley was more than happy to listen to the normally taciturn man dominate the conversation with stories about his son.

Long before he was ready for it, the meal was over. Rosie's delicious lunch had been tucked away and they were running out of topics to discuss that weren't about Hermione. Neither man wanted to dwell too much on the potentially negative outcome of their wait. It was easier to put their heads in the sand and ignore the probabilities. When he could find no other reason to stay, Rodolphus said his goodbyes.

Kingsley returned to his desk with vain hopes that more work would have appeared on his desk when he wasn't looking. Why was it always the case that time moved so quickly when he had too much work to do, but not quickly enough when he had so little? Sighing once more to the empty room, he pulled open one of the drawers in his desk. _Hours_. That's all he had left until he could hold his witch in his arms once again. He could keep waiting. He had no choice.


	90. Chapter 90

_Author's Note: So this chapter is about a million words long. Please don't expect this to ever happen again in this story or any other I write. This almost killed me!_

* * *

Chapter Ninety

August 27, 1980

 **12:05 am**

She wasn't sure what she was even going to say to the man who tried, once again, to murder her wizard. Every step she made towards his front door had been made entirely on instinct. How could he be so brazen? So unworried about his crime being traced back to him? Maybe the incompetent Ministry wouldn't be able to put the facts together well enough to understand that he was the culprit, but she knew him better than that. Knew what lurked inside the cold, black heart in his chest.

There was no answer to her knock. Not that she expected one. When she raised her fist to pound on the door a second time because she wasn't about to leave until she'd seen her ex, the door opened entirely on its own. For one who was so paranoid about security wards and protections, Antonin didn't seem to understand how to properly latch a door. She didn't care about proprieties or his rights to privacy. He deserved _nothing_ after the stunt he'd pulled that night.

The sound of his deep groan from the kitchen caught her ear. Without giving it even a second thought, Hermione stomped across his living and pushed the kitchen door with all of her strength. The flimsy piece of wood slammed against the wall with a loud crack. Another frustrated groan, a squeak of surprise and a sickening, wet _pop._ Antonin, leaning against the table with his trousers around his ankles and completely unashamed of anything happening in the room, pointed his wand in Hermione's direction.

But it was the exposed _wand_ still glistening with Alecto Carrow's saliva that caught her attention. The other witch remained on her knees to glare daggers at the intruder. Hermione rolled her eyes with all of the dramatic disgust she could muster. Perhaps he only neglected to close his front door properly when he was committing indecent acts on or against his dining table. If that little display was put on entirely for her benefit, she wouldn't have been surprised. He had to have known that she would confront him at some point once she learned what he'd done. And, everyone was aware all it would take was a nod in Alecto's direction and she would come running to him like a loyal lapdog.

"Could you excuse us for a few minutes, Carrow?"

Alecto rose to her feet, her sallow cheeks turning bright red with either embarrassment or anger. Before she even had the chance to step towards Hermione, Antonin roughly grabbed her arm. Heartened by the grip of the wizard on her body, Alecto found her voice.

"You can't just come barging in, Dumbledore! This isn't your house."

"Get. _Out_."

Even a simpleton like Carrow knew it was unwise to challenge Hermione. She had a reputation, whether she liked it or not, for being dangerous and powerful. Why else would the Dark Lord be so interested in her? The younger witch's confidence waned. Antonin spun her around, assaulted her mouth with his for several seconds much to Hermione's continued annoyance and disgust, and gently pushed her from his body. A dazed smile and even redder cheeks replaced her anger.

"Wait for me upstairs. This will only take a minute."

She didn't need to be told twice. The witch practically floated out of the room, very excited for the coming events. When the wizard she had desired above all others for as long as she could remember shouted out his demand that she be naked when he got there, Alecto's girlish giggles could be heard from the next room. No doubt she was anticipating an evening to remember. Something to keep her warm on the nights after he rejected her again.  
His eyes, however, never left his guest. There was something unsettling about his gaze, something almost _feral_. She couldn't remember him ever looking so frightening before. Not even in the Department of Mysteries after years of being locked up in Azkaban slowly being stripped of his wits. If she allowed herself a moment to really dwell on the implications on the change, she might have been afraid. He'd already tried to kill that night. Maybe he wasn't satisfied with his failure.

He kicked out of his trousers and crossed the length of the kitchen completely nude from the waist down. She knew he was trying to intimidate her, to make her ill at ease, but she wasn't deterred from her mission. There was nothing that he possessed that she hadn't seen dozens of times before. When he picked up an open bottle of fire whiskey, he took a deep drink and turned around to face his ex-girlfriend again entirely unashamed. Despite attempting desperately to look anywhere _else_ , Hermione couldn't focus on anything but the very thing she was trying to avoid. It made her uncomfortable that he was so casual about how he stood. How was she supposed to have a serious conversation with the man when he was so blasé about being found half naked in his kitchen with a woman's lips wrapped around his favorite appendage? Knowing the effect he was having on her, Antonin smirked.

"Would you put your trousers back on, Antonin?"

She didn't mean for her voice to come out in a shrill shriek. He grew even more amused. Instead of reaching for his discarded clothes, Antonin reached for the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head. Once he was completely naked, he leaned back against the kitchen counter, gulped another mouthful of liquor straight from the neck of the bottle and dared her to say another word.

"If a man can't be free to be naked in his own home, where can he, _daragaya_?"

" _Stop_ calling me that."

"Is it my lack of clothes that's bothering you or something else?"

It was evident that he was enjoying their encounter. He'd been drinking for awhile. She knew the signs all too well, the flush in his cheeks, the cocky grin that _only_ came out when he had too much to drink. It was difficult to believe that it had only been a matter of weeks since the last time she saw him naked. Memories of the night she wished she could scrub from her brain assaulted her mind as he continued to watch her with that same expression she wanted to peel off his face.

"Are you and Carrow serious or are you just stringing the poor girl along?"

"What happens in my bed is none of your business… unless, unless you're in it with us."

Hermione scoffed. He must have been drunker than she realized to make such a disturbing suggestion. There wasn't enough fire whiskey in the world to make _her_ intoxicated enough to even imagine that horrifying scenario. Antonin chuckled again. He enjoyed watching her squirm.

"It could be a night you'd never forget."

"Oh, I'm sure that would be an experience I would never be able to get out of my mind again."

"She'll do anything I tell her to do. _Anything_. She's desperate for a fuck. Been begging me for years."

"You two have never?"

She was bothered by the fact that she was so curious about his nocturnal activities. What right did she have to know anything about what he did? Why should she even care? Antonin found her question to be very amusing. In the midst of taking another swig from the bottle, he almost choked. Rivulets of fire whiskey rolled down his bare chest. Hermione hated herself for noticing the details of the foul wizard's body. He was nothing like the man he used to be. _Nothing_.

"I've let her finish me off a few times like she was earlier. Never any further. She's all right for leaving her belly full, but I'm not sure I'd like to stick her anywhere else. But, she's not bad at sucking me off. _Almost_ as good as you. Not quite though."

Her cheeks grew hot. Who was this man? He never used to be so… _degrading_. There was simply no other description for his behavior and the words that came out of his mouth between gulps. With his hand still gripped around the neck of the bottle he refused to release, Antonin made steps toward Hermione. He stood inches away from her, a leer on his lips that made her want to run away.

"Of course, she's not had the _experience_ you've had being a right little whore."

Instinct forced the palm of her hand across his cheek. The sound of the contact between flesh reverberated in the silent room. Antonin threw the bottle of fire whiskey across the room to crash against a bare wall. The rage and fury in his eyes terrified Hermione. She wasn't fast enough to run out of his reach. His large hands clamped down on her upper arms, squeezing them tight enough that she worried they might actually break. He slammed her back against the nearest wall and kept her pinned in place with the length of his naked body pressed up against hers.

"You should know better by now not to provoke me."

"Let me go, Antonin."

She hated the sound of her voice in that moment. Pleading, so very, very weak. He was frightening her, reminding her too much of the man she knew he would be. The man he already was. With no intention of doing as she asked, Antonin pressed against her harder. Clearly, he was enjoying making her scared. His body was showing all of the signs that he liked what was happening very much indeed. The evidence rose against her stomach as she tried to choke down her fear and remember why she was there in the first place.

"Are you enjoying scaring me, Antonin?"

His laughter made the entire situation so much worse. Once upon a time she loved the sound. For someone as serious as Antonin, when he allowed himself to relax enough to laugh, he was a different person. She used to imagine a world where he had been free to be happy his entire life. What a change that would have made. Inevitably, thinking about all of his lost potential only made her sad. Standing pushed up against his kitchen wall, she could've wept at the thought of who he _could've_ been if his experiences had been kinder, his choices less self-destructive.

"Very much, daragaya. _Very_ much."

In one swift and violent movement, Antonin grabbed both of her wrists in a crushing grip. He forced her arms above her head. It was an intimate position that bought back echoes of long-ago nights when their world was simple, uncomplicated. She wanted to both purge them from her memory and never let them go. How could one person create such a conflict inside her heart?

They were both breathing heavily. The intensity of the moment threatened to take Hermione's entire breath away. What was his plan? A frightening thought she'd never considered before overtook her senses. Maybe Voldemort wasn't the one responsible for her disappearance. There was another dangerous man who was just as capable of ending her existence and who possessed more than enough reasons to do so. Spurned lovers had been killing their paramours since time began. Hermione could very well be simply the next one in a long, never-ending line.

He didn't take his eyes off of hers for a moment. The dark brown eyes had never looked so menacing. She wished she knew what was happening inside his mind. How far was he going to take this act to frighten her? He was never a man who did anything by halves. Whatever he set out to do, he usually accomplished. Several tense seconds passed where neither of them spoke. Finally deciding that she could bear to be there no longer, Hermione gathered up her courage. Hadn't she just faced down Lord _Fucking_ Voldemort in an eerily similar position hours earlier? She had no reason to be afraid of Antonin if she survived that lift ride. With an extra burst of confidence, she met his eyes, once again without fear.

"I _know_ you are the one who cursed Kingsley."

The corner of Antonin's lip curled up in an amused smirk. She didn't expect him to deny the truth. He was proud of what he had done.

"Would've killed him too if he hadn't silenced me first."

"I asked you to never use that spell again."

"And you thought I'd actually listen to you? Come on, Hermione. You're not that naive."

Of course she knew that he wouldn't listen to her when she asked him not to use the horrible curse. The scar across her chest was proof of that fact. Despite knowing it was foolish to do so, she hoped that he would take her request to heart and maybe, just maybe, he wouldn't use it again until the Department of Mysteries.

"You've scarred him for life. Are you happy?"

"Actually, no. I would've preferred that he was dead."

"Why can't you both grow up? Get over this ridiculous rivalry! Neither one of you will be satisfied until the other is dead."

Antonin furrowed his brow, a sign he was confused about something or thinking hard about a problem. She didn't imagine he was overly concerned about her words. They had had this exact same conversation many times in the past in varying degrees of civility.

"You said he has a scar?"

"What does it matter?"

"It's not supposed to leave a scar. There's not supposed to be any sign at all. I designed it to be excruciating _and_ impossible to detect. Are you sure there's a scar?"

"Of course I'm sure! I saw it with my own eyes. It looks just like…"

She stopped herself before she went any further. How could she explain that the scar Kingsley earned was just like the one she carried? Explaining that he would try to kill her in the future when she was younger didn't make any sense at all. A suspicious and curious man like Antonin might try to puzzle out why there were similarities. The first time he saw her scar he'd been bothered by the mark on her flesh. He asked a dozen questions about its origin that she didn't know how to answer. It had been simple enough to stop him by making it clear that she wasn't comfortable with his line of questioning. His curiosity wouldn't cease, of course, but she wouldn't need to provide an explanation he would accept.

"It looks an awful lot like… well, my scar."

Antonin moved her wrists closer together so he could grasp them with one hand. She tried to struggle again to no avail. Even with one hand he was still physically stronger than she was. Magic could be a great equalizer. Sometimes it was easy to forget how little power she had without a wand in her hand.

One of the fingers on his free hand traced the edge of her collar. Forgetting her promise to herself to not show any fear, Hermione gasped when he gently pulled the edge down to reveal more of her skin than she was comfortable with him seeing again. With the tip of her scar exposed, he ran his finger down the puckered, damaged flesh. She squirmed and kicked out at him when his unwelcome hand ripped the buttons from her shirt, forcing the fabric to open. His response was to press his body even closer to hers. She detested the feel of his flesh against hers. It was too familiar, too intimate. Antonin didn't care that she didn't want to feel his fingertips brush over the flimsy fabric covering her breasts. He wasn't bothered at all that she tried to move away when his hand reached her hip.

"I've always been curious about this scar. You've always been mysterious about where it came from."

"It's none of your business where it came from. Let me go, Antonin. Get your hands off of me."

To prove that he wasn't about to acquiesce to her demands, his hand squeezed her hip. She hissed at the sharp pain. He smiled.

"Just be thankful that all Baby Shacklebolt ended up with was a scar. If the spell worked as it should have, he'd have been in agonizing pain for several minutes as his insides burned."

"Is there a countercurse?"

"Of course there's a countercurse. What fool creates a curse without one? That's just irresponsible. You know me better than that."

"What is it?"

He lowered his lips to just outside her ear. The moment she felt his breath against her neck, she felt her stomach twist and churn. Nothing about the scenario she found herself in was desirable. Antonin wasn't going to let her go until he was satisfied. And, she hated to even contemplate the options, she wasn't sure what it would take until he felt that way. In a whisper that ran up and down her spine, he answered her question.

"Not going to tell. You might try to save his life again. The next time I curse him, I'm not going to let _anything_ distract me or stop me. I _will_ see him in his grave. I promise you that."

His tongue traced the outside of her ear. Disgusted that he would dare, Hermione turned her face away from him. Her reaction only made him laugh again. She didn't want to hear it again.

"You're the fool if you think I would want anything to do with you if you killed Kingsley. I _love_ him."

"What makes you think I still want you?"

Hermione scoffed. He had done everything except come right out and use the words. His pride might have been hurt after she ignored all of his letters and rejected him in person, but she knew that just like he could do with Alecto, all she had to do was smile in his direction and he'd follow her anywhere. It was a heady power to hold over someone.

"I think it's pretty obvious."

Entirely without considering the consequences, she used her stomach to push against all the proof she needed. A deep growl in the back of Antonin's throat terrified Hermione more than anything else he'd done that night. Still crushing her wrists together in one hand, he released his hold on her hip. The invasion of her mouth with his tongue startled her enough into freezing. Her rash act had given him encouragement she didn't intend. Not pleased with her participation in the kisses he forced on her, Antonin moved his mouth down her throat, nipping and biting as he went.

She couldn't believe what he was doing. Did he really think that she was interested? That she was going to just go weak at the knees as he kissed her and she'd forget how much she loved Kingsley? It wasn't as if she could blame bad decisions on alcohol. She was completely sober. Antonin, on the other hand, likely began drinking minutes after making it out of the building he attacked Kingsley in. Whether or not she was receptive to his advances didn't seem to matter in the slightest to him.

"Let me go, Antonin."

He ignored her demand. The pressure of his mouth on her collarbone increased. When his free hand sought out the waistband of her skirt, she worried for the first time that he might not actually stop what he was doing. How far would he go without her permission? He had already crossed the line, but how much worse would it all get before it was over?

"Antonin, stop! Get your fucking hands off of me!"

Still, he persisted. When his hand dipped down into her knickers, panic overtook her. She didn't want him touching her like that. Didn't want him anywhere near her at all. Her mind kept replaying the morning Voldemort removed her locket from her neck in her kitchen and Greyback pawed her in places she didn't want him to touch. She was breathless in her fear of what Antonin was going to do next.

Once again that night moving entirely on instinct, she quickly moved her head and latched her teeth onto the closest flesh she could find. Antonin yelped when she broke the skin on his neck. Both hands were off her body almost instantly as he covered the wound. It was all she needed to get the wand out of her pocket. He glared at her and before she could do anything else, the back of one of his hands slapped across Hermione's cheek, forcing her head to turn on its own. Ignoring the pain and unsure whether the blood she was tasting in her mouth belonged to Antonin or her or a combination of the two, she shouted a spell and watched as he flew backwards cross the room.

He landed with a crash on top of the glass shards from the bottle he'd broken earlier. It hadn't been Hermione's plan, but it worked out. The fall knocked his breath out. As he struggled to get it back, he cut his arm and side in several places. She didn't care. She felt no sympathy for the man. Five steps took her across the room to where he lay gasping for air. Five steps and she pulled her foot back far enough to kick him between the legs harder than she had ever kicked anything before. The sound of his retching could be heard even as she walked out the front door. It appeared Alecto would have to wait even longer for her special night with Antonin.

* * *

 **10:30 am**

The sound of high pitched muttering woke Hermione up long after the sun had risen. After she returned home to the pub from her impromptu meeting with Antonin, she gave her dad all of the details of what was wrong with Kingsley and what had happened at the hospital. No mention was made of what happened afterwards. With the emotional toil the entire experience had one her, she slipped into bed with no plans to get out of it until her body woke itself up all on its own.

She slowly opened one eye to identify the source of the commotion that had ruined her plans to sleep longer. It only took a couple of seconds to realize that her theory about Aberforth secretly having conversations about her with Regnault was confirmed. Why else would Rosie be moving around her bedroom packing up all of her belongings again? Part of her thought their mutual concern for her was sweet. Most of her, however, was annoyed. She feared that neither man really trusted her to make good decisions.

Her history in the past proved that while she wasn't willing to admit it, she _did_ have a little trouble choosing the path of least resistance. It was naive and ignorant to claim that everything that happened to her was someone else's fault. She was a strong believer in personal responsibility and knew she had screwed up more often than not. Unfortunately, there wasn't a book in a library somewhere with all of the answers of what she should do or not do. If there was, she would've devoured it cover to cover years ago.

"Is Missy Hermione _finally_ awake?"

Even the news that her master's niece was getting back together with the wizard she adored wasn't enough to temper the house-elf's dislike of the witch. Hermione had long ago given up any hope that they would ever get along. Rosie was too loyal to Regnault and Hermione had been too opinionated for too long.

"Did Uncle Regnault send you here, Rosie?"

"Of course he did. Master Reggie was very pleased to hear that you and Mister Kingsie aren't fighting anymore. He ordered me to pack everything up this morning."

"That's not necessary, Rosie. Thank you, but I am perfectly capable…"

"Rosie _always_ obeys Master Reggie."

Hermione knew better than to continue the argument.. The bossy house-elf would do just as she pleased whether she liked it or not. She climbed out of the bed to begin the day with a bit of reluctance. As much as she wanted to go back to the hospital to see Kingsley again, she was nervous. Could they really just start back up from where they left off? He seemed determined to pretend like that horrible night and the lonely six weeks following it never happened. Or, rather he apologized for it repeatedly and begged her to let them _try_ to forget it. She was more than willing.

Rosie was making the bed when Hermione emerged from the bathroom a short time later fully dressed and showered. Neat stacks of boxes and suitcases filled most of the spare space in the room. Somehow she hadn't realized she'd accumulated so much stuff over the years. It had been a very long time since she'd left the pub for Kingsley's home seemingly for good. The reminder of the move back should have made her happy. As she stared at the souvenirs of her life in the past, all she could think about was that she wasn't going to be there much longer to enjoy the life she'd created.

Voldemort was going to kill her. _Or_ Antonin was going to kill her. The way Salazar looked at Thomas that day in the Magical Menagerie and hoped that one day she would get to experience what it felt like to have a brother murdered made her worry that she finally knew _who_ was going to bring about his violent end. She wished she knew the _how_ so she could at least feel like she was trying to stop it before it happened. Every time she watched Thomas hold baby Dean, she had to choke down all of her emotions. Crying in front of them would only bring about questions from Grace they couldn't answer. And besides, she hated that the knowledge that he would soon have to say goodbye to his family was hanging over his head and keeping him from enjoying what should have been the best days of his entire life.

If she'd never been sent back in time, she might have been saved from the worst of the tragedies and horrors that had been committed against her, but she would have lost so much as well. She had an entire family that she loved dearly. Friends she couldn't bear to say goodbye to. Many of them would die very soon. Even if she could ignore the glaring probability that she was going to be murdered by the Dark Lord or one of his henchmen to hope for even a moment that she would be able to find her way back to the future, she would lose so much. It was enough on her shoulders to make her crumble to the floor with no strength to pick herself back up.

"Rosie will take everything to Missy Hermione's _proper_ home." The house-elf snapped her fingers and all of the boxes and suitcases disappeared in a flash. She stood next to the bed, however, glaring at the witch. "Maybe Missy Hermione can try to be kinder to Mister Kingsie so Rosie doesn't have to move everything _again_."

It certainly wasn't the first lecture she'd received from the elf and she knew it would not be the last. Even with time running out for Hermione in the past, she knew that Rosie would find reasons to let her know how she was disappointing her uncle or disgracing the family. She might have been offended by the elf's treatment if she wasn't twice as rude to Bellatrix. Rodolphus' wife loathed the creature and the feeling was mutual. At least Hermione could cling to the fact that she wasn't the _most_ hated member of the family. The thought was enough to make her laugh as the house-elf blinked out of the pub.

"Off to the hospital?"

Aberforth stood behind the bar restocking the shelves with clean glasses. His mouth curled into a rare smile that he reserved only for Hermione. She didn't answer his question at first. Instead, she removed the glasses from his hands, placed them on the correct shelf, and wrapped her arms around his middle. Startled at first by the unexpected affection, Aberforth's body tensed for only a second before he wrapped his arms around his girl.

She breathed in the familiar fragrances that always clung to his clothes: the fire whiskey he poured all day and night, the bacon he ate too much of, the rich dirt from his vegetables in his back garden. They all combined to make a scent that was entirely his. It calmed her, centered her, allowed her the strength to take the steps she didn't want to take. She had no idea when she first woke up in his spare bedroom nine years earlier that she would come to love him so deeply. Knowing that she would be leaving him behind too made her sad beyond measure. And knowing that she would be leaving him behind to turn into that cranky, old wizard in the filthy bar threatened to break her heart anew. How much of that change in him was her fault?

If she hadn't already learned that shared blood meant nothing when it came to love and family from Harry, she would've discovered it with Aberforth. She struggled to even remember what life was like before he was her dad. As much as she still loved her Muggle father and missed him every single day, she'd been fortunate to find such love with the wizard who took her in when she was nothing but a scared stranger.

"Are you all right, my girl?"

She didn't know how to answer the seemingly simple question. In truth, she wasn't. _Far_ from all right. If she allowed herself even a single moment to give in to her fears, she would be useless. She had to remain strong, upright, someone her loved ones could be proud of. Huddling in a corner waiting for her doom wasn't good enough.

"I already miss you and I haven't even gone yet."

The words spilled out of her mouth in an unintentional whisper. His response was simply to hold her tighter. She felt her eyes well up with tears, but she refused to let them fall. Too much time had been spent crying. Cathartic or not, she couldn't allow herself to break down. This was not the time to think of herself. Her resolve was tested when she heard the unmistakable sound of Aberforth sniffing above her head. She would do anything to spare him the pain she knew he was going to go through. Hadn't he already had enough in his life? She couldn't stand that she was just adding more.

"You're not giving up hope, are you?"

Hermione kept her arms around his waist, but leaned back enough to look him in his watery blue eyes. With a great deal of effort, he managed a small smile. She wanted to lie to him. Tell him that she was going to be fine. She was only going to disappear and then reappear again in the future perfectly safe and whole. As much as she wanted to, she loved him too much to speak anything but the truth.

"I've made very powerful enemies, Dad. Last night, I… the details don't matter. I just think that we should both prepare ourselves for the very real possibility that when I disappear in a few months, it will be because I'm…"

She couldn't bear to say the words out loud. Not to Aberforth. He pulled her back against his chest for a tighter hug. She wondered if he was squeezing her so tightly because he wished that's all he had to do to keep her safe. It was how she hugged Thomas. And Caradoc. And Ted. And little Dorie. If wishes alone could change the future, she would keep them all safe. Even exchange her life for theirs.

"I won't lie to you, my girl. I've been afraid since the very beginning for you. As much as I wanted to believe that you would get that time turner working and pop back into your true time, I didn't have much hope."

"I'm sorry that I have to leave you. If I could…"

"Shh, now, lass. We have only a little bit of time left. Spending it all worrying about our regrets is a waste. Let's save our tears and make the rest of this year _count_."

Aberforth kissed the top of her head and broke the embrace. She knew he was correct. He was almost always right even if no one else in the world seemed to have enough sense to know how wise the man actually was. She vowed to herself to make sure the rest of her time in the past or in the _world_ wouldn't be spent crying and lamenting all that she was going to lose. Instead, she would do all that she could to make sure she was being grateful for all that she'd already gained. Hermione stood on her tiptoes to brush her lips against his cheek.

"Now, head on to St. Mungo's and visit your wizard. If he's awake, you know he's anxious to see you."

* * *

September 19, 1980

 **6:35 pm**

Kingsley remained in the hospital for ten days. By the end of his stay, he was so grumpy and irascible that Hermione threatened him, insincerely, of course, with leaving him at his grandmother's house until his attitude improved. Marjorie Shafiq wouldn't put up with his irritability. She'd give him three seconds to stop complaining before she gave him something actually worth complaining about. It didn't take him long after the threat was made to stop whining and making his newly reinstated girlfriend miserable.

He wasn't allowed to return to the Ministry until the beginning of October. Hermione assumed that also meant that Moody wouldn't allow him anywhere near the Order of the Phoenix either. Perhaps it was wrong to be thankful that he'd been attacked so brutally, but part of her was glad that he didn't have to get back out there so soon to continue fighting. She wanted him home, safe, where she could see him and touch him. His injuries meant that he wasn't able to properly welcome her back home in the manner he wished. Not that he didn't try, of course. Hardly able to stand on his own feet without help, she told him he was being ridiculous. There would be plenty of time later to make up for lost time. She wasn't going anywhere ever again.

It was a lie that she repeated over and over. Somehow she assumed that it would get easier the more she told it. She was wrong. As the days passed, she became even more aware of the fact that she wouldn't be there much longer. Every time she ran into an old friend she wondered if that would be the last time they ever spoke. Several of them were startled when she made certain to wrap her arms around them for a tight squeeze before she said goodbye. Augie even made it a point to tease her with the falsely stern reminder that he was a happily married man and father of two. Her response was to hug him tighter.

On her birthday, she wanted nothing more than to spend the entire day away from well-wishers and loved ones. She knew it was cowardly to want to hide at home, but she found she didn't really care. An entire day spent alone with Kingsley in their home was what she wanted. He'd woken her up as he had every other birthday they were together, with her thighs on his shoulders. The confident manner in which his mouth and his hands moved over her body gave her the chance to forget all of the negative for a blissful few minutes that were over entirely too soon. Ignoring the Healer's orders, he made certain that for the first hour that she was awake on her twenty-eight birthday, they were both satisfied. Unable to spend even a short time with her cousin and Caradoc on such an emotional day, she sent them an owl begging her forgiveness for not being there to welcome the new owls. Kingsley insisted they stay in bed all day long or until his stomach couldn't bear to be empty any longer. They made it only until nine before he could stand it no longer. After a large breakfast, they moved to the sofa.

She'd been stronger than she thought it was possible to be when he brought up the future. Excited to have her back in his home and back in his bed, Kingsley was determined that there would never be another time in their life that they were apart. The subject veered eerily close to marriage a few times before he changed course. They weren't ready for _that_ discussion yet, he realized. Hermione was glad he was perceptive enough to realize they should wait. The thought of even _trying_ to imagine getting married threaded to bring her to her knees with fear and regret. What she once desired more than anything else was no longer even an option. It was sinking in to a devastating degree.

"Come on, Hermione. You have to at least _see_ your dad on your birthday."

"I don't want to go anywhere, Kingsie. Please don't make me."

"Ab will be disappointed if you don't stop by for at least _one_ drink."

Kingsley was a shit liar. At least as a young man. Hermione could remember many times in the future when he kept a secret from everyone or when he held something back in a conversation. He had his tells, of course. Even professional liars did. He blinked too frequently when he was lying. Because he was the perfect mixture of Gryffindor and Hufflepuff traits, none of his lies as a young man were serious enough that she didn't find his attempt to lie perfectly adorable. She wondered if he still blinked too hard and fidgeted with his buttons as an adult when he was lying. It had been so long ago and even though she had an embarrassing crush on the older, mysterious wizard, she couldn't remember.

She knew without a single doubt in her mind that he'd thrown her another surprise party at The Hog's Head. His repeated insistence that he didn't really want to do anything special coupled with the frequent glances at his wristwatch throughout the day were the first clues. When he suggested they both take a hot shower and he hardly touched her under the water, she was even more suspicious. As soon as he suggested she put on the new light blue robes Seraphina sent over the week before, she was positive it was a party. There was no reason to sit around their home in nice robes. Not even on her birthday.

In the end, she knew she couldn't deny him as much as she wanted to. It was sweet of him to care so much about her to throw the party and it was selfish of her to not want to enjoy it. So at a few minutes after six in the evening, she walked to the front door in her brand new clothes with her hair perfectly fixed.

"All right. Let's get this party over with."

She made sure to smile as she said it to give the illusion that she wasn't _really_ annoyed. Kingsley didn't need to be told twice before he hopped up from the sofa with the big grin she loved so much. He wasn't even upset that his surprise was a surprise no longer. After sending his lynx patronus on ahead to warn Aberforth and the rest of the guests gathered that they were on their way, he proudly took her arm and Side-Along Apparated her to her father's pub.

As much as she hated to admit it, she enjoyed the party. Everyone in her family, his family, and almost every single person she befriended at some point in the past was there to shout out 'Surprise!' To see the sheer number of people that had touched her life had been almost overwhelming. She didn't hesitate to scoop little seven year old Nymphadora into her arms. No longer able to pick her up, she knelt down to squeeze the funny girl until she complained of being squished and forced her to let go.

Every time she tried to move through the crowd of people gathered in the main room of the pub, she was stopped by another well-wisher for a conversation. It was heartening to know that so many people wished her well. Heartening, and a bit sad. Would they all be gathering together next to mourn her death instead of celebrate her life? No, she had to remind herself that no one would even be sure what happened to her when she disappeared. There would be no funeral, no memorial. Just years of wondering, years of questions with no answers.

"Hermione, do you think you could show me the cellar your dad was talking about? He's asked me to bring up more fire whiskey and I haven't the foggiest where to even find the blasted room."

Ted appeared at her elbow just as she wishing she could run away from another conversation. Why Kingsley felt that she actually wanted the boring shopkeeper from Dogweed and Deathcap to attend her party to bore everyone present with the seventeen uses of mooncalf dung she would never understand. With an apology to the wizard she wished to never speak to again about _anything_ , Hermione dragged Ted with her to the kitchen. Only when they were down in the peace of the cellar did he admit that her father just sent him over to save her from the conversation. There was plenty of fire whiskey upstairs. Relieved to have a few minutes of peace and thankful for the interruption, Hermione sat down on a heavy box of gillywater.

"Thank you for rescuing me, Ted. You have no idea how _boring_ that man is!"

"Oh, I don't? I got stuck in a twenty minute discussion with him last Hogmanay about the various properties of the leaping toadstool. I've never thought it was possible to die of boredom until that night."

They both laughed. Hermione knew it wasn't always fair to complain about the lonely wizard. He wasn't a bad man, only very, _very_ boring. After his wife died of an unfortunate potions incident in the backroom of their shop, he had had difficulty finding anyone who could bear to listen to his stories. Rumors existed that his wife's accident hadn't been an accident at all, but a desperate move to keep her from being forced to listen to one more lecture about the various plants they carried. Hermione was only half-convinced that it was a false rumor.

When Ted sat down on another box a few feet away and stared in her direction, she got the impression that this wasn't a rescue operation at all. There was determination in his eyes, a promise that he would follow through with his plans. If she was ever forced to attend an intervention about how her heavy drinking was affecting those she loved, this was the stance that Ted would make. She began to worry about his intentions. Just why did he make up an excuse to get her alone in her own party?

"You know I love you, Hermione, don't you?"

His choice of words made her stomach drop. She could only imagine where Ted was going to take their discussion next if that was how he began. Beginning a conversation with a reminder that the other person was loved wasn't always the most encouraging start. It usually meant bad news was about to follow.

"Yes, I do. I love you too, Ted. What is this…"

"I had a visitor last week. Someone came to my _home_ that I didn't much care to see."

Hermione wanted to crawl into one of the boxes in the darkest corner of the cellar to hide. Instead of being angry with her, she could clearly discern that Ted was disappointed. Somehow, that was much worse than him being furious. She had an idea who the visitor was and she prayed she was wrong.

"Lord… _You-Know-Who_ , came to my house, Hermione."

"Oh, Ted! I'm so sorry."

"I'm only thankful that Andy and Dorie weren't there at the time. I have no idea what I would've done if they were home."

"What did he want?"

Ted was a Muggle-born who preferred to keep his head down. Marrying a disowned daughter of the notorious Black family hadn't made his desires to live a simple life easy. Hermione knew some of the discrimination that he experienced working in his career. There were many in their society who wanted to snap his wand and force him back to live with Muggles. She'd been afraid once she made her statement to Voldemort in the hospital lift that he might come after her friends and family out of fear that she'd told them his secrets.

"It was a bizarre meeting, to be honest. He asked me my name and as soon as I gave it to him, I felt a bit dizzy. Took me a couple of hours after he left to feel somewhat normal again. But that's all that happened. He showed up, asked me my name, and I started feeling strange after I answered. He left immediately without giving me any explanation or asking me any other questions."

She was worried that Ted was describing an incident where the Dark Lord used Legilimency on him and then made him forget what he'd done. It was the only option that made any sense with those details. Was Voldemort so frightened by the knowledge she carried that he was going around to everyone she might have told to violate their minds? She didn't put it past him. Knowing that Voldemort was, at minimum, willing to go to the Tonks home at all was upsetting.

"Ted, I don't know what to say. That's… terrible."

"I'm not blaming you, Hermione, but I know you've had some _dealings_ with him in the past."

Every Monday night it was possible, Hermione had been going over to Ted and Andromeda's house to open a bottle of wine and catch up with her beloved friends. Some nights it was all of them, others just the ladies. As the violence of the war escalated, their conversations often took more serious turns. They had all discussed several times what Andromeda's older sister Bellatrix was doing. Her involvement with the Dark Lord wasn't exactly a well-kept secret. She was too proud of what she was going to keep quiet for long.

More than a few times the topic of Voldemort was brought up in hushed whispers long after Nymphadora had gone to bed. Hermione never told them all of the details, of course, but they knew enough about her entanglement with the evil wizard to worry. She'd always carried around the fear that her interactions with Voldemort would wind up being what killed her. Both of her friends tried to remain positive even if it was obvious they were in agreement. Andromeda confided in her many times over the years that she was worried about Hermione. Worried that she would be another in the black print of the Daily Prophet announcing disappearances. Her friend begged her to stay as far away from that evil as possible.

"Do you know why he would come to my home and behave so oddly?"

Her immediate reaction was to cover her face with her hands in shame. Expecting tears to flow out of her eyes, she found it strange that she had become so inured to the idea of Voldemort seeking his vengeance against her that there was hardly any emotion left inside her body. Her end was inevitable. What was the use in getting so broken up about it? Removing her hands from her face, she stared at one of her closest friends in the entire world.

"I imagine he came to verify I haven't been telling any of my friends and loved ones secrets about him that he would rather I did not know."

The entire story of the hospital lift came falling out. She didn't want to burden Ted with too many facts and concerns, bur deep down, she _wanted_ him to know how much danger she was in. Wanted him to be aware that his family was also potentially in danger because of their association with her. He deserved to know. Even if it meant the last few months of her life would be spent no longer allowed in their home or around their precious daughter, Hermione knew she had to tell him the truth. When she gave him all of the details of essentially blackmailing the Dark Lord without even hinting at what information she held over his head, she felt both relieved and worried. She loved each member of the tiny Tonks family. Being forbidden to be around them, which she might certainly do if the roles were reversed, would be devastating.

"You know, Dromeda refuses to believe anything bad is going to happen to someone she loves. Many times we've read the Daily Prophet articles about disappearances or murders and she's been in complete denial that one day we might see a name we love in print. I confess, Hermione, that I've been worried about you for a long time. Between your _history_ with the… well, with the werewolf, and your stories about You Know Who and your friendships and relationships with so many I've long suspected to be a part of his followers, I've been very afraid to see your name. Or…"

He seemed reluctant to continue. Over the nine years that she'd been in the past, she had come to love Ted Tonks dearly. She had also come to value his opinions and his observations. There had always been a connection between the two of them, whether he knew it or not, because of their mutual statuses as Muggle-borns. Though she had been on friendly terms with other Muggle-borns throughout her entire life, future and past, she had never been so close to one as she was with Ted. It was encouraging to know that she wasn't alone in their big, scary world.

Ted didn't sugarcoat anything. Hermione wasn't sure if it was his Hufflepuff nature or just something that was long engrained in him by his parents. Maybe he found the world harsh enough that he wanted those he cared about to be as prepared as possible for whatever awaited them. Even when she'd been able to witness him teaching Nymphadora something important, he had always been honest almost to a fault. He didn't want anyone to miss the importance of the content of his words because they were hidden beneath superfluous flowery words lacking substance. It was a trait of his that Hermione admired most.

"Go ahead, Ted. What is it?"

"If I may be perfectly honest with you, Hermione, I've always been afraid that one day I'd find out that you were one of _them_."

Hermione sighed. Not in anger or disappointment that he would think such a thing about her, but because she knew how close her strength had wavered a time or two in the past. When her life was on the line or when someone she loved was threatened, she'd considered taking the 'easy' way out. Only the reminder of how strong Harry had remained in the face of his own certain death and the reminders of all of the people, past and future, who gave their lives fighting against Voldemort kept her from throwing herself at his feet and offering his arm. What was it that Muggle American said hundreds of years earlier? 'Those who would give up liberty for safety deserve neither liberty nor safety.' Something like that. She couldn't remember the exact words or the context of why Benjamin Franklin said them, but she could appreciate the sentiment. If she turned her life over to Voldemort just to stay alive, she didn't deserve to stay alive. It would be the weak, cowardly thing to do. She _never_ wanted anyone to claim she was either.

"I'd be a liar if I said I never considered it, but no, I'd rather die."

"I'm glad to hear it. You're so much better than they are. I'm afraid that no matter how much I wished to help him, I wasn't able to save Tony from himself."

"It was good that you even tried, Ted. I'm afraid I wasn't much help."

"Yes, well, none of that matters anymore, I suppose. What's done is done. As much as we might like to, we cannot change what has already happened. Not unless you possess a time turner, that is."

His cheeky wink caught Hermione off-guard. She knew he was only teasing her. There was no way he could've known about the second necklace she always wore disillusioned around her neck, but it still startled her slightly. But, at least in that instance, he was wrong. She _did_ possess a time turner and there was nothing she could do to change the past. That had been a bitter potion to swallow years earlier. No matter what she tried, the past would remain the same because it had already happened when Kingsley and Aberforth made the somewhat self-serving decision to send her back.

Her friend rose from his makeshift seat on the box signaling their serious, private discussion was at an end. They'd been rude to the other guests long enough. Ted had made his point already and there seemed little else to discuss. Before either of them began the climb up the narrow staircase, Hermione grabbed his arm.

"I love you and Andy very much, Teddy. And little Dorie too. I would never want to put any of you in danger."

His arms wrapping around her back was his response. She could feel the familiar outburst of emotion threatening to make its appearance, but she knew she had to be honest. Even more honest than she'd already been with him. If Voldemort had come to his home for an unexpected visit, he already knew she was in grave danger. She didn't want him to keep on living without understanding how much she valued him, how much she loved his little family.

"We love you too. Very much. I have my eyes wide open, Hermione. I might not want to openly discuss it with Dromeda, but I've been worried. Practically _expecting_ something to happen to you. I hate it, but I'm being honest."

"I wouldn't want you any other way."

"I'll keep my girls safe. The depths to which I'll sink to make that happen have no bottom. I'll make sure they come out of all of this alive."

She forced herself to not think about the fact that he _would_ fall in the future. He would die and so would his daughter. Even willing to do what it takes wasn't always enough. Everyone had their limitations. Ted kissed the top of her head and pushed her gently away. The serious expression on his friendly, handsome face was replaced with the happiest of all his grins.

"Now, danger or not, you _will_ be at our home Monday evening with an exorbitantly expensive bottle of wine. My Dromeda has tastes that I cannot afford, but we know your vault is overflowing with galleons to spend."

His cheeky wink made her laugh. If she'd thought for even a second that they might actually accept, she'd share every last knut she owned with them. But, they had their pride. Andromeda was a savvy businesswitch and Ted worked harder than any two men put together. They would be all right without her help.

"And bring that wizard of yours too. I'm sure he's going mad being stuck in that house all day with no excitement."

Hermione followed him up the cellar stairs with bottles in each of their hands. The intense conversation wasn't forgotten as she enjoyed the rest of the night with everyone she cared about, but she no longer felt such a heavy weight hanging over her when it came to the Tonks family. Whether either of them were willing to admit it or not, they'd said their goodbyes down in that cellar. Though they might see each other again a hundred times before she finally disappeared, she felt good about the fact that nothing was left unspoken between the two of them. She would say her own goodbyes to Andromeda and Nymphadora in her own way. Neither of them needed to understand that it was likely to be the _final_ goodbye.

She spent the rest of her birthday party moving amongst the people she loved with a new appreciation for them. Each one had their own special time with the birthday witch. She was even uncharacteristically kind to Fabian after she hugged Emmeline tight. Even if she didn't come out and tell them goodbye, she hoped that each one of them would carry a happy memory of her around with them when she was gone. What started out as a birthday she wanted to hide from became the best birthday she had ever had.

* * *

December 18. 1980

 **11:59 am**

December was quickly becoming Hermione's least favorite month of the year. What should have been a season of excitement for the coming holidays and the new year was anything but. Not knowing the exact date of her disappearance, only a vague idea, she wandered through the month with her head consistently turning to peer over her shoulder at a danger she knew lurked just out of view. It was coming. She knew it.

The three months since her birthday passed in record speed. Another one of those examples of how time almost sped up when one wished to slow it down. As the end of her life ticked ever closer, she made sure to enjoy the little moments as much as she could. Though she often had to fight back the urge to unburden her soul to Kingsley about the night she spent in Antonin's bed months earlier, those few months were the best months of their entire relationship. Maybe their time apart taught them to cherish each second. It didn't really matter _why_ it was so special, only that it was.

Once her wizard was cleared to return to the Ministry for active Auror duties, their time together was precious simply because there seemed to be so little of it. Kingsley was often home long after she was in bed and gone long before she woke up. Some days the only time she saw him was when she woke up in the middle of the night. As much as she wanted to wake him up just so they could have _some_ time together, she knew he was exhausted and needed his sleep. The nights of the Full Moon were always spent sleeping at her dad's. Kingsley was out every Full Moon as the werewolf activity increased. She began even staying over at her dad's for a few nights before and after the Full Moon just to be safe. She didn't want to even imagine what it would be like to be caught alone by Greyback when he was gearing up for or recovering from his monthly transformations.

The werewolf hadn't been keeping to himself like she hoped he would. He continued watching and following her when he felt like it. She knew just by what history she'd read in the future and from what little Remus Lupin told her about his role in the first war that Greyback was amassing a large, dangerous pack. He was doing what he could to unite the poor souls afflicted with the same curse he had. Most of them were simply society cast-offs with no support system and nowhere else to go, but some of them were becoming as fanatic as their leader. Where he found the time to periodically drop by to interrupt her daily routine with an obscene remark, a disturbing conversation or just a dropped purple thistle, she didn't know. Nor did she care. She had too much happening in her life to worry about Greyback.

Voldemort was leaving her alone. That fact alone was enough for concern. She wasn't naive or stupid enough to believe that he had forgotten the incidents in the hospital lift. If he hadn't been so busy trying to take over the country with violence and ensure his own immortality, he might have been bothering her more. Hermione pushed her fears aside as much as she could. There was too little time remaining to concern herself. He would come when he did. She had to make her time left matter.

"Ahh, there you are, Hermione. You were almost very nearly _late_."

One minute before their weekly lunch was schedule to begin, Hermione arrived at her customary table to find her Uncle Regnault waiting impatiently. Though their relationship had improved an enormous degree she _never_ would have imagined when she first met him years earlier, he wasn't a completely altered man. His feelings on punctuality would likely follow him into the grave, whenever that was. Hermione knew nothing about his future, but worried that he wouldn't get to enjoy the benefit of a long life. So few did in those days.

She accepted his kiss on her cheek before sitting down in her usual chair. Even the rising fear that she only had _days_ left alive didn't excuse her from the weekly meal. To be honest, she wouldn't have wanted to be anywhere else. She loved Regnault with all of his faults and antiquated ideals. There was more to him than she used to give him credit for. Once a chore she despised, her weekly lunch with her uncle was often the highlight of her entire week.

"I'm very sorry, Uncle. Lost track of time at the pub."

"It's awfully early to be at the pub. Surely your father isn't open for breakfast now, is he?"

"No, I spent the night there last night. I was checking the inventory before I left."

"I didn't think Aberforth finally gave in to your repeated insistences that he begin serving meals. Is everything all right between you and Kingsley?"

An involuntary smile crossed her face at mention of her wizard. Everything was going wonderfully. Even if they couldn't see each but a few hours a week because of his crazy schedule, they were most definitely hours worthy of remembrance. Maybe it was because every second that passed was sweeter because she knew they were nearing the end. Maybe they were both trying so hard to assuage their respective guilts over what happened in July. Whatever it was wasn't important. All that mattered was they were no longer taking the other for granted.

"Ahh, I suppose so." Regnault chuckled softly. "Why were you at your father's?"

"Kingsley works long hours. He doesn't like me being alone so close to the Full Moon. If he's not working, he wants me with Dad."

Her uncle nodded his head in approval. The time of the Full Moon was rapidly becoming quite dangerous all over the country. No longer concentrated in certain areas, there were reports of attacks in every corner. When one of the young children in the Rosier family was attacked and killed by a vicious werewolf near their home, it became evident that even the most respected members of the Sacred Twenty-Eight families were at risk.

"Is he working a great deal?"

She sighed. Not wishing to bring up any thoughts of the arguments they'd had about his erratic work schedule, she took a small sip of the wine already waiting at the table.

"Just last night I was telling Dad that sometimes I feel like we are two ships passing in the night. We rarely see each other. Days pass when the only interaction I get with him is the kiss he gives me on my forehead when I'm asleep."

"This can't last forever. I'm sure it will all get better. Christmas is just next week. Will he be coming with you to dinner?"

"That is still the plan. He _begged_ Moody to let him have the night of Christmas Eve off and all Christmas Day. Unless something major and unavoidable happens, he'll be there."

It felt strange making plans for a day she knew she wouldn't be around to enjoy. Aberforth told her years earlier when she first arrived that she disappeared a few days _before_ Christmas. Since that slip-up, he'd resolved to never tell her anything else that he learned from his older self inside the letter and pensieve memories. He didn't want her to know too much. It was dangerous, he'd insisted.

She wasn't ignorant enough to not be aware of the fact that her end was coming at some point during the upcoming Full Moon cycle. Whether it was Saturday, Sunday or Monday, she couldn't ignore the arrival of the worst time of the month. All that kept her from being too terrified of Greyback's involvement in her disappearance were memories she had of him in the future.

The night she and the boys were captured by the Snatchers was one she would never forget. It was burned forever in her consciousness. Greyback's eyes had fallen on her only moments after the enchantments protecting their tent fell. At the time, she didn't understand why he seemed so confused and even a bit stunned. Everything that passed happened so quickly that she didn't have the chance to dwell too much on his initial reaction. The cretin Scabior was the one to grab her arm. She despised the feel of his hand on her body, the disturbing twinkle in his eye. If the two of them were alone, she had no doubt he would hurt her in ways she couldn't imagine _then_.

Greyback's deep growl in the back of his throat frightened everyone, including his compatriots. He took hold of Hermione with a glare that dared Scabior to protest. In the end, he'd released her when he realized Harry was in the group. His attention had to be paid to the most important of the prisoners. That didn't stop him from glancing in her direction over and over again. When she had been handed over to Bellatrix for torture, he'd enjoyed tormenting her himself a few times while she laid on the floor unable to move. Whispers of the obscene acts he would commit on her when she belonged to him. Promises that he'd never let her get away from him again. Repeated sniffs of her hair and the skin at her neck.

 _"You smell just like your mother."_

She hadn't understood his words at the time, but it hadn't taken her long in the past to discover the true meaning. Greyback believed that Hermione Granger was the daughter of Hermione Dumbledore. If he didn't seem surprised that she existed in the future, he must not have been the instrument in her murder. She couldn't imagine that he wouldn't try to approach her in the next few days. He had been making himself a nuisance more than usual. Years earlier, he'd known that she was pregnant with her lost child before she knew it herself just by the change in her body's scent. If he didn't smell the change when he saw her next, his reaction to finding Hermione in the future made sense. He likely assumed Hermione ran away when she disappeared.

"I hope that we will see you _both_ there."

Regnault's voice broke through the haze of memories afflicting Hermione's mind. She looked up to meet his concerned eyes. Though he might have tried to keep from allowing any emotions to show on his usually stoic expression, she'd learned a great deal about the man. She felt confident in her abilities to read him. He wasn't nearly as cold and unfeeling as she once believed him to be.

"You're looking tired. Are you sure you're all right?"

"Thank you, Uncle. I am. Sleep's been eluding me a bit lately, but I'm sure I'll be perfectly fine soon."

"I will have my Healer send you a sleeping potion."

"That's not necessary."

"I insist."

She smiled at her uncle, grateful that he was so determined to see her provided for. There was much to love about the man she once loathed. If she really was his favorite like his sons declared, she worried what would become of him when she was killed. Would he revert back to the cold, unfeeling man he used to be? Regnault would suspect Lord Voldemort the moment she disappeared. Would that get him into trouble too? He was a man who was relentless in his pursuits. If he wanted to discover the truth, Regnault would stop at nothing. She feared that the likelihood of getting on the wrong side of the Dark Lord was strong. If she was the reason her uncle was brutally silenced, she would never be able to forgive herself.

"Did you know when we first starting meeting for lunch, Uncle, I _hated_ it?"

Regnault's reaction to her confession wasn't what she expected. Far from being offended by her statement, he laughed out loud. Unused to hearing such a sound of mirth from one of their most formidable customers, several of the restaurant staff halted in complete surprise. Hermione couldn't stop a smile. Between her love for making her uncle laugh and the amusement she felt at watching the poor witches and wizards who had bent over backwards to serve her uncle over the years, she was happy.

"How thick do you imagine I am, Hermione? Of _course_ I knew you hated it. If I may be so honest, I didn't particularly care for them either."

"Then why did you insist we keep meeting?"

The smile on his face slipped by a couple of degrees. Though still handsome, Hermione noticed how rapidly her uncle had aged in the years she'd known him. Once she thought he was a bitter, angry man who lived purely on spite and hatred. It had taken time, but she learned how very wrong she had been.

"Because I'm stubborn and I _wanted_ it to get better. I suppose I believed that eventually you would give in to me out of sheer exhaustion."

His smile brightened slightly and she softly laughed. There might have been humor in his words, but she knew he was completely serious. Over the years they'd had countless conversations about the similarities between their relationship and the one his father and her supposed mother had. Roesia Lestrange had eventually given up any hope of having anything to do with her family. Their father had been much harsher and less likely to bend than his son. Regnault was far from being an uncomplicated man. He simply learned the valuable lesson that his father never did. No one could control another person. Not entirely. He could never force Hermione into the mold he wished her to fit in. However, he _could_ recognize opportunities within himself for growth and reflection. Hermione believed that there were many ways Regnault differed from his father whether he realized it or not. Just their drastic difference in opinion of how a wizard should never beat his wife or children was a big one.

"I hope I haven't proven to be a disappointment to you, Uncle."

Regnault reached across the small table to take Hermione's hand in his. The simple public act of affection meant more to her than she could articulate. It showed that there was a human side behind the man who always worked so hard to prove otherwise. She looked up from his hand on top of hers to meet his serious, light green eyes.

"You are _far_ from being a disappointment, my dear. I am so proud of the person you are that sometimes I fear the very buttons will pop off my robes. There are not adequate words to express what you have meant to this family, what you have meant to _me_."

Feeling her eyes prickle with unshed tears and her chest tight with emotion, Hermione didn't know how to respond. Regnault had been honest with her many times in their acquaintance, but never had he been so raw. Only the evening he stormed into the hunting lodge and held her in his arms had he been as open. He squeezed her hand and released it. She tried not to lament the loss of the simple touch. Every time anything happened in those days, she wondered if it would be the last time.

"The strength of character you have shown in these years, especially considering what _You-Know-Who_ put you through, is remarkable. You would have made your mother very proud. I know I am."

"Thank you, Uncle."

They were interrupted briefly by the waiter requesting their orders. When he stepped away from the table, some of the heightened emotions surrounding the pair dissipated slightly. Hermione met her Uncle's gaze and smiled.

"I used to hate these lunches, but now they are my favorite time of the week."

"As they are mine."

Much as she might have wished to ignore the truth, Hermione found it impossible to forget that this would be the last lunch she ever had with her uncle. Late or early or just barely on-time wouldn't matter again. This single hour that she looked forward to with dread in the beginning and then with joy would never be repeated. When she was gone would Regnault continue to return each Thursday at noon? Would he sit at an empty table and stare at the chair where she should've sat? Or, would he refuse to return to the restaurant ever again? None of the possibilities were good.

When their meal concluded and there was no logical reason to keep from getting up from the table, Hermione sat in her chair and stared at her uncle. She wanted to sear the memory of his face and the imperious manner in which he sat at any dining table into her psyche. For however long she remained alive, she wanted to remember him just as he was that day. He smiled at first, but when he grew uncomfortable with the stares, stood up from the table with a flourish of his expensive robes. She smirked to herself and rose.

"Christmas dinner will be served _promptly_ at seven. Do not be late."

Regnault kissed her cheek once more and headed for the front door of the restaurant. The thought of her uncle's last words to her being potentially about her punctuality struck an amused chord within her. She loved him dearly, but the wizard's obsession with time was more than a little obnoxious. His words, however, captured his personality more effectively than anything else.

Out in the cold December afternoon on Diagon Alley, Hermione wasn't ready to go back home. Despite the constant fear of death and danger lurking over everyone's shoulder, Christmas was only days away. Shoppers were braving the area to purchase gifts. Though the season wasn't nearly as bustling and filled with the laughter as it had been in years past, she felt an excitement in being amongst the others. She pulled her heavy cloak tighter and began walking down the Alley.

She always had so much on her mind that it was truly a wonder she was ever able to find any small amount of sleep at all. There certainly was no peace to find in her mind. She did what she could to push aside thoughts of the worst of her troubles to attempt to enjoy the walk. Nearing Flourish and Blotts, she tried to decide if she wanted to go inside. Books had always held an attraction to her since long before she could even decipher what the print inside of them meant. But, the practical side of her reminded her that it was foolish and wasteful to spend money on books that she wouldn't live long enough to read. The final decision was made when a chilly burst of wind blew up her robes inches from the door. There was no harm in simply _looking_ at the volumes for sale while she enjoyed the warmth of the store.

A crush of shoppers filled the ground floor of the store. After being run into by a witch not paying the slightest bit of attention to where she was walking and an elderly wizard elbowing her in the side when he turned too abruptly, Hermione made for the stairs. The rarer, more obscure books that didn't sell well were kept up there. She'd uncovered many hidden treasures up there since she was a child.

Only steps into a section devoted to the rarely studied field of Alchemy, she caught sight of a familiar silver beard and half-moon spectacles. If her uncle hadn't turned in her direction in that exact moment, Hermione would've been tempted to sneak back down the stairs and into the cold. When neither one of them could deny that they were aware of the other's presence, Hermione sighed and stepped forward while Albus set down the book he'd been examining.

Neither of them ever knew what to say to the other beyond perfunctory pleasantries they would've made to any stranger. To Albus, his niece was a mystery he longed to understand, but to Hermione, her uncle was a flawed man who made poor choices that she didn't want to forgive. She tried to ignore the irony of the fact that she'd just left the presence of the one uncle she actually adored to wander into the presence of the one she wanted nothing to do with. Would her pleasant afternoon be marred by unpleasantness? She thought it likely that it would.

"Good afternoon, Hermione. I trust you are well."

"Yes, thank you, Uncle Albus. How are you?"

"Intrigued by a number of books I shall likely never find the time to read."

It was a sentiment she understood all too well. Her uncle kissed her cheek and instantly stepped back as if she would strike him. Nothing about their interactions ever felt comfortable or relaxed. Part of her felt guilty that of all the people she would be leaving behind in mere days, Albus Dumbledore was not one she would miss.

There had been opportunity in the previous nine and a half years for the two to strike up a cordial relationship. Neither of them had been interested. Albus might have claimed to have cared deeply for Hermione, but she wasn't sure she believed him. He always made her feel like she was nothing but an annoyance, an embarrassment he wished to ignore. To sum it up succinctly, he treated her exactly as he treated his younger brother. Hermione hadn't been interested in trying simply because of her knowledge of what he was willing to do for the Greater Good. Some wounds would never heal. She would never forgive him for raising her best friend as a lamb for slaughter.

"I find that I feel much the same way each time I enter a bookshop."

"Yes, but you are young. There's still time for you."

"I hope you have a happy Christmas, Uncle Albus."

She turned away from the Headmaster to head back for the stairs. Before she'd made it even a single step, the touch of his hand on her arm stilled her movements. To run away when he clearly had more to say would just be rude. She didn't want to give him any excuse to think any less of her than he already did.

"Mr. Fenwick and I have found it strange that you haven't requested any further names from us in quite a while."

"While I appreciate your help, Uncle, I'm no longer in need of it."

"Has Tom been able to secure your loyalty at last?"

His words, spoken in a whisper, felt like a slap across her face. She spun around to face the horrible man with determination and no fear. After a quick glance around the immediate vicinity to ensure they were truly alone, she pulled up the sleeve covering her left forearm. She held it out for him to gaze on the unmarked flesh.

"It's always such an encouragement to know what faith you have in me, Uncle."

If he had anything to say in response to her display, Hermione didn't wait to find out. She practically ran down the stairs and pushed through the crowd to the front door. Only when she was far from the bookstore did she slow her pace.

* * *

December 19, 1980

 **9:20 am**

It had been tempting to stay in the warmth of her bed all day instead of get out into the cold. When Hermione's alarm went off on the Friday before Christmas, she whimpered and snuggled back under the covers. The sound of Kingsley's amused chuckles inches away didn't help. He lifted the top of the blanket to peer down at his witch underneath.

"The owls will be there soon. If you don't get up now, Roddy'll probably get himself put in St. Mungo's again. Don't want to ruin Christmas for everyone, do you, Little Witch?"

She groaned and turned just enough that he could see her glares. Some coaxing had been necessary to finally get her out of bed, but she'd managed. Though certainly not with a pleasant attitude.

A large group of owls had been ordered for the last shipment before Christmas. The demand for post owls increased with the violence. Fewer people were willing to venture out of the safety of their homes. A personal post owl could also help keep families informed of the welfare of their relatives that lived outside the home. They made imminently practical gifts and the Magical Menagerie was struggling to keep the supply up with the demand.

Hermione needed until almost half past nine, a full two hours after their arrival, to settle each of the animals down enough to feel confident about leaving them for the remainder of the day. As she swept up the inevitable mess that always followed dozens of owls around, she felt a presence at her back. Her nerves had ben perpetually on edge since the incident in the hospital lift. Determined that she wasn't going to back down without a fight, she grabbed the handle of the broom with both hands and spun around to prepare for an attack by a very confused Caradoc.

"Shit, I'm sorry."

"A bit jumpy, are we, love?"

She muttered out a response that he didn't quite catch. Being around Caradoc was difficult. One of the kindest souls she'd ever had the fortune to meet, she wasn't ready to say her goodbyes to him. Her end was rapidly approaching. For all she knew, she wouldn't be slipping back into the bed she shared with Kingsley that night or any other night.

"It's all right. I understand."

Hermione dropped the broom to the floor with a loud crash. To his complete surprise and a bit to hers, she wrapped her arms around Caradoc's neck and squeezed him. There was hesitation in the beginning, but soon he gave in to the unexpected embrace. She was grateful for an odd break in the incessant stream of customers that plagued their doors. A few minutes was all she needed.

"You know there's no shame in running away, don't you, Caradoc?"

The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them. Not once had she ever even hinted to her friend that she knew he was a member of the Order or that she knew he would one day soon disappear just like she would. When she was worried about his dangerous choices, she remained silent. Caradoc would follow Gideon anywhere he went whether she approved or not. As much as he still continued to care for Rodolphus, Caradoc had found the love of his life in the kinder of the Prewett twins. Knowing that he would likely still be around to learn the fate of his wizard, Hermione's heart broke for the pain she knew he would endure.

"What are you talking about, Hermione?"

She pushed away from him, but kept her arms around his neck.

"Don't be such a fool that you feel like you have to stand your ground and fight. You can just run away if you need to. Vengeance never made anyone happy, not truly."

"I'm not sure where this is coming from, but I'm no coward."

"Of course you're not. You are a loyal Hufflepuff who believes in the good in others. It's one of your strengths, but it's also one of your weaknesses."

"Loyalty and faith are _never_ weaknesses, love. If there's a reason to fight, you can be sure I'll be right there doing my part."

"That's what I was afraid of."

She placed her palms on each of his cheeks before kissing his forehead. A tiny voice inside her told her that it was a good thing she was going to die soon. Imagining a world without Caradoc Dearborn in it to make her laugh was a nightmare. He returned her kiss and with a dazed and still quite befuddled expression on his face, walked to the backroom. If he truly needed something from the stockroom or if he was simply needing a moment alone, it didn't matter.

"Did I walk into something serious?"

Rodolphus didn't even have a chance to stop walking before Hermione's arms were around his waist and her head on his chest. She'd been extremely emotional for days. A feeling she tried to ignore that this would be the last time she was in the store was overwhelming. Remembering that there was still a weekend ahead and Christmas still hadn't arrived, she realized it was a foolish thought. Unless she was killed that night, she'd be back in the morning to help open the shop.

"You've been acting strange today, Hermione. Are you feeling all right?"

She stepped away from her worried cousin to continue the restocking. It was an inane task that gave her hands something to do while she feared her mind would go mad. Rodolphus didn't hesitate to turn the corner around the shelves to follow her. The worry lines on his forehead grew even more pronounced.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong, Roddy."

"Don't lie to me, Cousin. I know you too well."

Telling him the truth wasn't an option. If he suspected for even a moment that she was in serious trouble, he'd shove her under his arm and run. There was nothing he wouldn't do to keep her safe. Rodolphus would spend the rest of his life running if it meant she would stay alive. As much as it warmed her heart to know the depths he would go to help her, she knew she couldn't be selfish. She couldn't tell him everything. Instead, she leaned up on her tiptoes, kissed his cheek, and reminded him about Neville.

"Are you ever going to explain to me what that means?"

"No. You'll figure it out for yourself soon enough."

He'd tried many times over the years to wriggle out of the secret, but she wasn't budging on her determination to remain silent. It was her own way of trying to keep _him_ safe. Maybe one day he would realize her intentions. She hoped so.

"Want to tell me what was happening with you and Caradoc?"

"Nothing serious. I was just telling him not to do anything stupid."

"Are _you_ planning on doing something stupid?"

Rodolphus was more perceptive than she usually gave him credit for. Sometimes he surprised her with a well-timed remark. He also knew her very well. Her secrets might have never been revealed to him, but he was close enough to her to know more than she probably realized.

"Who _plans_ to do anything stupid, Roddy?"

Her attempt to joke off his concerns fell flat. Just as she was about to try another approach to assure him that she was all right, a commotion in the shop caught their attention. Subtle at first, some of the animals grew restless. Owls hooted. Kitten mewled. The lizards and rats paced their cages. It steadily grew worse. Hermione felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up when the animals reached a fever pitch. Afraid to turn around to face the front window, she summoned up her courage.

Greyback made no secret that he was staring at them both. None of the animals calmed with the werewolf outside. When she made eye contact with the monster, his lips quirked into a feral grin. He winked at her and stalked off. Slowly, the animals began to quieten down. Hermione, however, could still feel her heart pounding. If his purpose was simple to remind her that he was nearby and always watching, he'd made that clear.

"What the bloody hell was that about?"

The entire event lasted less than a minute. She hardly had enough time to give her cousin standing next to her a second thought. The fearful expression on his features made it clear that he was fully aware of the identity of the man they'd just seen outside on the pavement.

"Nothing you need worry about, Roddy."

He refused to let her brush him off. After demanding repeatedly that she tell him what was going on, Hermione relented. Nothing but the truth would satisfy him, so she gave him an edited version of her history with Fenrir Greyback. Leaving out all mention of the night he attacked her or the other times he'd managed to get his filthy hands on her body, she explained that he had an unnerving obsession with her, but it wasn't something that she worried too much about.

"If you're not worried, why did Igor give you the locket?"

"I suppose because _he_ was worried."

"And yet you continue to wear it?"

"Call me a sentimental fool, if you wish."

She would tell him no more. Already she'd revealed more than she ever intended. Her owls were settled and between the two men in the shop, there really was no need for her to be there. It bothered her to step outside knowing Greyback was nearby, but she had an appointment that couldn't be missed. Hermione removed her apron, kissed her cousin's cheek and swore to him that he had nothing to fear. She really hated lying to him.

Outside in the cold a few minutes later, she could still feel Greyback's presence. A quick scan of the area proved that he was just a few stores down watching her every move. She wasn't sure if it was frightening knowing where he was or just annoying. The Full Moon would be the next night. He was usually restless and desired to at least smell her scent nearby. She never forgot the warning that Igor gave her about allowing him to catch her alone right before the Full Moon. There was a desperation in a werewolf in that time. He would be even more dangerous than usual.

Not taking any chances, Hermione kept the monster in her line of sight as she Disapparated away from the busy Diagon Alley to a quiet alley in a less fashionable part of London. She'd been mentally ticking a list of all of the people in her life she wanted to see before she disappeared. Each visit had been difficult in their own way, but an addition to her next would prove to make it just a little harder, just a smidgen less palatable than all the rest. She would not only be saying goodbye _again_ , but breaking a rule for herself she swore she'd never break _again_.

Grace opened the front door to their tiny flat with a bright smile on her face. Baby Dean, on her hip, reached his arms out towards his godmother without a single hesitation. Hermione scooped him up in a heartbeat, covering his giggling face with kisses. She had grown to love the baby a great deal. His precious mother who was always so quick with a smile and a joke had become a cherished friend. Life was cruel in its punishments.

Hermione didn't linger long in the flat. Her heart couldn't take too much of it. When Dean's beautiful eyes that he'd inherited from his father began to droop, she gladly accepted the task of laying him down for his mid-morning nap. For several minutes she stood over his cot watching his tiny chest rise and fall with each contented breath he took. She would give her very life and all that she had to spare him from pain. After a final kiss to his face, she whispered that she loved him and slipped out of his nursery.

It was tempting to take Grace up on her offer to stay for tea. Hermione had enjoyed her visits with the charming Muggle in the past. Each second she remained in the flat, she began to lose her nerve. If she stayed too long, she wouldn't be able to walk away. Thomas promised her that he would _obliviate_ her from his wife's memory that night. It was for Grace's protection. And little Dean's too. They would both be safer if neither of them knew of her existence. She was grateful that at least she didn't have to cast the actual memory spell.

She made her excuses for not being able to stay longer and slipped out of the flat. Hermione thought about Thomas' statement about there coming a day when he kissed his wife and son goodbye and never returned. It was difficult to walk away from them when she _knew_ it would be the last time she ever saw them again. How much worse was it for Thomas not knowing?

Snow began to fall as she walked down the Muggle street. It seemed fitting somehow, a physical manifestation of her mood. How much gloomier would it all get before it was over?

* * *

December 22, 1980

 **6:00 am**

Her alarm woke Hermione out of a restless sleep. Not ready to get out of bed just yet, she rolled over on her side to stare at the sleeping wizard next to her. She could feel it in the air. _Something_ was about to happen. Her time was almost up.

* * *

December 22, 1998

 **5:00 pm**

The Minister for Magic was only able to endure being in his office until five in the afternoon. Waiting around all day for the arms on his clock to tick on was no way to live. He couldn't bear it for another second. Though his final plans for how he would wait out the rest of the day were unclear, Kingsley knew he had to get out of the Ministry. If he had to sit still for another minute, he would lose the last few strands of his sanity.

Gemma tried to stop him when he stepped out of his office, but he ignored his assistant and kept walking. Nothing but a national emergency would keep him. He knew his behavior was wrong and more than a little rude. Perhaps when he had Hermione back, he'd make it up to his assistant in some way. Flowers would probably give her the wrong idea about his intentions. A bottle of wine or fire whiskey might encourage the deluded witch to try to force him to partake in a glass with her whether he wanted to or not. Maybe a small bump in pay and removal to the Auror Department. Iain thought her pretty and it was past time he got over his unrequited love for Nymphadora Lupin.

Almost as if thinking about the man summoned him forth, Kingsley heard Iain's shout behind him in the Atrium. Even though he was reluctant to stop and give in to any impediment to his swift exit, he stopped moving to wait for his friend. Iain's face was lit up with an excitement he'd only seen when there was an exciting development in a case he was working on. He resolved to definitely move Gemma into the younger man's path. Work seemed to be the only thing he had in his life. Kingsley knew better than most that that was no way to live.

"I have a lead on that investigation of yours."

Iain winked. The Minister bit back a laugh. It was a good thing Iain had his talents in other areas. Stealth and secrecy were something of a struggle for him at times, auror or no. Better suited to using sheer force and intimidation, he wouldn't have lasted long in any position that forced him to keep a secret well. Unspeakable was a title he would likely never carry.

"Think I've almost got him. Just need some permission to try something a little unorthodox."

"If you think it'll catch the werewolf, you have my authorization."

"Excellent! Where are you off to in such a hurry?"

There seemed no reason to lie. Especially considering he wasn't giving the full details.

"Hogsmeade. I'm hoping to meet a pretty witch there later tonight."


	91. Chapter 91

_Author's Note: Strangely enough, to me, anyway, several people have expressed some concern about me leaving Tumblr. Many of them were sad that I'm not longer posting anything there about updates, previews, etc. (I honestly was shocked that anyone at all was following me and definitely didn't expect anyone to care that I left the site.). I've recreated my_ ** _Canimallow_** _tumblr to post these sneak peeks, update announcements, etc. You can feel free to follow me if you want, overload my Ask box with questions, tag me in posts, share my posts, or whatever, but please don't be offended if I don't follow you back. I am trying to distance myself from the toxicity of that site the best way I know how. It's nothing personal, I promise. I will be sharing more soon when this behemoth of a story is over. Some exciting (to me, anyway) things are coming! I'm probably insane, but I'll share more about that later._

 _Thank you all for the encouragement on the last chapter. I was completely blown away by the response!_

* * *

 **In case you aren't following it, a new Additional Scene has been added to the Additional Scenes story on my profile. It's from Salazar's point of view. Might not be a horrible idea to read that one before you read this chapter, but it doesn't really matter.**

* * *

Chapter Ninety-One

December 22, 1980

 **6:01 am**

In Hermione's estimation, Kingsley could sleep through anything. A Hungarian Horntail could swoop over their house, bite off a chunk of their roof, and shoot flames from its mouth straight to their bed and he still wouldn't stir. Many times in the past she wondered how he was successful at being an auror if he slept so soundly. Perhaps his senses were utilized so heavily when he was out in the field that he required a recharge before he could use them again. Or, perhaps most likely, he had never lived in a home where he wasn't completely and totally secure. From a small child onward, he'd always had the strength of conviction that he would be protected and safe within the walls of the building he called home.

She adored his innocence. For being such a worldly man out there amongst the roughest characters in their society every single day, there was a simplicity to him that charmed her more than she realized. Kingsley could be frustratingly stubborn when it came to what he believed was good and right. Never had she met anyone who lived such a stark black and white existence. To her wizard, there were good people and there were bad people. Nothing else. There were actions that were acceptable to take and there were those that weren't. It was a trait that she knew he would eventually grow out of when he got older. She lamented the loss of that innocence. Would it be happening soon? Or would he gradually lose it as the years passed with no word of what actually happened to her?

It was pointless to lay in the dark of her bedroom and wish that everything was different. She had known this time was coming since the very beginning of her sojourn into the past. Years earlier she had been naive enough to hope that she would get her time turner working again at the last minute. She reached underneath the collar of the Quidditch jersey she'd stolen from Kingsley to pull out the magical artifact that had been her constant companion since Aberforth pulled it over her head that night so long ago in the back of The Hog's Head.

A ray of light from a lamppost outside illuminated to piece of metal. She ran her fingertips over the engraving. _'Till all the seas gang dry'_. Even simply reading the words she could hear them belted out in Kingsley's perfect baritone. Their home had been filled with the sounds of his singing ever since she moved back in. She was certain that she would never get tired of hearing it. The wizard sang in the shower, in the kitchen as he cooked, in the garden as he pulled weeds, throughout the house as he just lived. Would he continue to sing when she was gone?

She turned her head away from the slumbering mountain of blankets and masculinity. Just for a moment. All she needed was a break from staring at him for a single moment. Perhaps then she would be strong enough to forget what was about to happen. Her eyes landed on a bouquet of red roses on her nightstand. Charmed to remain fresh and beautiful for as long as she was alive, they were another reminder of how much her Kingsley loved her. Always red roses. Never anything else. Would he ever be able to look at another red rose again without feeling crushing sadness or hopeless anger? Would he be reminded of the good times they shared and the joy they experienced? Or, would that be something else he would lose because of her?

Unable to look at the roses any longer, Hermione rolled onto her back. The cold metal of the time turner warmed in the clutch of her hand. It was the symbol she'd carried all of those years that there was hope for a return to the timeline she belonged. Once she believed that she would be able to turn the device and be back with her loved ones in the future. She'd clung to the foolish dream that she wouldn't become just another lost soul in the brutal war. Her curiosity getting the better of her, she spun the time turner. Maybe this time it would be different. This time it would work.

 _Nothing_. It was as broken as the morning after she arrived. A second spin, a third spin, a tenth spin. _Nothing_. Just useless, sentimental, old rubbish. There would be no last minute escape from her fate. No final hour save. Whatever happened next, she had to face it with the understanding that she was completely on her own. She sighed, the weight of the realization crushing.

"Are you all right, Little Witch?"

Hermione jumped, not expecting to hear a voice in the stillness of their bedroom. Still heavy with sleep, Kingsley's tone was hoarse and scratchy. She loved every syllable. Deciding not to give in to her maudlin state of mind, she slipped the time turner back under her collar and moved closer to her wizard. When her lips pressed against his in the dark, she could feel his smile. A contented moan in the back of his throat tingled all the way down to her toes. If this was to be the last morning they woke up together, she would make certain that it was memorable.

"Much better now. I thought you'd never wake up."

Even waking up after only a few hours of sleep wasn't excuse enough for Kingsley to push his witch away. She knew he was tired and she was being selfish, but she didn't care. If one couldn't be self-centered on the last day of their life, when could they? As she lazily enjoyed the feel of his mouth on hers, the gentle invasion of her mouth, she pushed away the thoughts that she was going to kiss him goodbye and never see him again.

It was the night of the Full Moon. Greyback had been suspiciously absent since he stood outside the Magical Menagerie days earlier. She knew it was foolish to hope that meant he would leave her alone for the Full Moon cycle. The way he stared at her through the glass window of the shop and waited for her out in the Alley had been some kind of message, a warning that she could never grow too complacent. Wherever she went, he would follow.

Kingsley surprised her the night before by coming home just as she was preparing to go to Hogsmeade for the night. She didn't know why Moody insisted he take the night off and she didn't care. Feeling his strong arms wrapped around her body had been all she wanted. Though he didn't know the details, he knew she was calmer when he was around as the moon reached its brightest point.

Several times she considered telling him about Greyback, and each time, she stopped herself. What was the use? He would feel pity for her and when he reached the point in the future when he finally understood he was the reason she arrived in the past, he would never be able to forgive himself for his complicity in all of the awful events that befell her during that time. And nothing she told him would convince him that he wasn't guilty. If she didn't blame him, why should be blame himself?

"If this is the kind of good morning I get every time I get sent home early, I'm going to convince Moody I'm not fit to work more often."

"This is only the beginning of what I have planned for you."

As she moved to drape her smaller frame over his much larger one to make her point, she was struck by his words. Stopping, she pulled her face away from his with a concerned flicker in her eyes. Kingsley reached for her, but she pushed him back down.

"What did you mean 'not fit for work'?"

"Nothing. It's not important."

He leaned up to wrap his arms around her back and recapture her lips. She pushed him away yet again with a firm hand on his chest. Usually he was skilled enough to make her lose her mind even temporarily with the practiced, expert touches to her body. That morning, however, she was not about to be distracted. She wanted answers. Something in his words didn't sit right with her and she wanted to know the truth. Realizing that he was fighting a losing battle, Kingsley sighed and laid back down on the bed.

"My head wasn't in it yesterday. Several of us were supposed to meet up just outside the Forbidden Forest. There's been an increase of werewolf attacks and Moody's still convinced we'll find the answers on the other side of the forest. Long before it got dark we were in the woods looking for signs. Are you sure we can't just go back to kissing? This isn't important."

" _Tell_ me."

She wouldn't let him back down.

"I just kept thinking of you, Little Witch. Kept thinking how I have been away from you _every_ single Full Moon since you moved back in. I know you don't like to talk about it, and I'm not asking you to, but I know you get frightened during the Full Moon."

"I'm all right."

Kingsley scoffed, but it was far from being derisive or even mean-spirited. He rolled his eyes and smiled his broadest grin.

"You're always _all right_ , Hermione. I'm well aware that you can take care of yourself. That's not the point. I just thought about you being all alone and I hated it."

"You're not telling me everything."

He sighed.

"I was almost cursed in the face when I wasn't looking…"

"Kingsley!"

"But I wasn't! Saw the bugger at the last second. We'd stumbled upon a camp of some sort in the woods. Don't know if they were werewolves or Death Eaters or just vagrants. They didn't appreciate our arrival. When they were either captured or managed to get away, Moody told me to go home. I was of no use to him dead."

Hermione was grateful that Alastor Moody had the presence of mind to send his aurors home when they needed a break. He was a relentless taskmaster, always expecting perfection and for them to work inhuman hours. The money he made as an auror was good, but she'd several times offered to pay for everything if he'd find something safer. She hadn't been surprised or even offended when he refused the generous offer to be her 'kept wizard'. In truth, if she thought she had the ability, she might have even locked the man up in a cage for his own good. Future knowledge or not, she hated the very idea of him being out amongst the dregs of their society fighting for his very existence. She would never forget Antonin's promise that one day he would stand over Kingsley's grave. He was a man who usually followed through on his promises no matter how horrendous.

"You're no good to _anyone_ dead, Kingsley."

Her tone was harsher than she meant it. The moment her words came out, Hermione regretted them. Was she really ruining the last morning they were likely to ever share to berate him for his carelessness? To soften the blow, she leaned back down to kiss him again. Within seconds, all was forgiven. Or, at least forgotten for the moment.

Neither of them were in a rush to do much of anything beyond explore the other's body. The rest of the day and the rest of the world would be waiting for them when they were ready to leave their sanctuary. There were no secrets in their flesh. They'd found them all out years earlier, but they continued to try. Hermione ran first her hands over every part of her wizard she could touch and then her mouth and tongue. She wanted to have the feel of his skin burned in her memory for the rest of her short life, the taste of him on her tongue. Kingsley was in no position to argue.

There was a sweetness to their last bout of lovemaking that she had not expected. When emotions were high between the two, as they often were in their tumultuous relationship, they often bit and scratched and clung to each other. Passion could be violent. Instead of pressing her against the mattress and pounding her into blissful oblivion as he usually did, he caressed her tenderly, never taking his eyes off of hers as he slid in and out of her pliant body. His lips never stopped moving. Either kissing her to distraction or whispering all of the kind, loving words she longed to hear, he made her feel valued and loved. It was every bit as intense as the bedroom acrobatics they usually engaged in, but much more special.

"I lose my head when you're around, Little Witch."

A gasp was all the response she could muster. He always knew the right combination of touch and words to make her mind go all fuzzy. She didn't worry about anything other than _feeling_ what was happening. It would never happen again, she was certain of it. They only had a finite number of moments to ignore the world outside of their bedroom. Too soon they would be separated forever. Would Kingsley continue to wait for her long after there was no hope left that she'd return? Imagining him shutting himself up inside their home alone for the rest of his life clinging to a strand of a dream that would never come true shattered the last remnants of her heart.

She didn't want to ruin what was shaping up to be one of their better mornings with her maudlin mood. Kingsley deserved more than that. _She_ deserved more than that. Afraid that the tears that always seemed so close to the surface were about to spill out, Hermione closed her eyes. He slowed his motions to hover over her face and press a gentle kiss to each closed eyelid.

"Please don't close your eyes. I want to see them."

Unable to deny his simple request, she met his eyes again. There was concern and an immense amount of love inside his depths. His thumb carefully brushed away the tears that couldn't be stopped. She felt embarrassed by the display, but each time she tried to close them again, Kingsley coaxed them back open with a soft word and tender touch.

When they were both able to find their release, she wrapped her arms around his neck and held him close. Despite his amused protests that he was surely crushing her tiny body, Hermione refused to relent. She wanted to feel the weight of him. It had always brought her an immense amount of joy and comfort. If that was the last time she was privileged enough to feel it, she didn't want to waste a single second.

"I love you, Kingsie."

"And I love you. So very, _very_ much."

Remaining in bed forever unfortunately wasn't an option. After a few minutes of languid kisses and gentle caresses, Kingsley broke the spell. He would be running late for work if he didn't get up soon. No matter how many times she pulled on his arm and begged him not to leave, the laughing wizard would not be dissuaded. She supposed his sense of loyalty and duty were some of the traits she was attracted to the most, but it didn't mean she was happy to watch him disappear into the bathroom.

She pulled herself out of the bed minutes after she first heard the sound of the shower running. If Kingsley wasn't going to shirk his duties for their last day together, she determined to make it as normal a day as possible. Years from that morning when he looked back to remember what it had been like before she disappeared, Hermione wanted him to have the best recollection possible. Pulling his thick, heavy robe around her, she inhaled the scent he left behind as she made her way to the kitchen.

It was an ordinary morning. Just one more in a long line of hundreds with the expectation that hundreds, thousands more loomed before them. She couldn't shake the feeling that something was off about the day, and if her wizard sensed a change in the air, he made no mention of it. Thinking about eating made Hermione's stomach feel queasy, but she enjoyed watching Kingsley tuck away his usual mass amount of food. It always amused her to watch him eat. Katie instilled impeccable manners in both of her sons which they never failed to display even as they were eating more than any three men should at one sitting. She smiled many times during that meal. When he couldn't possibly fit another bite of eggs in his mouth, Kingsley rose from the table and kissed her cheek.

"I'm going to work late tonight. Moody'll probably make me work late tomorrow night too since I asked for Christmas Eve off."

"Promise me you'll be careful."

"I'm _always_ careful, Little Witch."

His cheeky wink made her laugh. Not ready to let him walk out the door just yet, she stood up and wrapped her arms around his waist. Even though he was getting perilously close to being late for work, he didn't push her away.

"Stay with your dad tonight. I'll feel better about you."

"I will."

"Tomorrow night too. Just to be safe. Don't forget about Christmas Eve. I have plans that'll make what we did this morning seem boring and tame."

He winked again and she feared she might cry. There would be no special Christmas Eve date. He'd had it planned for weeks and every single day since it seemed that he was reminding her that it was going to be special and something she wouldn't want to forget. Considering she'd already found the diamond ring in its velvet box inside his robes again, she had no doubt at all that he was planning a proposal that no one in their right mind would be able to refuse. The innocence of the man meant that he was still unaware that she suspected a thing, and she wouldn't dream of disappointing him by revealing the fact that he was adorably terrible at keeping a secret.

"I love you, Kingsley Dean Shacklebolt."

With an odd expression on his countenance as if he couldn't understand why she was suddenly being so formal, her wizard stepped away from the table to sweep her into his arms again. He kissed her with a ferocity and a confidence she felt in every single cell in her body. When he broke it off, he winked again.

"I love you too, Little Witch."

She tried to say the hateful word she never wanted to utter to him as he walked out of the kitchen, but she couldn't make her mouth form the word. _Goodbye_. It was so final and so cold. The front door of their cozy, little house opened and closed behind him before she could whisper what she'd failed to say. For longer than she was aware, all she could manage to do was stand perfectly still staring at the closed door with thoughts of Thomas' words running through her mind.

 _"There's going to be a day that I kiss my wife and kiss my son goodbye in the morning and then never see them again."_

It was a fact of their dangerous world that she had never wanted to contemplate. Thomas _would_ be a victim in the violence that swirled around them. His words held a poignancy to them that she could finally understand. He might not know the exact date when his last morning with Grace and Dean would come, but she knew instinctively that she'd just had hers with Kingsley. It was enough to make her want to run after the wizard and force him to stay behind. He wouldn't, though. Not without a good explanation that she wasn't capable of providing. If he didn't think she was completely mad, he would put his safety in jeopardy trying to assure hers.

An abrupt tapping on her kitchen window startled Hermione out of her frozen state. Wiping at her eyes, she rotated in place away from the door to step towards the sink. She hadn't been expecting any post. As she removed the scrap of parchment from the unfamiliar owl's leg and fed him a treat, she worried that she was holding Rabastan's excuses for missing lunch. They were supposed to meet in Diagon Alley for a late lunch once she left the Magical Menagerie for the day. Knowing that she was running out of time and his schedule had been nothing less than erratic, she feared that she was about to read his request that they reschedule their lunch plans _again_.

Thomas' familiar script set her mind at ease. Her lunch date with her cousin was still on. It would have been terribly upsetting for her if she had missed her chance to say goodbye to Rabastan. Since they'd reconciled after their horrid row in the midst of his grief, she had enjoyed his company. He had tactfully stayed away from the home she shared with Kingsley since she moved back in, but they made time for each other whenever they could. She chose to ignore the reason why he'd been so busy lately was because he was working for Lord Voldemort. If she'd had known years earlier how easy it was to simply _ignore_ and compartmentalize horrible facts like that about the people she loved, she wouldn't have believed it. The past had been an effective tool in knocking off some of her worst Gryffindor edges.

 _Urgent we speak this afternoon. Meet me outside Andromeda's shop at 3. -T_

She didn't care much for the tone of his note. It was too serious, too business-like. Usually when he sent her messages they were more uplifting and humorous than that. Whatever he needed to speak to her about must have been urgent indeed. She feared that he finally had some idea of what might bring about the ending to his life that they both knew was coming. The location he requested was rather odd, but she didn't think too much about it. Andromeda's shop had lots of corners they could speak in hushed whispers where no one would hear them. Besides, it wouldn't seem too odd or out of character for them to meet inside a friend's shop so close to Christmas. Anyone who saw them would just assume they were buying last-minute presents for the holiday.

Although she still detested showering in an empty house, Hermione had no other choice. She was expected when her cousin's shop opened that morning to help with the large number of customers they were hoping would come through the door. Her owls had been flying off the shelves as Caradoc frequently liked to say. She always rolled her eyes at his pun, but usually granted him at least a pity laugh. There was still a lot to do to prepare for Christmas. Commerce didn't stop just because she had a gnawing feeling in her gut that she wasn't going to be around much longer.

Part of her was tempted to take the broken time turner off of her neck and throw it in the rubbish bin when she was getting dressed. What was the purpose of carrying that thing around if it didn't even work? Something stopped her from tossing it away from her body. Maybe it was just a foolish hope, but she couldn't get rid of it. Not when she was so diligent to wear it all of those years.

Leaving the home she shared with Kingsley was more difficult than she realized it would be. As she stood in the doorway, she had to force herself to take the next step. Hiding within the confines of the four walls she had grown to love so dearly was not a long-term solution to her problems. She was stronger than that. It might have been tempting to give in, but she was no coward. If she was going to meet danger that day, she would do so with her head held high. A final glance at the home over her shoulder would have to satisfy her. She ignored the urge to cry when the door shut for the final time.

All of the inhabitants of the Magical Menagerie were in an agitated state when she arrived in Diagon Alley. Owls were hooting. Kittens were mewling. Hisses could be heard from the reptiles. Not even the half-dead giant Flemish rabbit that hardly did much more than sleep all day long wasn't himself. Hermione had long ago expected the creature to die, but for reasons none of them quite understood, he persisted. She wasn't sure what the commotion was. Nothing seemed out of place or wrong. An incident like this only seemed to happen when there was some sort of disturbance: a storm, cantankerous new arrivals in their stock, an unexpected visit from a werewolf.

She stopped in her tracks. Is that what was happening? Was Greyback finally proving to her what he was going to do? There had been warnings, subtle and the opposite. Maybe she hadn't been listening properly. Her body's natural instincts and defenses usually gave her some indication when the monster was nearby. Had she been so caught up in her own thoughts and concerns that she'd neglected to notice? Frustrated voices raised in anger could be heard from the backroom. With no hesitation at all and her wand in her hand, Hermione ran towards the commotion.

"You're doing it wrong!"

All fear drained from her system. An amused giggle came out of her mouth as she watched a frustrated Caradoc standing over a sweaty, red-faced Rodolphus who was knelt on the floor attempting to fix the ancient furnace. The source of the agitation of all the creatures in the building suddenly made sense. It was positively broiling. She quickly removed her cloak.

"I know what I'm doing, Caradoc. I've fixed this blasted thing a dozen times before."

"No, no, you've _tried_ to fix it a dozen times before. Not the same thing. What did you do to break it this morning anyway?"

"I did _nothing_ to break it. It was a little cooler than I liked and I was concerned some of the new kittens were cold. Just a simple adjustment. That's all I did!"

"Roddy, you're my best friend and I will love you until the day that I die, but you have absolutely no business whatsoever touching any kind of machinery. Step away and let me fix this."

Hermione stood in the corner watching the two friends argue. It wasn't the first time she thought about Rodolphus' words years earlier when he said he wished he had the ability to love Caradoc the way that he deserved to be loved. They would have made the perfect, old, married couple. Half the time they acted like it already. She was grateful for the distraction of watching the two of them argue and push each other away from the furnace they'd disagreed about countless times before. Neither one of them seemed to remember that they were _both_ useless at fixing the bloody thing. They usually begged her to give it a go before she insisted they send an owl down the Alley to a wizard that was a professional at fixing malfunctioning magic appliances.

"Is there something I can do to help?"

Both men stopped pushing the other to stare up at the third member of the staff. She had an amused smile on her fact that neither of them appreciated. Each of them muttered a response that they had it all under control. When she knew they wouldn't give in yet to accept outside help, she stepped into the main room of the shop. It was almost time to open and it looked as if few of the animals had been fed. She thought it was no wonder they were upset.

Her morning passed too swiftly for her liking. Once Rodolphus was able to get the furnace working correctly by some miracle, they all went about the business of assisting the shoppers that were hunting for the perfect present and keeping the stock happy. Many times over the years that she'd been in the past someone made a comment to her that she was wasting her talents working in the pet shop. Perhaps they were right. If she had ever been so inclined to have a career within the Ministry of Magic as she'd hoped to do back when she was still Hermione Granger, it wouldn't have been difficult at all. Between the influence of her Uncle Regnault, her Uncle Albus, and the love and support of the influential Shacklebolt family, she could have set herself up nicely in an office.

She wouldn't have been nearly as happy, however. As soon as she tore off that burden around her neck that was her constant need to _prove_ to everyone that she was worthy to be a witch, she'd discovered a different path. In the beginning, she hadn't really wanted to get too entrenched in the wizarding society of the day. It seemed like a dangerous prospect for a time traveler. There were too many opportunities to make serious mistakes or set off dangerous alarms. Though she couldn't actually _change_ the past, she knew it was safer to interact with as few people as physically possible. Helping out part time in her father's pub and her cousin's shop seemed like the perfect solution. She worked enough that she didn't get bored and she thoroughly enjoyed herself in the process. Even if she was somehow able to make it back to the future, which she'd given up all hope of, she couldn't imagine wanting to return to path that she'd set for herself when she was still a Muggle-born girl with too much to prove and too little self-esteem.

Listening to Caradoc and Rodolphus continue to have rather gentle rows throughout the morning made her laugh and made her feel very sad at the same time. Selfishly, she felt sad that she wouldn't get to see them together again. Either she was going to die and it wouldn't matter. Or, she would figure out a way to survive and Caradoc would be dead and Rodolphus would be an altered man stuck in Azkaban for the rest of his miserable existence. Neither fate was worthy of the men. They each deserved to live to a ripe, old age with someone that they loved. But, as she often had to remind herself when she grew too despondent about what could and would never be, _many_ people in life never got a happy ending.

"Hermione, love, I think the morning rush is over now that lunchtime is through. Why don't you go ahead and leave? You're meeting Rabastan for lunch, aren't you?"

She didn't want to walk away from Caradoc. Or Rodolphus. Or the shop. There was a finality to the act that she wanted to avoid. Realizing that by staying she was only delaying the inevitable and sending up red flags to her loved ones that something was amiss, she removed her familiar apron and placed it on its hook behind the counter. Red flags or not, she resolved to not leave without saying her goodbyes. She hugged Caradoc tightly, startling the wizard. Though they often were affectionate with kisses to the cheeks or short hugs, this was different.

"Remember what I told you, Caradoc. There's _no_ shame in running away."

"And remember what I said to you, love. I'm no coward."

It was all she could do. Even if she blurted out that she knew at some point near the end of the war he would disappear, she couldn't trust that he would believe her or even be able to stop it from happening. She wished she knew the circumstances of his disappearance, but much like hers, there were no witnesses willing to share their story. When she released her hold on Caradoc, she crossed the shop to where Rodolphus was cleaning out the rat cages. In much the same manner as she had with the other member of staff she adored, Hermione hugged her cousin tightly. She whispered, loud enough for only him to hear, when she was finished brushing her lips against his cheek.

"I love you, Roddy. You'll always be my favorite."

"Hermione, what are…?"

" _Neville_ , Roddy. Never forget about Neville."  
Walking out of the Magical Menagerie threatened to shatter her heart even further than it already was. She couldn't imagine there ever being a moment when she was able to return. The sound of the door clicking shut behind her was deafening. A chapter of her life was over. Part of her was frustrated with the happy shoppers still milling around Diagon Alley. Did they not understand that her life was about to end? That the hopes and dreams for her future were nothing but rubbish and failures? Despite the violence that was happening every single day as the war raged on, they were able to find a measure of joy with Christmas looming up ahead. She resented them their innocence, their assertions that they would wake up on Christmas morning free and healthy enough to enjoy the holiday.

Rabastan was already waiting for her at the restaurant. Dressed flawlessly as he usually was in the expensive robes his father favored, she didn't miss the hardness present in his countenance that she'd somehow managed not to see before. His grief had changed him into a man she still loved, but did not like. They often met for drinks at a pub in London or her father's pub in Hogsmeade. But, even as they sat and tried to pretend like everything was just like old times, she knew he had transitioned into the stranger, the monster he had always been promised to become. She had no doubt that he already had blood on his hands. More would come later. It saddened her that, of all the people she met in the past, one of the people she wished she could help was her cousin. He wouldn't have accepted her help even if she had the ability to change the entire world.

"I'm not late, am I?"

"No, of course not! And, even if you were, I'm not Father. I don't care."

She granted her cousin a small smile. He wasn't entirely accurate. There were many mannerisms and personality traits that he'd undoubtedly inherited from his father. Though also very different in other ways, she imagined that had he not experienced the tragedy of losing his wife and daughter, Rabastan likely would've grown up to be a man just like Regnault. It was yet one more blow that the world had for her family. She might have had her own issues with her uncle over the years, but there were worse people that her cousin could turn out like.

Pushing aside the depressing thoughts of the man she remembered from the Department of Mysteries and then again from the Battle for Hogwarts, Hermione didn't want to waste the opportunity to share a pleasant meal with her cousin. Once upon a time they had been wonderful friends. They still attempted to pretend like they'd not changed, but the closer he grew to Bellatrix and the other Death Eaters he'd begun to admire, the further he moved away from her. There was no sense crying over something that couldn't be changed.

"Father has been rather close-lipped about the presents he's going to give us this year for Christmas. Usually I can get at least some kind of a hint from him, but not this year."

"Maybe he wants it to be a surprise. Is that so terrible?"

"Perhaps it's something special."

Hermione smiled. Rabastan had always been rather spoiled no matter how old he was. Some parts of life didn't change. She could imagine him being the same well into the future. It was difficult to keep a smile on her face when she remembered it would be less than a year away when the Potters were murdered and the Longbottoms tortured. By that time next Christmas, Rabastan would be in Azkaban seemingly for the rest of his natural life. She hoped that he would be able to enjoy this last Christmas before he was chucked away to have all of his best memories fed on by dementors, but she knew that there was no way her disappearance wouldn't alter the family's holiday plans.

When they finished the _first_ bottle of wine, the cousins were laughing and Hermione was able to push aside her worst fears for a little while. It was disingenuous to rely on alcohol to get her through the day she was dreading, but she didn't care. Alcohol had been such a large part of how she managed to even make it through the painful waiting time. Maybe if she was able to somehow survive and make it back to the future she would figure out how to stop drinking. Until then, she was determined to enjoy the last meal she would ever share with Rabastan.

Her cousin escorted her outside the restaurant when they were finished. Rarely could she remember having a better time with him. Bits and pieces of the funny man he was before tragedy struck him peeked through now and again. As they stood together on the pavement, Hermione gave no thought to all of the witnesses around them and squeezed Rabastan tightly. He made a joke about the intensity of the hug before squeezing her back.

"I wish you nothing but happiness, Rabby. I hope you can find it one day."

He wrinkled his forehead and tilted his head to stare. She knew that she had been allowing her emotions to show through with all of her farewells to her loved ones that day. Selfishly, she wanted them to remember the last time they saw her, spoke to her, hugged her close. Understanding that she was making her cousin uncomfortable, Hermione kissed his cheek and promised him that she would see him again soon. It was yet another lie that tore at her heart.

The time that she was supposed to meet Thomas at Andromeda's store was growing close, so she made her excuses to leave a confused and concerned Rabastan standing on the pavement. She was feeling the effects of the wine she'd imbibed over lunch. Her steps down the Alley were a bit wobbly and her head was a bit heavy. Too late she realized that if she was going to be attacked that day, being intoxicated had been a poor decision. _At least_ , she thought, _it was only wine and not fire whiskey._ She could function with no problems after drinking too much wine. There had been numerous occasions to practice throughout the years attending Regnault's boring parties.

Just like her cousin only a short time earlier, Thomas was already waiting for her in front of The Junk Shop. Even being so close to Christmas, there weren't any shoppers outside the shop. Secondhand junk was hardly a big seller for presents. She didn't waste a moment in greeting Thomas with a big hug. It was always nice to see him. They'd become very close over the years.

"I'm sorry I was running a little late. I just can't seem to get it together today."

"That's all right. I only just arrived myself."

"So what's with the mysterious note? Why did you want to meet me here?"

The happy grin on his face slipped a little when she asked her question. If it was possible, he seemed confused. Hermione began to feel uneasy for a reason she couldn't place.

"What are you talking about, Hermione? _You_ asked me to meet you here."

The uneasiness in the pit of her stomach grew. Something was very wrong. Thomas sensed it as well. She took a closer look at the area they were standing in. Not only were there few shoppers, there were _no_ shoppers. An eerie silence hung around them. Just as she reached into her pocket for her wand, a strong hand grabbed her wrist from behind.

She couldn't believe that they had been so foolish as to fall for the false letters. As she struggled to wiggle out of her attacker's grasp, she cursed herself for her recklessness. They should've noticed earlier that something was off. Unable to even see who was grabbing her, Hermione called out in vain for Thomas. Based on the sounds only inches away, he had his own enemy to fight.

A hateful laugh she detested sounded in her ear when she finally understood she was well and caught. Each of her arms were held painfully behind her back in a crushing grip she couldn't hope to get out of. There was no use even trying to struggle. She was no match to his physical strength. Without access to her wand, she was helpless.

"I'm surprised you actually fell for this, Dumbledore. I was under the impression that you were smarter than that."

She kicked Salazar Selwyn in the shin with the back of her foot. He hissed and squeezed harder.

"You filthy, little cunt! I'm going to make you pay for that."

While he continued to press his crushing grip on her, she watched the physical struggle still happening in their quiet corner of the Alley. She couldn't believe there was no one inside the shop to witness. If Andromeda was in there, she would call for the Ministry at once.

Hermione's gut roiled when she realized the opponent Thomas was wrestling in the street was none other than Fenrir Greyback. They were unevenly matched as well. Nothing about what was happening to them both was a fair fight. She screamed and begged Greyback to stop, to let Thomas go. Neither of them were willing to surrender. Greyback's unnatural strength and stamina gave him an advantage that he gleefully exploited. Werewolves always grew a bit stronger right before the Full Moon. With the sun setting in only a few hours, Greyback was going to easily win the fight. The claws on his left hand scraped down Thomas' cheek, leaving it shredded and bloodied. In the split second that it took for Thomas to scream and reach for his wound, Greyback's other hand closed over his wand. He ripped the wizard's only form of defense from his hand and threw it to the cobblestones beneath their feet. Thomas was completely defenseless.

Not once in all of the time since she discovered that Thomas was going to die did she even think for a single moment that she would be there to witness the tragedy. Nor did she think it was going to be her fault. He might have tried to argue with her about where to place the blame, but Hermione knew that if it hadn't been for her, neither of the two men attacking them would've had any quarrel with him. This was a personal ambush. Thomas would be killed because of _her_.

She screamed at the werewolf to stop hurting him. Greyback was lost in the mindless violence. If he didn't stop soon, Thomas would be dead. Even if she _knew_ it was going to happen, she tried to deny it. Maybe getting the monster's attention would be all Thomas needed to get away. Her life was forfeit. Neither Greyback nor Salazar would let her leave. She was strangely all right with that realization. But, Thomas deserved better. He had a wife and a son who needed him. Much more than Hermione needed him.

Thomas was too exhausted to keep fighting, especially without a wand. His handsome face was covered in blood and he could barely stay on his feet. When Greyback's hand closed around his throat, Hermione was certain it was all over. She was going to see her best friend murdered in front of her eyes and there was _nothing_ she could do to stop it. Salazar's grip on her was too tight. Greyback squeezed Thomas' throat, causing him to gasp. The werewolf turned to stare at Hermione for the first time since their altercation began.

"I'm going to kill him, little girl."

"Please don't! Let him go. He's nothing to do with us. Just release him and I'll do whatever you want."

The corner of his mouth curled into a terrifying smile. He was hoping she would say those words. With a nod of his head to the dreadful wizard holding her, Salazar released his hold. She wouldn't be foolish enough to run away with Thomas' life still hanging in the balance. He couldn't breathe. If she didn't act quickly, he would be strangled. Knowing exactly what he wanted from her, Hermione pulled the locket over her head and dropped it to the stones. The moment it clattered to the ground, Greyback threw the injured Thomas to the ground. He stepped towards Hermione, kicking the hated locket out of his way with his heavy dragonhide boot. All she saw was Salazar moving to stand over Thomas with his wand pointed at the gasping wizard before Greyback touched her again.

His punishing hands were on Hermione the moment he was close enough to grab her. She wanted to push him away, but between fear for herself and fear for Thomas, she was almost frozen. Greyback pushed her against the nearest wall. He pressed his nose into her hair, inhaling the scent he craved so much. His hands never ceased their groping of her body. Determined to touch every square centimeter, she was grateful for the heavy winter clothing she had on. Even when his hands roughly squeezed her breasts or dipped between her thighs, there were several layers to shield her skin. Not that it mattered to the werewolf. She could feel his excitement, knew what he was going to do to his victim.

"Let Thomas go."

"Do what you're told, little girl, and I won't hurt him."

Hermione knew better than to believe a single word that came out of the monster's mouth, but it was all she could do. They were _both_ in grave danger and unlikely to make it out in one piece. She hated how vulnerable she was, how violated she was going to be before it was all over. Greyback was a disgusting monster intent on causing her the worst kind of pain imaginable. It would have been kinder for him to simply rip out of her throat with his filthy claws.

"I thought you would enjoy our little visit this afternoon."

She was surprised to hear the clearly amused tone of Salazar's. As Greyback continued to sniff and nip and squeeze where he desired, Hermione stared at the wizard she hated. Salazar had the nerve to actually _enjoy_ himself. When she got free from her captor, she resolved to make him pay.

"You know, Dumbledore, I've never forgiven you for what you did to my brother."

"I didn't do anything."

"Deny it all you want, you are the reason why he's dead. If he'd been left alive, I wouldn't have had to take his place, marry, have children. I never wanted any of that."

It hardly seemed like the time for Selwyn to unburden himself, but Hermione wasn't exactly in a position to argue. Time was running out for them both. Even though everything had happened in a remarkably short period, every minute that passed brought them all closer to the Full Moon. Greyback would do what he desired with her then. She wasn't sure how she was going to keep him from accomplishing his task, only that she knew she had to succeed.

"You took my brother from me. It's only fair I take the closest thing you have to a brother in exchange."

Salazar's eyes sparkled with a murderous rage that made Hermione's blood run cold. He stared down at his intended victim, still quite weak from his attack by the werewolf. She screamed and pushed at Greyback to get him away from her. It was a futile effort, of course, but she couldn't just stand there and do nothing. Thomas deserved more than that.

"If you're concerned about your wizard, don't be. I'll make sure Kingsley isn't alone. Perhaps I can even help him forget his grief."

His disgusting wink set Hermione off. She beat her tiny fists against Greyback's chest to his amusement.

"You promised he wouldn't be hurt!"

"No, little girl. I promised that _I_ would not hurt him. Selwyn's going to do it for me."

"You monster!"

She continued to scream and beat at him. He had the audacity to laugh. One of her kicks met their mark in his leg, but he simply brushed it off. When she was certain that Salazar was about to scream the Killing Curse, Greyback turned to address his partner in crime over his shoulder.

"Leave the boy be for now. Remember, we're supposed to wait for _him_ before we do anything else to Shacklebolt."

Salazar shouted several colorful curses in his anger. Despite repeated assurances from Greyback that he would get his chance to take his revenge out on the boy, he wouldn't be calmed. Hermione wished she knew what was going to happen next, what she had to prepare herself for. None of it was good.

"I've got what I came for."

Greyback slipped his arm around Hermione's waist and threw her entire body over his shoulder. The ease with which he committed the physical feat terrified her even more. What else was he capable of doing when he set his mind to it? She met Thomas' terrified eyes as the werewolf began to leave the area.

"Eighteen spins, Hermione. _Spin_ it."

Thomas' voice was hoarse, but clear enough to understand. Neither of their attackers understood the meaning of his words. He repeated himself when Hermione made no response.

"But it doesn't work."

"My brother would never send you without a way to get you back."

His statement hung in the air. There was more confidence in his single sentence than Hermione had ever heard him say anything else before. _Especially_ when it came to his little brother. As Greyback carried her away into the dim, narrow alleys and dark corners that made up that little used section of Wizarding London, she knew he was right. Kingsley was an intelligent man. He wouldn't have gone through the dangers of sending her back to the past without a way to bring her back to the future. She had to think quickly. There was very little time remaining. If Greyback was able to accomplish what he hoped to… She couldn't even finish the thought.

The end of Diagon Alley led into a series of narrow, winding streets that had been added haphazardly over the past centuries. Much like the Weasleys used magic to add odd additions to The Burrow, the side streets off of the main shopping district made little sense. Greyback seemed to know them well enough. Unsure where she was even located, Hermione made the determination that no matter what happened, she would never submit. It was an act of submission that would accomplish Greyback's goal of marking her as his mate. If she refused to submit, if she fought him every single step of the way, she might die, but she would die on her own terms.

He dropped her to her feet in between two crooked buildings. Either the district was abandoned or no one was home. She got the feeling that even if she did scream for help, no one would come running.

"I should have done this _years_ ago."

Greyback pressed her up against the wall of one of the crumbling structures. Try as she might, he made it impossible for her to reach the pocket she carried her wand. Yet again, she was left defenseless.

"I'm going to fight you," she declared. "Every single step of the way. If you think I'm going to _submit_ , you're very wrong."

The monster liked the bit of fire she was showing. It had always attracted him. His laughter should've frightened her, but Hermione refused to show fear again. If he was going to attack her, she could not stop him. All she could control was how she conducted herself. Part of what made him so excited was when she was afraid. He loved the way she smelled when she was scared.

"You'll submit. I'll wear you down and when I do, you're mine."

His harsh lips were instantly crushed against hers, his tongue quick to invade her mouth. She wanted to gag. In his demented mind, he saw what he was doing as some kind of perfectly normal mating ritual. Did he really believe she was attracted to him? That she _wanted_ him? There really was no way to convince a monster like him that what he was doing was wrong. He felt justified by the animal urges that plagued his cursed body. It was truly reprehensible and revolting.

As Greyback continued his attack on her mouth, he moved his hand to her hip, further blocking her from being able to reach in for her wand. Whether or not he realized that was the pocket she kept it in didn't matter. She felt along the wall for anything that could be used as a weapon. When her hand closed on a heavy brick, she could've cried in relief. It wasn't much, but it was better than nothing. To throw the werewolf off-guard and hopefully distract him long enough to put her sudden plan in motion, Hermione slid her tongue deliberately against his. The deep, excited growl in the back of his throat proved that he liked it. Convinced that she was suddenly interested and a willing participant, Greyback pressed his unyielding body against hers and deepened his kisses. Willing her lunch to remain in her stomach, Hermione reciprocated until she was certain he was focused on nothing but her mouth.

A brick to the werewolf's temple was only enough to stun him. Even when she put her full strength and fury behind the blow, she knew that she would likely only anger him. Without the benefit of his supernatural strength thanks to his cursed condition, his head would've cracked. It was, however, enough to startle him enough to grab his head and step backwards unsteadily. She knew she had to run the second he released his grip. Once he recovered, he would have the added benefit of supernatural speed to catch up with her.

All she needed was enough time to check the time turner again. Check the time turner and spin it eighteen times. She ran as fast as her legs would carry her further into the labyrinthine streets. Sounds of angry shouting and heavy footsteps threatened to overpower her, but she kept running. When her gloves got in the way of her spinning, she ripped them off and threw them to the ground.

There was chaos all around. More raised voices joined the ones she'd already heard until she couldn't be certain how many people were chasing her. Footsteps echoed. She knew if she stopped for even a moment to look over her shoulder to see who was coming after her, she would be captured. Running and spinning was all that mattered.

It was impossible to spin the time turner, let alone count out eighteen spins, while running. She wasn't even sure that it was working. Seeing an almost hidden staircase up ahead that led to a cellar, she climbed over the railing to land on her feet several feet below. If she was fortunate, Greyback would run right past her. Knowing that he was led more by his sense of scent than sight, she knew it was an ignorant hope.

Her heart pounded in her ears as she spun the time turner for the first time. Not expecting anything to happen, she almost cried out in joy when she saw the purple grains illuminate with an unseen light source. It hadn't done that in all of the nine and a half years she owned the blasted trinket. One spin down, seventeen more to go. She counted out the spins quietly to herself, terrified that she would be caught before she could finish. Perhaps it would be smart to spin it only once and when she was no longer in immediate danger, spin the rest. Her fear that the time turner would only work once prevented her from taking a shortcut.

The sounds on the street just a few feet above her head continued. Curses were shouted and lights of varying colors bounced off the cramped buildings. She didn't know who was fighting whom and wasn't about to stop to figure it out. Thomas told her to spin the time turner. It was her only hope.

"…fifteen… sixteen… seventeen…"

Heavy footsteps came down the stairs. She didn't look up. There wasn't enough time.

"…eighteen."

A rough hand grabbed her upper arm in a tight grip.

* * *

December 22, 1998

 **5:05 pm**

Snow was beginning to fall when Kingsley pushed open the door to The Hog's Head. Ordinarily, he loved the white powder that fell from the sky, but that day, it seemed like one more irritation to deal with. He stomped his boots just inside the pub on the mat Aberforth hadn't changed or cleaned in far longer than was sanitary. A quick glance up at the pub proved that no one else was there. No drunken patrons. No Aberforth. Tuesday nights weren't exactly his busiest evenings, but he was usually at least present.

"Aberforth? You here?"

The proprietor entered the main room from his private quarters with wide, unblinking eyes. It was apparent from the redness in his cheeks that he'd already been sampling his products that afternoon. Not that Kingsley could blame him. Aberforth was just as anxious and jumpy about that day as the Minister.

"I was checking on… I went into…"

Aberforth sighed, unable to finish his thought. He poured himself a glass, knocked it back in a single swallow, and tried again.

"I was in her room. Wanted to make sure it was ready if she…"

Kingsley nodded his head, but didn't say anything more. They were both trying to remain as optimistic as humanly possible. It wasn't easy for either of them. When Aberforth started to pour his guest a drink, the Minister waved him off. He wanted to keep a clear head that evening.

"She may not be coming back, son. Do you really want to be sober if that's the case?"

It may have sounded harsh, but the elderly wizard was only saying aloud what they were both thinking. Eighteen years of waiting could have been for nothing. Hermione might have been long dead. Realizing he had a fair point, Kingsley accepted the fire whiskey. In an accurate imitation of his friend, he swallowed it quickly in one gulp. There seemed no point to sip it when he needed the boost to his nerves immediately.

The bell tinkled over the front door announcing a new arrival. Aberforth's glass slipped from his hands to crash to the floor.


	92. Chapter 92

_Author's Note: Oh, come on, Lovelies! You should all know by now how much I LOVE cliffhangers. ;) They're fun for me, especially when you all scream at me how much you hate me in one breath and then beg me for more with the next. This chapter is back down to a more manageable size so I could go ahead and post it sooner. Believe it or not, it's pretty damn hard to write those monster chapters! Definitely can't just "hurry up" as some would like me to do. So, no apology whatsoever for it being shorter. I'll be back home in Texas this weekend. I didn't want there to be a long delay. Please don't expect another update until sometime next week. My priorities have to be with my family. Still a few more chapters left. Rough estimate is 2 or 3._

* * *

Chapter Ninety-Two

December 22, 1980

 **3:31 pm**

There was no possible way to shake off the tight grip on Hermione's arm. Each time she tried to shake off the hand, it clenched on even fiercer. It was too late to worry. With the last of the eighteen spins completed on her miraculously repaired time turner, the world began to spin. Unlike when she was just moving hours in the past when she was in third year, speeding through years was a much more jarring experience. Flashes of the activity that happened in the eighteen _years_ in the same spot she was standing in went by so quickly that to even try to make any sense out of what she was seeing made her head woozy and her stomach upset. Unable to even turn her head to get a glimpse of the unintentional time traveling stowaway, she had to close her eyes.

It seemed an eternity before the spinning ceased. Just as abruptly as it began, it stopped. Hermione crashed to the stones below. The hand released its hold as its owner likewise collapsed. When she'd been sent back in time by Aberforth nine and a half years earlier, she hadn't been expecting the journey. Somehow she imagined being prepared for the swirling and the shaking would make it easier, but she was very wrong. Unconcerned for the moment about anything but regaining her breath and waiting with her eyes closed until her head stopped spinning, she would worry about the consequences of what happened in a few minutes.

A quiet groaning feet from where she lay was what finally encouraged Hermione to ignore the pain in her head and get up. Or at least up as much as she could manage. Her legs felt wobbly and when she tried to put any weight on her arms to lift herself up off the ground, she slipped and fell back down. Recovery from time travel would take a bit longer than she expected. She'd assumed back in 1971 that the reason she wasn't at full speed when she came to in Aberforth's spare bedroom was because she hit her head on the way down. The truth was that even a textbook travel through time came with its own physical consequences.

She directed her attention to the pile of filthy robes laying just out of her reach. Whoever they were had their back to her and all she could see was large spots of mud and what looked suspiciously like blood splattered on their cloak. The groaning continued. They were in clear pain. Despite knowing it could very well be one of Salazar's goons or an innocent bystander who got caught up in all of the excitement in 1980, she felt an obligation to see if she could help.

Crawling across the stones would have to do for the moment. The longer she was aware of her surroundings, the easier it seemed to move. There wasn't any permanent damage to her body that she could tell. A visit to St. Mungo's would need to be a priority before she could rule anything out for certain. And, it appeared that her traveling companion was in dire need of some medical attention as well. Putting aside her fear for the moment, Hermione put her hand on the stranger's back and with all of the gentle care she could manage, pulled him down so he was laying on his back.

"Are you all… _Tommy_!"

Great big tears rolled out of her eyes the second she realized the bundle of rags laying on the ground next to her in what was ostensibly her correct timeline was her best friend. His handsome face was covered in dark bruises and bright red blood from the scratches. After a physical fight with a werewolf in his peak of strength, she could only imagine that what she couldn't see was much worse than what she could. Life wouldn't be cruel enough to take him from her after they'd survived, would it?

She shouted at herself internally to remain calm. Thomas needed her to think clearly and help him. His condition could very well be critical. How many other men were able to survive an attack like the one Greyback served him with? Reaching into her pocket to remove her wand and her beaded bag, she was thankful that her relentless paranoia kept her well-stocked with potions and salves that could heal even the gravest of injuries. Being one of Harry Potter's best friends had its challenges at times.

Her jar of dittany was easily found in the cavernous purse. She knew that a person who was just bitten by a werewolf was treated with dittany and powdered silver. Thomas was only scratched, none of Greyback's saliva made it into the wound, and he wasn't even transformed when it happened. Assuming she was able to patch him up and he wouldn't succumb to any internal injuries, he would just be cursed to walk through the rest of his life with a scarred cheek. A fleeting thought that she hoped his vanity wouldn't suffer was quickly squashed. What use would a pretty face be if he was dead?

Deciding that the wound on his face, though deep, was mostly superficial, she dug deeper into her bag for a healing potion. One had to be prepared for any eventuality when they were a personal enemy of the Dark Lord. Truthfully, she'd kept a ready supply of potions on hand since just after Greyback attacked her. In case there was a second attack, she wanted to be certain she didn't have to rely on the kindness of Katie or Marjorie for her potions. They were precious women who loved her dearly, but she didn't want them to know her secrets. It was too painful.

Once a vial of healing potion was found, she quickly uncorked it and opened Thomas' mouth. His breathing was shallow. The groaning had stopped. She knew without being any kind of expert that he was getting worse. Perhaps some of the initial shock was beginning to wear off his body. She remembered all too well how adrenaline and sheer determination in the minutes following an assault could give one the strength to carry on. But, she also knew that that was only temporary. When he calmed, his body would begin to feel the worst of his hurts.

She crawled closer to cradle his battered and bloodied head in her lap. If she allowed herself to stop for even a moment to consider the severity of the situation they were in, Hermione knew she would crumble and be unable to continue. Thomas had been her strength many times. Now she had to be his.

"Tommy, love, I need you to swallow this potion."

Her voice was pleading, desperate. She had to repeat herself three times before she saw the tiniest flicker in his eyes. Being conscious had to have been excruciating, but he was trying. Thomas puckered his lips, a nonverbal assurance that he would do as she asked. She tipped the healing potion in his mouth and did not remove the vial until the last drop was gone.

Waiting had never been something Hermione was particularly good at. Kingsley used to tease her that impatience was a trait that all females had in common before she'd chuck something she could reach at his head. If her wizard had been sitting with her in that exact moment, she wouldn't have argued. She stared at Thomas' body, begging him wordlessly to be all right.

It seemed an eternity until she saw the shallow breaths in his chest begin to deepen. The color returned to his skin. His wound on his face stopped bleeding. When he opened his eyes and smiled, Hermione burst into the tears she'd been holding back. Great, loud, heart wrenching sobs tore through her entire body. Not strong enough to pull her into his arms as he'd done many times in the past when she'd been emotional, Thomas reached for her hand and squeezed.

As soon as the urge to cry lessened, she knew she had to keep her mind occupied lest it happen again. She picked up the jar of dittany and began applying it to the wound on his face. There was nothing that could be done to prevent the scarring. Thomas would just have to live with the reminders of his brave fight with Greyback for the rest of his life. Hermione hoped it would be at _least_ as long as her adoptive father lived. Now that he was back with her, she wasn't going to let Thomas run off and do something foolish again to get himself killed. If he had to live in the bedroom down the hall from the one she shared with Kingsley for the rest of his life, she would make him. Imagining losing him a second time was too much to bear.

"How does it look?"

She didn't want to lie to him, but wasn't sure if he was prepared for the full truth. Greyback's brutality missed his eye. That was a small favor. Five deep scratches from each of his claw-like fingers cut a deep swath in his cheek. Once it was cleaned up, it _might_ not be too grotesque. She fought back the tears that threatened her anew. He'd always been so handsome and so proud of that fact.

"It's… well, honestly, Tommy, it's…"

His smile was a bit forced.

"That's all right. I've always heard that witches love scars. Makes a wizard seem _dangerous_ and mysterious."

"To me, you're the most beautiful man I've ever seen."

"Don't let my baby brother hear you say that. He's bound to get jealous."

Hermione kissed his forehead, so very, very thankful that he was there with her and seemed to be whole. Of course, she wouldn't rest comfortably until he'd been looked over by at _least_ a dozen competent Healers at St. Mungo's. Carefully and with a great deal of wincing, Thomas sat up. Neither of them were in a rush to leave the safety of the hidden staircase. Much like it had been eighteen years earlier, there wasn't a lot of foot traffic just above their heads. The sky was overcast and it was a chilly afternoon, but they were safe to be there for a few minutes yet.

There were a dozen questions she had for him. _How_ was it even possible that he was there? When Greyback carried her away, he was still laying on the ground with Salazar Selwyn standing above him. Even if it might have seemed like an eternity when she was alone with the werewolf as he pawed at her, she knew it was hardly longer than a few minutes. What happened when she left?

"Why are you here, Tommy?"

A flash of shame colored his features. He dropped his eyes to the stones they were seated on and didn't meet her gaze for several long moments. She wasn't even sure what there was to be embarrassed about. He'd been exceedingly brave that day and somehow managed to survive a brutal fight with a notoriously dangerous werewolf. Why wasn't he happier?

"Because I'm a coward."

He whispered the hateful words. Hermione fought the urge to slap his marred cheek. _How_ could he think for even a single second that he was anything but brave? Unsure what to even say in response to his confession, she simply stared with her mouth half-open. Thomas glanced up, blushed again, and stared back down.

"Dean must be more like his uncle and his great-grandmother than he is his father. His godmother too. No way the Sorting Hat would've ever put me in Gryffindor."

"What are you…?"

"I didn't want to die!"

There was such passion in his statement that Hermione was taken aback. Under normal circumstances, Thomas was the cool head and the calm thinker that got through life using logic and sneering at emotions. One of the traits of his brother's that he understood the least was how Kingsley always managed to listen to what his heart was feeling instead of what his head was saying.

"I knew something tragic was going to happen to me, Hermione. Maybe not today. Maybe not even tomorrow or the next day, but _soon_. You Know Who just kept putting pressure on me. Did you know once he threatened to tell Granny about my stealing?"

She shook her head.

"I went straight to Hogsmeade and told Granny everything. Apparently, she'd known all along what I'd been doing, but hoped that I would make it right on my own or at least confess. She said she was disappointed in what I did, but proud that I'd come clean. I didn't want to tell her that the only reason why I admitted what I did was because I didn't want the Dark Lord to tell her before I got a chance."

He covered his face with his hands. There was a vulnerability to him that she hadn't witnessed before. Even when it seemed like he was opening up to Hermione, he always held something back. She knew he was being as raw as possible just then. He had no reason to keep the truth bottled up inside any longer.

"Tony was always trying to recruit me. Seemed to think that I'd eventually give in. Who knows? Maybe I would've if I'd stayed. I'd do anything to keep Gracie and Dean safe."

"But… you _left_ them."

Tears slipped through his fingers and rolled down his chin. She wasn't sure why she felt the urge to remind him of the terrible sin he'd just committed. What good was it to point out that he'd essentially abandoned his wife and baby son? He knew what he'd done. It was a decision that he would have to live with long after they rose to their feet, climbed those stairs, and faced the judgment of the future.

"You showed me that if I left them, they'd be all right. Gracie would move on and Dean would have a proper family with little sisters and a stepfather who loved him. If I stayed, I was going to do nothing but put them in danger. Either I was going to be murdered for refusing to serve You Know Who or I was going to prove what a bloody coward I really am and become one of _them_. Hardly something to be proud of."

There was nothing about any of his statements that Hermione could find fault with enough to argue. Yes, abandoning his family seemed like the worst thing he could do, but was it really? Like he said, he knew they would be all right. Even the horrors that she knew Dean faced when he was on the run during the second war weren't enough to kill him. When she disappeared into the past, her godson was safe and happily residing in a tent on the Hogwarts grounds with his best friend and partner. He was _safe_. Grace was _safe_. Would that have been possible if Thomas was still in the past?

Sitting around imagining situations that didn't happen was a waste of their time. Hermione knew they couldn't keep sitting there while Thomas criticized every single decision he'd made. It was too late to change anything. The _moment_ she was back with Kingsley and secure in the fact that she was in the timeline she needed to be in, she was destroying the time turner, Ministry of Magic property or not. No one could be trusted with that kind of power.

"It doesn't matter now, does it? You're here and if I can be quite honest with you, Thomas, I'm a little thankful that you're a miserable coward. Guess that makes me selfish."

His amused snort made her laugh. Some of the tension that hung thick in the air dissipated. This wouldn't be the last time he called himself a coward for choosing to run away to the future instead of stay behind with his family. And, Hermione could understand his decision. In the days and weeks leading up to that morning, she had been forced to come to terms with the fact that she was likely going to be killed by Lord Voldemort or possibly even Antonin. Though it hadn't been easy to process that realization to the point where she could actually function with it hanging around her neck, she'd managed. Only hours before that very moment she was still under the impression that she was going to die. If she had been given a chance to escape from her own death, wouldn't she have taken it? The rest of the world might be furious with Thomas, but she would support him for as long as they both were alive. Longer even, if either of them did something worthy of a sentient painting.

"How did you get away? What happened after Greyback… what happened after I left?"

Thomas reached for her hand again. Concern was etched once more across his features.

"Are you all right, Hermione? Did he hurt you?"

"No, I'm okay. I hit him in the head with a brick before he could get too disgusting. Tell me what I missed. I thought for certain that you were…"

Saying the words out loud were impossible. She didn't even want to think them again. He squeezed her hand and dropped it.

"Greyback didn't notice when he threw me down on the ground that he'd actually thrown me _on top_ of my wand. Miracle I didn't crush it into splinters really. Selwyn was furious that you weren't going to be there to witness him kill me. He stomped around and cursed like a child. Wasn't hard to curse him when he wasn't looking."

"How did you find me?"

Yet again he seemed reluctant to answer her question. She wasn't going to let him ignore her wishes. After a stern glare he didn't care much for, Thomas sighed and began again.

"You have a tracking spell on you."

"What?"

"I put it on you weeks ago."

"For what purpose?"

"Well, for one, I was concerned you were going to disappear. A spell would help me find you. And… I've perhaps... _possibly_ been planning on trying to come back with you for a while now."

She'd already promised herself earlier that she wouldn't be angry with Thomas for coming with her to escape his certain death in the past. His confession didn't change that even if it did frustrate her that he didn't even talk to her about his idea. Yes, she probably would've told him he was crazy to even think about such a thing. He had a family after all who still needed him. But, she would have liked to think that they could have at least _talked_ about the possibility. Thomas already knew he wasn't going to be able to be a part of his family's life because it was too dangerous, and he already knew that they would be all right in his absence. Death or escape to the future? It was obvious he picked the better option.

"It was the only way I could see being in Dean's life. You already knew that he didn't know his biological father. He wasn't even aware that he was a wizard until he got his letter from Hogwarts. Maybe I couldn't be in his life when he was growing up, but I can be _now_."

He made an excellent point. Thomas had learned just as much about time travel as she had, possibly more. The theories and ideas of the obscure branch of magic were as familiar to him as the most basic housecleaning spells were to Gilderoy Lockhart's biggest fans. Loopholes and exceptions were what he loved to discover. It should have been no surprise to her that she would see what he did as a viable option.

"All right. So you put a tracking spell on me."

"Yes, and by the stubbornness Mum says I inherited from my dad, I was able to get back on my feet and run after you."

All of the Shacklebolt men were stubborn. It was one of their more endearing traits and one of their most _frustrating_. More than a few times she'd had a talk with Katie about their men's abilities to drive them mad.

"I ran towards you. I knew I needed to either save you from Greyback or be with you when you spun the time turner."

"I heard shouting and curses."

"Greyback was stumbling around, but regaining his strength. I Stunned him and kept running. I was afraid if I stopped moving, I'd never move again."

"It sounded like there were others."

"Selwyn. Should've killed him when I had the chance."

One of the parts about their friendship that she loved the most was how open and honest they were. Once she admitted her secret of being a time traveler, very little in her life was held back from Thomas. She shielded him from the worst bits about his best friend and only gave him a brief explanation about her history with Greyback. Everything else had been disclosed, including the fact that he would leave his young family and his son would grow up not even knowing his father was a wizard. Because of all they'd shared, Hermione knew when he wasn't telling her something. His eyes might have stared unblinking into hers, but she _knew_ he wasn't telling her everything.

When she asked him if there was someone else, he evaded the question, tried to change the subject. She distinctly remembered Greyback telling Salazar that he couldn't hurt Thomas until _he_ was there. Who was the third person involved in their nefarious scheme and why wouldn't Thomas answer her questions? If his intention was to not frighten her, there wasn't any need. They were safe in a world where Voldemort was truly dead and gone. They could both take a deep breath.

"Let's just drop it, Hermione. Doesn't matter. We got away."

She didn't have the stomach to argue anymore. He was right. It didn't matter. They were safe. All that remained for them was to get up and reunite with their loved ones.

"All right, I'll forget it. Let's go home."

When she rose to her feet, still a bit shaky from the journey, she saw he wasn't making any moves to rise. Concerned that his injuries were still plaguing him, Hermione tried to help him up. He waved off her assistance and continued to stare at the ground, unmoving.

"I've done something terrible, Hermione."

"Yes, but I'm sure Dean will learn how to forgive you."

"No, not just that."

Tears rolled down his cheeks and he still wouldn't move. Hermione began to feel nervous. What was he talking about? Why was he so upset that he wasn't anxious to see his family again? Trying to even imagine the possibilities threatened to make her head ache. She wanted to get out of that horrible part of London as soon as possible. Until she hugged Aberforth and felt Kingsley's arms envelop her, she wasn't going to be able to sit still.

"My family is going to hate me. I'm not sure they're going to be able to forgive me for what I did to them."

He stared up at her with his beautiful eyes still swimming in his grief. Hermione didn't know what to say to put his mind at ease, that there was nothing he could really do that would make his loving family _hate_ him. Knowing that denying his statement would be futile, she waited until he was ready to speak on his own. Nothing ever worked half as well getting him to talk than when she just was patient.

"I wasn't sure that I'd be able to get away with you. I'd _hoped_ that your time turner would work at the perfect moment and I could come with you, but it was never a guarantee. I had to do something drastic to make sure my family stayed safe. If I'd just disappeared one day without a trace, do you think my brother would ever stop looking for me?"

She shook her head. Though she knew very little of what happened in the time after she disappeared and when Kingsley discovered that she was a time traveler, she knew that those years hadn't been easy for her wizard. It saddened her to imagine how frantic he must have been when he couldn't find her. How long did he keep searching? Did he ever really stop? He would do the same if his older brother, whom he idolized, disappeared too.

"Kingsie was going to have enough to deal with when you vanished. He couldn't worry about me too. And, if I wasn't able to come with you to the future, I knew I was going to have to run. Tony told me that You Know Who…"

" _Voldemort_ , Tommy. He's dead here. He has no power any longer."

A chill went through her entire body as she said the words with every ounce of conviction she carried inside. It was the truth. Voldemort would never be able to hurt her as long as she lived. He had done his damage. There was no reason to be afraid of him ever again.

" _V-Voldemort_ wasn't going to give up on me. If I disappeared, he wouldn't stop. Wouldn't let me live my life in hiding. I was afraid that I would give in. I'll never be proud of that fear."

Dropping back to her knees in front of the wizard, she placed both of her palms on his cheeks and forced him to look her in the eyes. More than just about anyone else in the world, she _knew_ what he meant, what he feared. She wasn't proud of her fear that one day she would be the coward she always feared she was and let the Dark Lord Mark her arm.

"You are not a coward, Tommy. Or, if you are, then so am I. I've been worried about the same thing. As much as I hate that monster, I was afraid."

"My family surely thinks I'm dead."

"I'm sure most of the families of the ones that disappeared have that fear. Think of how overjoyed they will be to find out you're not!"

"There was a body, Hermione."

Despite her hands still being on his face, he looked away. She didn't understand what he meant. He _didn't_ die. How was it possible that there was a body to be found? Her hands fell to her lap. He wasn't making any sense.

"You're going to hate me too."

"I promise you, Thomas. Nothing you could do would ever make me hate you."

It was the truth. She loved him. When she proudly proclaimed that he was as close to her as a brother, she'd meant it every single time. From the moment they first met, there had been a connection between them. Certainly not one that was ever romantic as their kiss in the Shrieking Shack proved so long before. Even if Kingsley hadn't become the wizard that she loved, she felt confident that Thomas would still be there. It worried her that he had done something so terrible that he thought she would never be able to look past it. Clearly, her best friend had been keeping more secrets from her than she realized.

"I made a pact with a friend that if I went missing or didn't contact him in a week that he'd _orchestrate_ a scene that would make it appear that I was dead."

"And you really think that worked? It's ridiculous. Even if your friend, whoever he is, tried to do that it wouldn't work."

"It's worked before. Quite well, in fact."

The story of Silas Selwyn's supposed murder came rushing out of his mouth. Hermione could do nothing but just sit there in complete silence listening to the story. Whether or not she believed it, she wasn't quite sure. How was such a thing even possible? Perhaps the most fantastical part of the entire tale was that her Uncle Albus dirtied his own pristine hands to assist. Maybe the story would've been believable if he hadn't thrown that bit in. When she could not bear to hear another word, she returned to her feet. She wasn't going to listen to such drivel any longer.

"That is the most preposterous story I think I have ever heard, Thomas Shacklebolt! Do you really expect me to believe that you and my Uncle Albus helped Silas fake his own death?"

"I'm afraid it's all true, Goldie."

She never expected to hear that voice again. Spinning on her heel, she stared up at the figure at the top of the stairs. Had the spinning of the time turner and the attempted assault by Greyback finally done her in? She couldn't remember ever having hallucinations before, but anything was possible. Maybe she _did_ hit her head on the way and everything that had transpired since she stopped hurtling through time was all just a dream. Each step that the supposed Silas took down the stairs to them called her sanity even further into question.

"Ole Tommy here forced me into an Unbreakable Vow. Couldn't say a word about my true identity. Couldn't say 'no' when he asked me to fake his death. I had to do it."

Silas was older and he'd lost some of the cheeky confidence he always seemed to have too much of. Streaks of silver shot through his raven hair. Though still quite handsome, there were lines on his face that hadn't been there when she last danced with him at his little sister's wedding. With his wizarding genes, he shouldn't have been aging as much as he was. What had his life been like in all of that time? As much as Hermione _wanted_ to believe she was seeing her friend again, she didn't know if she could trust her senses. Kingsley said he had been beaten until nothing was left of his face. Still half-convinced he was nothing but an illusion, Hermione reached a hesitant hand out to touch his cheek.

His smile turned her into a believer. _No one_ could replicate that grin that could both infuriate her and make her laugh in the same breath. She threw her arms around his neck and melted into an embrace she never dreamed would happen again. Several times she had to step back to get a closer look at the man to truly convince herself she wasn't entirely delusional. Each time he would laugh and at least twenty years would fall off of his countenance.

"How is this even possible?"

"After your uncle Albus told you he couldn't help hide me, Tommy confronted him. You would've been proud of him. I know I was. He poked your uncle in the chest and _demanded_ that he help. Told him that if he cared an _ounce_ for you, he would help. Albus had a funny way of showing it, Goldie, but he loved you."

Again one more time that afternoon, Hermione didn't have the energy to argue. Her relationship with the Headmaster had been complicated to say the least. There were times she thought she saw a flicker of affection underneath his imperious attitude, but they were fleeting moments that were over almost immediately.

"How'd you know we were here?"

Thomas' question was one that Hermione didn't even think to ask. She'd been so stunned by all that happened in the short time since she spun the time turner that her mind was still racing.

"When you both disappeared, your locket was found in front of Andromeda Tonks' shop. It took the Ministry a couple of days to figure out what was happening. Your gloves were found nearby, Goldie. After I learned from Kingsley about your time turner, I just assumed that meant you used it somewhere around here. I've been waiting all day. Heard your voices. Glad to see you both made it."

He extended his hand to Thomas to help him to his feet. Though he was still reluctant to rise and a bit sore, he didn't refuse.

"Were you able to…?"

"Fulfill the terms of my Vow?" Silas spat the words out. There was some bitterness in his tone. Hermione knew without asking that what he'd been forced to do hadn't been palatable to him in the least. Later, when everything was calmer and she had some time to reflect and relax, she'd ask for more details. "Yes, Thomas. When I didn't speak to you in a week, I faked your death. Used all of the disgusting tricks you taught me. It worked."

"My family?"

"Will probably have a heart attack when they see you walk in the door."

Unable to hide the shame splashed across his face, Thomas stared down at his feet. The tension between the two wizards threatened to choke Hermione. Regardless of what the future held for all of them, she knew that they would need to eventually resolve whatever it was between them.

"Have I fulfilled the Vow to your satisfaction? May I finally be released?"

"I release you from your Vow, Silas."

Instantly, Silas' shoulders seemed less burdened. He stood taller, prouder. With a shake of Thomas' hand and a swift kiss to Hermione's lips, he climbed back up the stairs. He explained he was anxious to drop in on his mother to finally reveal himself as being alive. The poor woman had been through enough in her life. She deserved to have some happiness.

"Should we go on too?"

Hermione was itching to leave London. She wasn't sure where she would find Kingsley, but she had very little doubt where Aberforth would be waiting. Thomas grabbed her arm and before she could say a word in protest, he Disapparated them away.

They landed in the snow just outside the Hogsmeade cemetery. It was a curious place to arrive, but he wasn't in the mood for questions. Dropping her arm, Thomas strode into the heart of the tombstones. Hermione followed close behind. She had an idea where he would go.

At the large tombstone carved with both his grandfather's and his grandmother's names, Thomas halted his steps. He rubbed at the snow covering the hunk of marble. The part of the stone that would show Marjorie's date of death, if it was there, was covered in a thick layer of snow. Not caring for his clothing, he dropped to his knees to wipe it off with his gloves. Seeing no death, he exhaled and chuckled.

"Granny's going to slap me and call me an idiot. I can't wait."

"Of course she is."

"I wanted to see for myself if she was still alive or not. Honestly, I didn't expect this at all."

He gingerly stood back up to his feet, hissing slightly. Hermione was going to drag him to St. Mungo's herself if she had to. She still wasn't convinced that he was all right. When he began to turn back around to head out of the cemetery, his eyes caught another stone next to his grandparents'. It had been added some time since the last time she'd been there with one of the Shacklebolt boys tending their grandfather's grave.

" _Mum_?"

Thomas collapsed to his knees in front of the stone. Great, racking sobs tore through his body. Hermione fought back her own tears when she saw the date on Katie's grave. She hadn't lived much longer after her son's supposed murder. Hardly two years. Was grief to blame?

Maybe it was selfish of her to walk away from him in his time of sorrow. Thomas didn't even notice. He covered his face with his hands and wept without shame. She wanted him to grieve as he needed. He didn't need an audience and she felt like an intruder.

Two steps out of the cemetery and Hermione almost ran straight into another visitor. Her mind had been on her own sadness. Katie had been like another mother to her once upon a time. She had _just_ had tea with her two days earlier. Or, rather, eighteen years and two days earlier. Before she had a chance to look in the face of the person she almost trampled to apologize, she felt strong arms wrap around her back. Startled at first by the uninvited touching, it wasn't until her feet were dangling several inches off of the ground and she smelled the pipe tobacco Katie always criticized Dean for smoking that she realized who held her. She wrapped her own arms around Dean Shacklebolt's neck and squeezed.

"I was coming to lay a wreath on their graves when I saw you, my sweet, precious girl. Can it really be you?"

Hermione tightened her arms. She had so much love for Kingsley's dad. Always had from the first moment they met in Margie's kitchen so many years earlier. He was the father that so many deserved and so few got to have. His comforting presence helped ease the blow of knowing that she would never get to see Katie again.

"Yes, it's me. I'm back, Dean. I'm back and you're never getting rid of me again."

His laughter warmed her heart. She prayed to whatever deity might be listening that she would get to hear it for many, _many_ more years to come. Just as she was about to laugh right along with him, she remembered she wasn't alone. Dean set her back on her feet and kissed both of her reddening cheeks.

"Dean, this might come as a shock to you, but I'm not… I'm not _alone_."

She would never forget the moment Dean's eyes, the very ones Kingsley inherited, widened at the sight of his elder son weeping at his mother's grave.

* * *

December 22, 1998

 **5:20 pm**

The sound of the glass slipping from Aberforth's hand and crashing to the floor had to have been magnified by at least a thousand. It rang in Kingsley's ears and seemed to echo around the entire empty pub. He was concerned when he looked up to see the man's face had gone completely white. Almost as if he had seen a ghost.

He turned on his barstool, curious to know what the man was still staring at. His behavior was nothing less than completely bizarre. Maybe the stress of waiting for Hermione's return was getting to them both. They were both too old and their hearts too fragile to endure much more.

His own glass fell out of his hands to crash to the floor, but he didn't hear the sound. An entire brass band could have marched through the pub that second and he wouldn't have heard a damn thing. Nothing except the sound of his heart beating in his ears.

She looked exhausted and tears still tumbled down her cheeks, but Kingsley knew he had never seen anything more beautiful in his entire life. Standing to his feet, he feared his legs were too shaky to hold his weight. Every single muscle in his body was trembling. Was she real?

Hermione's gaze was entirely on Aberforth. Either she hadn't seen Kingsley or she was trying to remain calm and looking at him would have made her lose her composure. It didn't matter. He was simply elated to be in the same room with her again. No one moved for an eternity that likely was really only a couple of seconds. When she did, Hermione ran straight into Aberforth's waiting arms.

"My darling girl! Oh, my darling girl."

Aberforth's voice carried the emotion that they were all feeling. For the briefest of moments, Kingsley thought about stepping outside to give them a moment of privacy. He felt like an intruder on a moment he had no right to witness. Dropping his eyes to his shoes was the absolute least he could do. If he was truthful with himself, he never wanted to walk out of a room she was in for the rest of his life.

"Kingsie?"

It was the first word she'd spoken. Kingsley couldn't fight back the flood of emotions threatening to overpower him. Would she think less of him if he crumbled to the floor in a blubbering mess? The feel of her tiny hand on his cheek proved to him once and for all that he wasn't dreaming. A sob caught in his throat. She was really _there_. He gathered his courage to face her gaze and almost broke down anew. Had she always been so beautiful?

"I've missed you so much, Little Witch."

Her lips were on his and her arms were around his neck. Forgetting, or perhaps not caring, that Aberforth was in the room, Kingsley put eighteen years of longing and denied passion into their first kiss. She'd always claimed that he knew how to take her breath away, but for once, he believed it. They broke apart long before he was satisfied just so they could breathe again. If she let him, he was going to spend an eternity _proving_ to her how much he missed her, how much he still desired her after all of those years.

"Kingsie, darling, I think maybe we need to put this on hold for a bit. There's someone outside who would like to speak with you."

"Tell them to bugger off."

She chuckled and playfully swatted at his chest.

"No, you're going to want to talk to him. I brought your big brother back with me."


	93. Chapter 93

**IMPORTANT: There is a new additional scene for this story from Thomas' Point of View. I highly recommend that you read it first or you might be confused by some of the events of this chapter. No, I'm not begging for reviews. I'm just trying to make sure that everyone understands and doesn't ask unnecessary questions. The additional scenes can be found on my profile under "The Minister's Secret: Additional Scenes".**

 _Author's Note: Thanks for the encouragement last chapter. My family is fine. A little soggy, but doing well. Everyone was extremely fortunate and ready to rebuild and move on. Texans are a resilient lot as a whole._

 **THIS STORY IS NOT ABANDONED! STOP ASKING ME IF IT IS. I ALREADY TOLD YOU ALL THAT THERE WOULD BE A DELAY BECAUSE I WAS GOING TO TEXAS. SERIOUSLY, FREAKING READ AUTHOR'S NOTES AND STOP BEING SO RUDE AND GREEDY. WHY THE F*** WOULD I ABANDON A STORY I'VE BEEN WORKING ON FOR 18 MONTHS THAT HAS ALMOST 700,000 WORDS WITH JUST TWO CHAPTERS LEFT?! SORRY IF MY PERSONAL LIFE AND MY CONCERN FOR THE WELFARE OF MY FAMILY POST-DEVASTATING HURRICANE GOT IN THE WAY OF YOUR READING.** _Sigh._

* * *

Chapter Ninety-Three

December 22, 1998

 **5:32 pm**

Words were still coming out of her perfect, little mouth, but Kingsley heard none of them. Not since she made the ludicrous claim that she'd managed to bring his older brother back with her to the present. He, more than most, knew how impossible that was. Despite Moody's orders that he remain far away from the scene, he'd actually _seen_ Tommy's body. He'd _touched_ his body, helped carry the coffin with his remains to the cemetery. There was simply no way that it was possible that his brother was just standing outside of the pub.

He worried that she'd been injured in her journey. Aberforth told him how she'd hit her head when she first arrived in the past. Perhaps she'd fallen again? She could be graceful one moment and then trip over her own feet the next. He hadn't been the only person who loved her who worried about the _fashionable_ lengths of her robes just after poor Sollie died. A head injury was the only possible explanation for how she was behaving.

"Kingsie, darling, have you heard a single word I've said?"

Her voice was soft and gentle, but it managed to break through the worst of his thoughts. His Little Witch was fighting back an amused grin. He longed to do nothing more than kiss the smile off of her lips and make her forget all about the fantastical tale she was spinning. It was simply preposterous. No one came back from the dead. Well, except for Lord Voldemort. And Peter Pettigrew. And Silas Selwyn. And Barty Crouch, Junior. But not his older brother. Not when he'd wept over the broken corpse that belonged to the man he admired most in the entire world, the one he always tried to emulate. _That_ he simply could not believe.

"Hermione, perhaps we should take you to St. Mungo's. You might have hit your head."

"There's _nothing_ wrong with me. I'm telling you the truth."

He didn't want to argue with her when she'd only been back in his life for five minutes. There would be plenty of time later for them to annoy each other and have another one of their passionate rows that ended in an entirely different kind of passion. If he was honest with himself, he was somewhat looking forward to the first time they fought again. Just because no one could ever get his blood boiling like she could. He had several ideas he'd been formulating over the years to make it up to her when he was an idiot again. But, as much fun as that sounded, he hoped they could make it at _least_ a day or two before driving the other one mad.

"I _saw_ his body."

"Yes, well, he has a lot to explain."

She refused to elaborate further than that. Without providing an explanation for her next moves, she rushed out of the pub's front door. Kingsley felt his feet begin to move on their own accord. _Never_ did he want to be in a different room from her again. Just as he was about to reach the door to throw it open and demand to know what she was playing at, the familiar bell tinkled above his head.

Stepping back to avoid being hit with the heavy piece of carved wood, Kingsley almost fell over his own feet when the perfect specter of Thomas Masud Shacklebolt entered the dingy pub. He could feel his eyes widen in shock, but he refused to believe that Hermione had been telling him the truth. There had to be another explanation. The being that resembled Tommy smiled in that same self-deprecating manner his brother did when he was caught doing something he shouldn't have done as a child.

He didn't know what to say, if there was even anything he _could_ say. Something awful was happening. A griping in his guts wouldn't allow him to simply trust his eyes. In the world of magic, there were numerous ways a person could disguise their true identity. Before the imposter could even say a word, Kingsley drew his wand and pressed it under his chin. How _dare_ he wear that face!

"I sort of hoped to get a warmer welcome than this, little brother."

Even the voice was the same. Kingsley never expected to hear it spoken again, but he would've been able to pick it out of a crowd of thousands even after eighteen years. He felt his resolve slip just a bit. Faced with the possibility that he hadn't lost his brother after all, he wanted to believe his eyes. Wanted to believe that two miracles in a single day was possible. Hadn't his family suffered enough loss over the years?

"Who are you? Why are you doing this?"

There was a tremor in Kingsley's own voice that he hadn't heard since he was a small child. Not since they were caught by their formidable grandfather sneaking into his unlocked potions lab. Tommy had been able to give a reasonable excuse for their presence in the room they were instructed to never go in. When Grandfather Shacklebolt barked out at little Kingsley to ask if that was the truth, he'd been too scared to corroborate the lie with the same conviction. They'd both been severely punished for the halting of Kingsley's voice.

"You got old, Kingsie."

He wasn't even intimidated. Not by the wand, not by the wizard who had over twenty-five years of Auror experience under his belt. It was his blatant disregard for Kingsley that made the Minister begin to question if his witch hadn't been right all along. After all, it _had_ been Tommy who'd faked Silas Selwyn's death. Could he have done the same with his own death? But, they didn't find Tommy's body until _after_ Christmas. There were a dozen other questions that he would need to ask before he could trust his own sight.

"I don't blame you for being upset."

A single note in the man's voice was the first thing to chip away a little at Kingsley's disbelief. Though he hadn't heard it in years, he would never forget the sound of Tommy being disappointed. As the younger brother, Kingsley often looked up to his older brother and half-convinced himself that he could do no wrong. Somehow, no matter how hard he tried, Tommy was always cleverer, always more talented, always liked more. When he failed at something, even if he was the only one alive who might consider what he did a failure, there was a soft, self-deprecating sigh in his words. Not once could his younger brother understand why he was always so critical of himself, especially considering the fact that he would've given anything to be more like him.

This man claiming to be his long-dead older brother looked just like him, sounded just like him, moved just like him. He didn't have the heart to even _dare_ believe that he'd somehow cheated death. Years earlier when his bloody body was discovered in the middle of a London street, he thought he would quite literally lose his mind. Hermione had been gone for only a few days with no clue as to her whereabouts. To learn that his brother, his _idol_ , was murdered had been far too much to bear. Kingsley wasn't ashamed to admit that he cried himself to sleep most nights those first few years. Too much loss in such a short period of time.

He lowered his wand. Still not prepared to fully believe the potential delusion standing inches away, he waited for the man to speak.

"And I won't even blame you if you find it impossible to forgive me. To be honest, I'm not sure that I'll ever be able to forgive myself for walking away from my family either. Knowing that Mum…"

The tremble in his bottom lip and the tears that rolled freely out of eyes was all the confirmation that Kingsley needed. No one else understood how devastating the loss of their mother was. He'd had years to learn to live without his mum, but seeing Tommy look as if he was about to break down was _exactly_ how Kingsley looked when he was first dealing with his grief. With his wand still clenched in his hand, he stepped forward three steps and threw his arms around his brother's back.

He could never be sure what all was said between the two brothers in emotional whispers as they clung to each other. Repeated apologies. Assurances that they would never be separated again. Promises that they would make up for the lost time. None of it really mattered. All of the questions that Kingsley had only recently wished he could ask his brother were forgotten for the moment. They had been given a second chance. There was plenty of time to talk later about anything and everything they desired.

When they broke apart, there wasn't a single dry eye in the entire pub. Even Aberforth, who often prided himself on being stoic, tried to hide a discreet sniffle. No doubt his mind traveled to thoughts of his own brother that would never walk back in through the front door. More than a couple of times when they'd both been in their cups, Aberforth confessed to the wizard he always considered to be as close to a son as he'd ever get, that he had been envious of his relationship with Tommy. As much as they used to fight and aggravate the other, there was never any doubt that love existed between them. He attempted to take the attention away from himself by passing around full glasses of fire whiskey to all gathered. No one refused.

"Your face looks terrible, Tommy."

Kingsley knew there had to have been a more diplomatic way to bring attention to the red, oozing scratches that marred his brother's cheek. His experience as the Minister for Magic should've given him the skills necessary to be more polite, but his statement simply fell out of his mouth before he could stop it. Instead of being offended or embarrassed, Tommy only laughed.

"I'm afraid you've finally got your wish, Kingsie. You're finally more handsome than I am."

It was just like his brother to try to hide his pain with a joke. Usually, Kingsley appreciated his humor, but this was serious. Just looking at the wound on his face, he could tell that it was excruciating and had been done by an animal. He had his suspicions and sincerely hoped he was wrong.

"Tommy saved my life."

Hermione's first words since the brothers' reunion rattled Kingsley more than he would care to admit. What happened to them that day so long ago? It only happened mere hours earlier for them. Each of them still appeared shaken no matter how hard they tried to disguise it. The protective streak that was so strong within him rose up. He wanted to curse something. Who would _dare_ to hurt those he loved?

"What happened?"

As the story of their arrival to the cobblestones just outside of Andromeda's shop on a bright, sunny December afternoon came out of their mouths, Kingsley could feel that desire to kill rise up within him even further. When Tommy calmly spoke of his physical fight with the damned werewolf, the Minister met his father's worried eyes from just on the edge of the circle they made in the middle of the pub. He knew that Hermione wasn't telling him all of the details of just what transpired when Greyback tossed her over his shoulder and carried her away to the narrow and twisty lanes that he'd scoured for weeks after her gloves were discovered. The blood pressure he was always instructed to keep a close eye on by his Healer rose with each syllable they uttered. At least he could finally understand the cryptic words Silas used that night when he stated that a day would come when all of the secrets would come out. Without even needing the confirmation that Tommy gave, Kingsley knew that Silas played a part in faking his brother's death. As much as he might have wished to be angry with his friend for what seemed like yet another betrayal, he could understand that Silas was only repaying a kindness offered him in his own time of need.

"Tommy needs to go to St. Mungo's. I did what I could, but I'm not a professional Healer. He needs to be thoroughly examined."

"You should be as well, Little Witch."

Kingsley reached for his witch to reassure himself of her presence in the room. Every moment since she entered the pub had sped by so quickly that he still wasn't positive that she was actually there. Each second he worried that his alarm clock would go off and he'd once again awaken in an empty bed. Too many mornings had passed thus. He wasn't sure he had the fortitude to survive another.

"No, I'm all right. Besides, if I show up at St. Mungo's, how long do you think it would be before everyone knew I was back? I'm exhausted, Kingsie. I just want to go home and be alone with you for one night before I have to see everyone else."

He couldn't even begin to argue with the logic of her statement. If there was even a _hint_ that the long-lost Hermione Dumbledore _or_ Hermione Granger was sighted at the wizarding hospital in London, there would be intense curiosity surrounding her every move. Not only was the press sniffing around him for potential news, he had also had to contend with her two best friends. Harry and Ron had been frequent visitors of his at the Ministry. Both were trainee Aurors and they each wanted to know what was happening to their friend. Perhaps it was selfish of him to readily agree to Hermione's desire to spend her first night back completely alone with him, but he didn't care. Too quickly, she would be surrounded by well-wishers and gossips. One night wasn't too much to ask for.

"I'll take Tommy to St. Mungo's, son. We'll make sure that he's all right."

"Thanks, Dad."

"Take our girl home. Keep her safe."

Never had Kingsley needed a reminder of what he needed to do _less_ than he did just then. Of course he was going to keep Hermione safe. He hadn't waited and longed for her for eighteen years just to lose her when he finally had her back. No matter what it took, if he had to sacrifice his own life for hers, he would make certain that she wasn't put in any harm again.

Aberforth seemed reluctant to let Hermione out of his sight. He couldn't blame the man. She hugged him tight at least half a dozen times before he finally consented to let her walk away. Not wishing to run the risk that one of the villagers would recognize her, Kingsley led her over to the fireplace. One pinch of Floo powder and a shouted familiar address later, they were both standing on the rug in the living room.

Hermione's eyes trailed over every single corner and cranny in the once-familiar room. Over the years there had been a few changes, new furniture, new paint, and a few other small improvements. None of them had been very dramatic. Years earlier he'd fought with Hestia when she tried to make a simple change to the decor that hadn't been altered at all since his Little Witch disappeared. He still felt guilty about his response. It hadn't been fair to Hestia when he yelled and threw the new rug out the front door and broken a mirror she'd hung on the wall. The strength of his reaction to the small changes had been completely irrational. His girlfriend had run out of the house and not returned for three days. That night marked the beginning of the end of their relationship. She couldn't bear to compete with a ghost any longer. No one should have to.

"I'm so glad that you didn't move."

Her statement came out in a soft chuckle that quickly became a sob. Though not far from her at all, Kingsley rushed to grab her again. If she was in need of his strength, he would give her every last drop. She clung to him, her fingers tightly grasping the front of his robes. Unsure how long they stood there in the middle of the living room wrapped in each other's arms, he kissed her forehead when her tears finally subsided. This was surely not going to be the only time she got emotional or the only time _he_ got emotional for that matter. There was still so much left to talk about, to discover.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to get so upset."

"You need never apologize to me, Little Witch."

"When I walked out of this house this morning, I never… I never expected to walk back in it again. I thought for certain that I was going to die today. Or… well, bugger it, eighteen years ago. It's going to take me some time to get that straight."

He could understand. Time travel was an exhausting endeavor. Even attempting to explain it to minds he once believed to be quite capable and intelligent had been a futile effort in several cases. Why the concept was difficult for so many to grasp was beyond him. Perhaps if he had taken the time to physically draw out a proper diagram the simpletons might have understood it better. _Likely not_ , he decided.

"Part of me wondered if you would have ever let the house go. I imagine that it couldn't have been easy to keep living here after… Well, I remembered us stopping here when we fought on the thestral. Still amazes me that you didn't leave. I fear I might have."

"This was our home. It was the _only_ home I ever shared with you. Even if I wanted to, which I didn't, I could never leave it."

"I'm glad."

She leaned up on her tiptoes to press her lips against his. Beyond the one kiss in her father's pub that held a great deal of promise for a diverting reunion later when they were alone in their bedroom, they hadn't kissed again. He had forgotten how just the feel of her mouth against his could make his blood tingle and his heart rate increase. Emboldened by the tiny moan that came out of him entirely by accident, she pushed her entire body against his and kissed him harder. Only years of training as an auror honing his senses prevented him from picking the witch he loved up and tossing her down on the sofa to give her a proper welcome home. He heard the hiss of pain she was trying to hide.

As much as he might have liked to continue what she was attempting to start, he knew she was in pain. Though she didn't give much of a description of what exactly it was that the werewolf tried to do to her, and he was a bit afraid to ask for details, he knew that she didn't need any strenuous activity. Even just traveling that far through time took its toll on a body. Every muscle he possessed had been stiff and sore for days after he moved back and forth through time months earlier to test the time turner and forge some documents in the Ministry of the past.

He kissed her forehead, took hold of her hand, and led her up the narrow staircase towards their bedroom. Once inside the familiar room that had undergone several changes since she last stepped foot in it just like the rest of the house, he released his grip. Confused by his behavior, Hermione tried to reach for him again. With a smile, he promised her that he wouldn't go far.

Despite knowing she was only a few meters away, stepping into his bathroom to draw her a hot bath took all of the reserve of his strength. It would take some time to get over the feeling, he was certain, but he never wanted to _not_ be in the same room with her again. He was afraid to even blink in her presence, afraid that one second she would be there and the next she would be gone again. Maybe that was a fear that would never fully go away.

"You need a long soak in a hot bath and a good night's sleep, Little Witch. Traveling that far with your time turner wreaks havoc on your muscles."

She stepped inside the bathroom just as he was dumping a mixture of herbs in the running water. Years before Hermione disappeared and she passed away, his mother taught him the proper mix she liked to use for her baths. More than a few times she'd given Hermione a jar. Knowing that she would appreciate the gesture, he asked his mum to teach him. It was a skill he never lost. Even he appreciated the delicate herbs after a long day as an auror.

"How do you know about that?"

"Because it took me a while to feel normal again after I travelled."

Her eyes widened in complete surprise at his confession. Kingsley couldn't help but chuckle. She was adorable even when she wasn't trying.

"When did you travel through time?"

"The same day that you did. Back in June. That morning I wanted to test the time turner, to make sure that it was safe and would work for you. When I was back in 1971, I snuck into the Ministry and forged your birth certificate so you'd be Ab's daughter and a Lestrange."

Hermione snorted in amusement, but it was obvious she was impressed and a little shocked by his confession.

"I assumed that you just sent an Unspeakable to do that."

"No. I didn't trust anyone else. If you want something done right…"

"Do it yourself."

"Exactly. I wasn't trusting my Little Witch in the hands of some creepy Unspeakable."

She laughed again and playfully swatted at his stomach. Kingsley held her hand in his. He'd forgotten how tiny it looked inside his own hand. He'd almost forgotten how tiny _she_ was.

"They're not all creepy. Augie is always… _was_ always…"

Before the thought could come out of her mouth, she stopped herself and sighed. He knew that it wasn't going to be easy for her to adjust to the nineties. In her world, she had _just_ seen Augustus Rookwood days earlier when he dropped by the pet shop to proudly announce Lettie was pregnant with their third child. Kingsley remembered how young and happy they all were. When he learned that Augie was a Death Eater, he couldn't believe it. The man had been at his house several times with his wife and children. He'd been one of the few people he trusted enough with the Secret of his home's location. Somehow he'd never even imagined where his true loyalties lay. As an Unspeakable, Kingsley naively assumed that he was on the right side.

"Do we know where Augie is now?"

Kingsley nodded his head.

"Azkaban?"

When he nodded his head again, her shoulders slumped but she seemed visibly relieved. She might have remained at Hogwarts for weeks after the Final Battle, but it was impossible for her to remember or know where _every_ Death Eater ended up. At the time, before she was living in the past, she didn't even know which of the people she would get to know survived or escaped.

"I know he's responsible for Fred. That's… that's something I'm not sure I can ever forgive, but I'm glad to know at least that he's not dead."

"I feel the same way. Lettie disappeared with the children right before or right after he was arrested the first time. Karkaroff gave up his name."

"To save himself?"

He nodded again. She only sighed in response once more.

"As much as I've always loved Igor, he always was a bloody coward."

"Dolohov's name was the first he shouted at his trial."

"I'm not surprised. They've always hated each other. I'm sure that will never change. Not until they're both dead."

Kingsley didn't have the heart to remind her that her ex-boyfriend had been dead for a long time. Likely she was just trying to forget the sad facts of all that had changed. He knew he was going to have to be patient with her the longer she was back. It must have been extremely difficult to miss eighteen years in a matter of moments. She was going to be faced with some unpleasant and upsetting reminders in the coming days. He also didn't have the heart yet to tell her about her Uncle Regnault. Though their relationship had oftentimes been quite rocky, he knew they loved each other fiercely. He wanted to spare her for as long as she could from that news.

"One thing I'm confused about, Kingsie. You said that you used the time turner on the same day I did."

He nodded his head. It had been an experience he didn't care much for. More than a few times in the hours from his return to the present leading up to the evening when he knew Aberforth would put the time turner over her head, he tried to talk himself out of doing what they'd planned. It wasn't right of him to send her life in a completely different direction simply based on his whims and the desires he and Aberforth carried. As it had already been proven, not everything that happened to her in the past had been good. He would have to live with the knowledge that he was responsible for every single hurt and tragedy she experienced in the past.

"Why didn't the time turner work for me? You said you were able to travel back to the present after being in the past. Why couldn't I?"

His full attention was focused on the swirling of the aromatic herbs in the rising bathwater. There was no other word to describe his actions than _selfish_. He didn't want to admit all that he had done to ensure that she would be forced to remain in the past long enough for them to fall in love with each other. Maybe she wouldn't be able to forgive him for his part. He was still half-convinced that any second she was going to slap his face, tell him she never wanted to speak to him again, and storm out of their home. He deserved much worse.

"I charmed it," he finally admitted in a quiet, ashamed voice. "I was afraid that if you were able to spin the time turner in the opposite direction immediately after arriving in the past, you would spin it, return to 1998, and never speak to me again. Or Aberforth, for that matter."

Her soft chuckles ringing through the bathroom was the last sound he expected to hear from her after his confession. Feeling her slim arms wrap around his shoulders and the press of her lips just behind his ear certainly wasn't the reaction he expected either.

"You can take that shamed pout off of your lips right now, Kingsie. Yes, your actions were selfish, but you weren't wrong. I would've spun the time turner and probably slapped you. Think about all I would've missed out on. Think about all _we_ would've missed out on if you weren't such a selfish bugger."

"Aren't you the least bit angry with me? _Weren't_ you angry with me when you realized what I'd done?"

"Yes, I was angry with you when I first woke up in the past. For a long time even. And maybe _I'm_ the selfish one, but I'm glad you sent me back in time."

"Even after everything awful…?"

She kissed him behind the ear again.

"Yes, even after everything awful that happened, I'm glad that you sent me back. You gave me a life I never would've had otherwise. I would be a fool to discount all of the amazing things I had just because of the few horrible."

Kingsley wouldn't allow himself to believe that she was telling him the complete truth. There _had_ to be some anger and resentment still inside her for how she was basically forced to dramatically change her life against her will. Maybe if he'd left her alone she would've been content to marry the Weasley boy and have a family with him. And what about her previous ambitions? He remembered her telling him in the basement kitchen of the Order Headquarters how much she desired to enter the Ministry when she finished Hogwarts to change the world. She had very definite ideas about creature rights and abolishing the archaic pro-Pureblood laws still on the books. Had he singlehandedly taken away all of her hopes and dreams because of his own desires? If anyone did the same to him, he wasn't sure he would ever forgive them.

Finished with running her bath, he turned the taps off. He stood to his full height, lamenting the loss of the feel of her arms around his shoulders. She needed to take a long bath and he needed to be alone with his own thoughts for a few minutes. Before he could leave the room, his Little Witch kissed him and promised that she wouldn't linger too long. Just like her wizard, she wasn't anxious to spend any length of time away from him.

He closed the door to the bathroom behind him with a pang in his heart. Even just being in separate rooms was difficult. Sitting down on the edge of the bed to stare at the closed door, he had to stop himself more than a couple of times from jumping up to peek in the room just to make sure she hadn't disappeared. Years earlier he'd read an article in a Muggle magazine about parents of kidnapped children who were found. It struck him as interesting and a bit sad that several of them admitted to waking up numerous times in the middle of the night just to sneak down the corridor to their child's bedroom. They needed the visual confirmation that the rescue hadn't been a delusional event in their own minds. He was beginning to understand all too well a portion of what they experienced.

His thoughts were still on how they were expected to move forward with the rest of their lives together when the door to the bathroom opened up again. Wrapped in nothing but a single towel, Hermione crossed the floor of the bedroom over to his dresser. All worries about the future dissipated in a single second when he discovered he could no longer breathe. She seemed unbothered by the intensity of his gaze, of the sudden tension in the room. As she had done dozens of times before, she opened up one of the drawers where he kept his clothes to pull out something of his to wear to bed.

"I'm sorry. I wasn't trying to be deliberately provocative. Just an old habit. I did the same thing last night, or what was last night for me, and you hardly even looked at me."

"What a complete fool I used to be."

Hermione's laugh would always be his most favorite sound in the entire world. It transformed her already beautiful face into something almost ethereal that he could never quite describe. Years of playing the part of the proper Lestrange and the maturity of her features as she gracefully aged had altered her from the bookish girl with the bushy hair constantly covered in ink and bowed over from the weight of the books in her bag to something quite remarkable. Kingsley knew that those who knew her from before she disappeared would hardly recognize her. To know that she was _his_ was heady, to say the least.

"I won't argue with you about that."

She winked at him. The towel wrapped around her body threatened to slip. As she started to pull it back up, she had a different idea in mind. With an impish grin he loved, Hermione dropped the towel to the ground. Kingsley was afraid he was going to choke on his own tongue. She had always been beautiful but something about the manner in which she smiled at him changed her entire countenance. He could feel all of the blood pounding in his head rush south. Did she have any idea the effect that she had on him?

It was apparent that she did. Refusing to remove the grin that was causing his stomach to twist and his trousers to tighten, she stepped closer to the bed he was still perched on the edge of. He clenched his fists, afraid that if he allowed himself, he would grab the witch, toss her down to the ground, and forget all of his earlier promises that she would have a long night's sleep. Hermione reached for his hands and held his still-clenched fists in her tiny palms.

"Don't you want me?"

"Very much, Little Witch."

She leaned in to whisper softly in his ear.

"Then take me. I'm yours. I'll _always_ be yours."

Their kiss was more heated than any of the others had been since she walked back into her father's pub and into his life. Kingsley was prepared to throw all promises he made aside and spend the rest of the night passionately reminding his witch how much he worshipped her. He could think of nothing else until the buttons on his shirt slipped through their holes and the cool air of the bedroom slid across his bare shoulders. His mind had been so far away that he hadn't even noticed she was undressing him. He carefully grabbed her wrists, pushed her a few inches back, and stared in her confused eyes.

"I'm an old man now."

A smile that threatened to undo him crossed her lips. He desired nothing less than to feel that smile against his own. She could make him forget his own name if she so chose. There was never any doubt who held the power between them. He belonged to _her_ , and he was glad.

"I like older men. More experience. I'm willing to learn whatever you want to teach me."

The reminder of the words his younger self spoke to the witch who was entirely out of his reach made him laugh. He hadn't expected her to say them. She'd always had a way of throwing him off guard. It was only one of million reasons why he loved her so much.

"Besides, you're only sixteen years older than I am now and that means nothing in the grand scheme of things thanks to our wizarding genes."

He had no further arguments for his Little Witch. With a glad heart and a smile wide enough it was almost painful, he allowed her to finish taking off every single stitch of clothing he had on. When he was as naked as she was, Hermione pushed him down onto the bed.

"Now, we're going to recreate _every_ moment of the New Year's I snuck you into my bedroom."

He raised a single eyebrow.

" _Every_ moment?"

"Yes, _every_ moment _after_ you have me a concussion. Let's skip that part."

His laughter quickly caught in his throat and morphed into a deep groan when she made good on her promise. As she pulled him further into the warm recesses of her mouth, he worried that something tragic must have happened to him. There was simply no way the feel of her lips around him was reality. He had to have been dead. Heaven must feel exactly like that.

* * *

December 23, 1998

 **4:21 am**

Every single muscle in Hermione's body was sore, although no one would ever hear her complaining. Some of the discomfort was due to her traveling and the manhandling she'd suffered at Greyback's hands. Most of it, however, was due entirely to the delicious punishment her wizard put her through as they reacquainted themselves with the other's body. He was still her Kingsie, of course, but the experiences he'd gained in those eighteen years apart transformed him into a different man. A more mature man. One that she hadn't even been aware she could love more.

There were many times in the past when she'd been alone with her wizard that she found herself missing the Kingsley she knew from the future. It was difficult to explain. How could one actually _miss_ someone when they were being held in their arms? She adored the boyish charm of the man and loved how innocent he could be at times. But, a big part of the wizard she'd known was missing from him. He hadn't been tested, hadn't experienced what shaped him into the man she so admired. As much as she loved and adored Kingsley in his twenties, she _longed_ for Kingsley in his forties. Having him back was all she desired.

Wanting to reassure herself that he was still there, Hermione rolled over on to her side and reached for his side of the bed. Her fingers sliced through the air finding no warm flesh. He was gone. Based on the coolness of the sheets, he'd been gone for a while. Suddenly concerned about where her wizard had gone, she sat up quickly in the bed. Only seconds were needed to find him seated on the floor of their bedroom staring at their bed with his eyes unblinking.

The air in the room was freezing. Realizing that her silly man was seated on the wood floor wearing absolutely nothing, Hermione climbed out of the bed. She brought one of the many blankets they had spread across the bed with her wrapped around her shoulders. When she reached him, she knelt down next to him on the floor. His bare skin felt like ice. However long he'd been down there wasn't clear. Just long enough to concern her that he was going to get sick.

She shared the blanket she had covering her with him. The fastest way to warm another person up was with shared body heat. She pressed her bare body against his and pulled the blanket tighter around them both. Kingsley hardly seemed to register what she was doing. Only when she began to rub his icy cheeks with her hands did he stir.

"What are doing out of bed, my darling?"

"I'm afraid this is all still a dream. I didn't want to wake up to an empty bed again."

Hermione ceased the gentle rub of his cheeks. With each of her palms on the outside of his face, she stared into the face that had once been as familiar as her own. Lines and wrinkles that hadn't been there the last time she stared at him in the same manner stood out. How much of the fear and worry he experienced over the previous eighteen years had been her fault? She promised him again with all of the passion and surety she possessed that she would never leave him again. Even without either one of them saying so, she knew that this was going to be a promise that she would have to make many more times in the future before he was completely over his fear of losing her again. Assuming, of course, that he was _ever_ over his fear.

"I am a selfish, _selfish_ man. I wouldn't blame you if you never forgave me for sending you to the past."

She kissed him firmly on the lips. The saltiness of his tears surprised her at first. As she reminded him of all of the good experiences she had in the past, with him and without him, she attempted to brush away each drop that slipped from his eyes. They only fell harder when she thanked him for giving her the family she didn't even know she was missing.

"And because of my selfish decision, you'll never be able to create a new family."

"We've already talked this to death, Kingsley. Children do _not_ make a family. We already have one. Even if it's only the two of us, we _are_ a family."

She didn't want to have the same argument with him again. They'd done it so many times already in the past. Maybe children wouldn't be born out of her body that looked just like him, but she still had a family. They had each other and they had Aberforth. And they had Big Dean and Little Dean and Margie. Hermione wasn't sure if her Muggle parents would ever have their memories recovered, but if they did, there were two more members. She dared anyone try to tell her that because she didn't have children she didn't have a family.

"I know about Greyback."

Hermione sighed. She knew that eventually they were going to have to have that conversation. There had been too many secrets and lies between them in the past. Now that she had been given a second chance at life, she wanted to move forward with a clean slate. But, she wouldn't have minded if they waited a little bit longer before revealing everything horrible about the past.

"I wish you had told me long ago…"

"I didn't want you to rush after him and get yourself killed. He's too powerful."

"…but I understand why you didn't. And you're not wrong. I probably would've tried to kill him. Just one more reason I shouldn't have sent you back in the past."

His insistence that he was a horrible human being because he'd been selfish was wearing on Hermione's nerves. If he continued in that same vein of thought for the rest of their lives, she was going to get quite cross with him soon. Everyone made mistakes. She'd forgiven him long ago for sending her to the past without her consent. There was no reason to keep rehashing what she'd already forgiven him for.

"The _only_ person to blame for what Greyback did, is Greyback himself."

"Yes, but if…"

"No, Kingsley! I won't hear another word about it. _Greyback_ is the monster. You are not responsible for what he chose to do to me."

It was another argument that she knew would come up again in the future. She could understand his reluctance to forgive himself for something that happened to her as a result of being where she wasn't supposed to be in the first place, but it was unfair. Life wasn't always sunshine and daffodils. Even if she stayed in her correct timeline there was not any way to tell that she wouldn't have been harmed in some way. Maybe she would've been attacked by a fugitive Death Eater and killed. Or maybe a wall would've collapsed on top of her when she was helping rebuild the castle. Sexual assault was a concern that all women had regardless of where they lived or _when_ they lived. If it hadn't been Greyback, it could've been someone else. There were no guarantees that she would've been safe remaining in her timeline.

"How did you find out about that?"

"If you can believe it, Dolohov actually told me."

She could feel her eyes narrow in confusion at his answer. As the explanation of how Kingsley was actually _working_ with her ex-boyfriend and his biggest rival came tumbling out, Hermione could hardly believe what she was hearing. It made no sense at all. Antonin's willingness to blurt out that she'd been raped by Greyback and summarily stalked for years didn't surprise her. No, she always half-expected him to tell Kingsley the truth just for the sake of making her miserable. What _did_ surprise her was learning that Antonin seemed to actually be out there _helping_ Kingsley.

Thoughts of the last night she was in her ex's presence weren't easily pushed away. Beyond the fact that he tried to physically assault her and force himself on her, he swore to her in his kitchen that he would one day stand over Kingsley's grave. There had been no doubt in her mind that he wasn't completely serious. Antonin had a desire to murder her wizard. Their rivalry and hatred for each other began years before either of them even knew she existed.

She was unsettled by the very idea that Antonin was somehow out there hunting down Greyback _with_ Kingsley. It made absolutely no sense whatsoever. Her ex-boyfriend's feelings for her were made perfectly clear that night. Unless he'd completely undergone a personality change as a result of his time in Azkaban, he no longer held any warm feelings for her. A large part of her suspected that Antonin was the third person Greyback and Salazar were waiting for outside of Andromeda's shop. She could easily believe that in his extreme bitterness and anger that he wanted to kill her. Only Thomas' presence in the whole event gave her pause. She didn't doubt that Antonin would willingly throw himself in front of a curse meant for Thomas. He was probably the only stable, positive influence he'd had consistently his entire life. She refused to believe that he would ever engineer a situation where Thomas would be injured.

Unless… unless there was a mistake and Thomas was only supposed to be the bait that got her there. It didn't take a genius to know that she would've gone anywhere Thomas asked her to go. Maybe he wasn't supposed to be hurt at all. She didn't want to believe it, but she knew her ex-boyfriend was the type of person who clung to grudges far longer than he should have. There had to have been more to the story of what happened that day. As much as she didn't want to cross paths with Greyback or Salazar Selwyn again, they would have the answers she desired.

"Why is Antonin helping? I'm sorry, but that just doesn't make any sense."

"I suppose he's helping because he thinks there's still a chance with you."

Hermione started to laugh until she realized he was completely serious. After the way he treated her that night in his kitchen, there was _no_ way she would ever be remotely interested in even a friendship with the man. He was dangerous and unpredictable. Whatever she once loved about him had long since disappeared. He'd had many opportunities to become a good man and each time he was faced with the choice, he chose poorly. Rotting away in Azkaban with the dementors sucking out the limited joy and happiness he'd once had could not have improved him any.

It occurred to her as she tried to wrestle with the idea of Antonin's motives in hunting out Greyback and protecting Aberforth from Azkaban that Kingsley likely already knew the secret she'd been keeping from him for months. Or, _years_ rather. The way in which he wouldn't meet her eyes and the petulant scowl on his face told her all she needed to know. Though it didn't really matter _how_ he knew, Kingsley was all too aware of the night she spent with Antonin after she was thrown out of their home.

"I should've told you the truth."

"Why didn't you?"

The pain in his eyes ripped at Hermione. She despised knowing that the hurt that was present was entirely her fault. How much more agony was she destined to heap on the shoulders of the man she loved with every breath in her body? As much as she was hesitant to tell him everything, she was weary and exhausted of lying and keeping secrets.

"All of my excuses are paltry and not nearly good enough. I wanted to tell you, but I knew my time was running out. I was certain I was going to die. Didn't even _dare_ hope that I would be able to make it back to the present. Tommy suggested…"

She stopped herself before she finished the sentence she began. It didn't feel right to betray Thomas when he had only been trying to help keep her relationship together. He loved the fact that she was with his younger brother and would've done anything to make certain they never broke apart.

"What did my brother suggest?"

There was clear anger in Kingsley's tone. Hermione couldn't blame him. Thomas wouldn't have been able to blame him either if he'd been present. She confessed everything. Told him how she was certain that she was going to die and didn't want to spend the last few months of her life with him angry. As each word fell from her tongue, another and then another followed. She wanted there to be no reason to even suspect that she'd wanted to rekindle her past romance with Antonin.

But, even with no longer wishing to tell lies or keep secrets, she stopped herself each time she started to tell him about the night she confronted Antonin in his kitchen after he almost succeeding in killing Kingsley with that dreadful spell she loathed. She wasn't sure what kept her from spilling it out. Maybe it was because she knew they were going to need all of the help they could get to find and stop Greyback once and for all. Antonin was a dangerous enemy to have, certainly, but he could be a formidable ally. If Kingsley knew about the promise he made to stand over his grave or how he tried to do the very thing Greyback did to her so many years ago, all of his anger would be directed straight to his rival. She would have to worry _again_ about him flying out of the house to confront Antonin. As much as she believed that Kingsley was capable of besting Antonin, she still held a small measure of fear inside her heart that one day her ex would see his deepest desire come true.

"Tommy wasn't wrong. I _would've_ been too angry at first to forgive you. You would've disappeared before we reconciled. I _hate_ that you lied to me, but I can understand why."

Somehow she managed to coax Kingsley back into bed. There was still so much they had to discuss, but they had all of the time in the world to talk about it. She meant what she said when she promised that she would never leave him again. With her arms wrapped tightly around Kingsley from behind, she held him until they both drifted back to sleep.

* * *

 **9:30 am**

It felt bizarre for Hermione to move around the house that she'd lived in with Kingsley for so many years and feel like it wasn't exactly home. There had been changes to the house that she might've made herself if she'd stayed, but the subtle differences were unnerving. As she tried to make her wizard his favorite breakfast, she kept discovering the utensils that had _always_ been in a certain drawer had been moved across the room to another that didn't make the least bit of sense. By the time he wandered downstairs showered and ready to eat, she was frustrated. Would it always feel like she was forcing her way back into a life that wasn't there anymore? Afraid that she would upset Kingsley by her musings, she plastered a bright smile on her face to join him for the first meal of the day.

Neither of them meant to sleep as long as they had. The Minister for Magic was _never_ late to work as the multiple owls waiting for him at the kitchen window could attest. Several messages from his assistant and from other Ministry officials concerned that he wasn't already in the office encouraged the man to eat as quickly as he could. As much as he didn't want to leave her alone for even a single moment, he had responsibilities at the Ministry. Once they were taken care of, he promised to find her at her father's pub.

Hermione used the Floo to travel to Hogsmeade moments after Kingsley rushed out the front door. In the excitement of the day before, she hadn't even stopped to take a good look at the business she was so proud to help her adoptive father run. When she stepped out into the dingy main room covered in years of dust and grime, she sighed. How long had he kept up the cleaning of the pub to her exacting standards after she left? She feared that the uncertainty of her fate likely spun Aberforth into a deep depression all too evident with the filth of his surroundings. Determined to make a difference, she rolled up her sleeves and began muttering the familiar charms.

"I wondered how long it would take you to decide you didn't care for the changes I made to the old place."

There was a note of amusement in Aberforth's voice that made her laugh. Allowing the magic swirling through the air dusting and sweeping and cleaning to continue on its own, she crossed the pub to wrap her arms around his middle again. Just as there had been its own kind of comfort with Kingsley, she breathed in deeply the familiar scents that surrounded the wizard she loved so much. Unlike when she first arrived in his life, Aberforth didn't even hesitate to return the affection. For several minutes they stood just in front of the bar clinging to the other, assuring themselves that they were really there together again.

"I'm afraid I have some bad news for you, lass."

Aberforth kept hold of his girl as he told her about his attempts to restore her Muggle parents' memories in Australia. Knowing that he had spent so many years learning everything he could about memory charms and reversals just so he could do what he could warmed her heart more than she was sure anything else ever had before. The proof of his love for her was in the act. It grieved her to know that she had irrevocably altered their memories, but knowing that they were happy together halfway across the world and she had her own family eased the pain just a bit.

"Sit down at the bar. We have cause to celebrate."

Hermione did as she was told. She started to argue that it was way too early in the morning for a drink, but the words didn't come out. If she was honest with herself, the desire to take the bottle of fire whiskey out of her father's hand and drink straight from the neck was overwhelming. So much had happened in the past few days that she desired the numbness that she had become so familiar with. A day would come very soon when she knew she would need to learn how to say 'no'.

"Just a little one. To settle the nerves."

It always seemed as if Aberforth could read her mind. Maybe he could. They'd both taken to studying Occlumency when they knew they needed to keep the secret of her true identity away from Albus. Perhaps he'd gone as far to study Legilimency while he was at it. There was no doubt in the minds of the people who actually knew him that he was just as talented and powerful as his older brother. If Aberforth set his mind to do something, there was nothing that would keep him from succeeding.

Knowing that she could share anything with the man she considered to be her dad, she told him about finding Kingsley seated on the floor in the middle of the night just staring at the bed. Naturally she left out the part where they had both been completely naked. Aberforth was a worldly man, but he didn't need to hear the details of what she got up to in the privacy of her bedroom.

"He's likely to be fearful for a while longer, my girl. You disappeared from our lives just as abruptly as you dropped into them."

Wishing to lighten the tone of their conversation, she thought about that night she first appeared in his parlor. He had been so secretive about the contents of the letter he'd written to himself. She remembered how flushed his cheeks got when she asked him what he thought was an impertinent question.

"You know, you never told me what you were doing the evening I ended up in the past."

Just as she expected, the parts of his cheeks not covered by his whiskers flamed red. Aberforth could be so predictable at times and a complete mystery at others. He knocked back his entire glass of mid-morning fire whiskey, cleared his throat, and leveled her with a stare that just dared her to continue. Hermione wasn't afraid. He would Avada _himself_ if it would keep her safe.

"You wouldn't answer me when I asked."

"Never you mind what I was doing."

"Must have been terribly inappropriate or embarrassing for you to turn so red."

He glared at her as he filled up his glass again. She adored this part of their relationship. Many times over the past she'd found opportunities to tease him and she'd gladly done so. It gladdened her heart to know that she hadn't lost these moments forever. Aberforth had become such an important part of her life even if she hadn't necessarily realized it until she feared she would lose him.

"So what was it, Dad? I'm your daughter. We should have no secrets."

"Do you really want to know?"

"Of course! What were you doing that you can't tell me?"

"Pomona Sprout!"

Hermione felt her mouth open in surprise. Of course she knew that there was something that had been going on between the Herbology professor and her dad for years, but he'd never come right out and said so. She'd seen the way they looked at each other when they were close by, how the professor would casually touch his arm or he'd be so quick to walk her back to the castle.

"Are you satisfied now? Is that what you wanted to hear, my girl? That Mona and I were out in the back garden underneath a beautiful moon and she looked at me with that cheeky little grin of hers I can't ever resist? That your ancient dad took your Herbology professor…"

"Merlin, Dad, stop!"

"…right up against the back of the old goat pen?"

The moment the rest of the words came out of his mouth, Hermione couldn't keep her laughter inside anymore. An entirely different sort of tears than she'd been experiencing the last few days began streaming out of her eyes. She couldn't breathe as she laughed hysterically. Aberforth seemed a little put out at first, but a grin quickly formed on his face partially hidden behind his whiskers.

"The goat pen?" She wiped her eyes and continued laughing. "Quite a popular romantic destination for the Dumbledore family!"

"What do you... oh, bugger, Hermione! I don't need to hear that."

A sudden thought came to her that made her laugh even harder. Aberforth was fighting the urge to laugh along with her, but she knew he was about to lose the hard fought battle. She could barely breathe as she asked her question in between bursts of laughter and gasps for air.

"Do you… think that Uncle… that Uncle Albus… ever entertained any of his… any of his _gentlemen_ callers out there… too?"

"That settles it. I'm burning it down immediately."

Neither one of them could stop laughing at that point. Streams of tears rolled down Aberforth's cheeks in an exact imitation of his daughter. It felt so good to both of them to break the tension they'd been living under for so long. Each of them were so intent on their mirth that they didn't even hear the bell ring above the door or the two sets of footsteps cross the still-dusty floor.

" _H-Hermione_?"

Only the sound of Harry Potter's voice had the power to break through her laughing fit. Both Dumbledores stopped the moment he spoke. She wiped at her eyes and cleared off her cheeks with her sleeve before facing her best friend. When she felt like she was composed again, she spun around on the barstool.

It was strange that though she'd been gone for almost ten years, neither of her two best friends looked any different. She could tell based on the way both Harry and Ron stared at her unashamedly with gaping mouths that her appearance was a bit of a shock. Surely they would have been made aware of the fact that she'd actually grown up more in the past? Her friends were still teenagers, but she could hardly remember what those years had been like. They seemed like a lifetime ago.

"Harry!"

She hopped off the barstool and grabbed Harry in a tight squeeze. It felt all at once familiar and completely odd to hug him again. Her fear was that they weren't ever going to be able to return to any sort of friendship like they once had. Many times she expressed her fears to Thomas that she would disappoint the 'Chosen One' in some way. She would never be the same girl she once was. Would he accept who she had become? Or were they destined to simply grow apart and politely nod to each other when they crossed paths in Diagon Alley?

"We read in the Daily Prophet this morning that someone spotted you in the village last night."

Hermione turned to look at Aberforth for confirmation. He held up his hands, a silent explanation that he didn't know what they were talking about. She suspected that he'd kept his grudge against the wizarding paper since the morning they printed the article about her being in St. Mungo's. He wasn't a man who would give up grudges easily.

"Why didn't you let us know that you were back? We've been worried about you for months."

Her sudden guilt made her wish to look anywhere else but at Harry. When her eyes fell on an equally upset Ron, she wanted to run to the back of the pub and hide in her old bedroom. So much about her life had changed in just a few hours. She was beginning to feel overwhelmed.

"We thought we'd never see you again."

The last statement was practically whispered by her former boyfriend. Or, if she was following the linear laws of time, her _current_ boyfriend. She hadn't had the chance to break off her relationship with Ron before she disappeared. _That_ , she was certain would be an awkward moment for both of them. Maybe she would wait until Kingsley came in the same room. It might be easier that way.

"I'm very sorry, Ron. I didn't mean to worry anyone."

She stepped over to him to greet him with an awkward hug as well. When she tried to move away, he grabbed her by the waist to kiss her. At the last moment, she turned her head so his lips brushed her cheek instead of her lips. It was a painfully uncomfortable experience for everyone in the room. Ron just stared at her as if he didn't even understand what was happening. If she was honest, Hermione was furious. As much as she cared about Ron, he had always been a bit clueless. Did he really expect everything to just go back to normal after all that had happened?

Any further bit of tension was immediately ignored when the door to the pub opened a second time. Skeeter's latest article must have been read by everyone that morning. When Hermione's eyes adjusted and she realized that she was seeing a smiling Rodolphus just inside the door, she ran across the room straight into his arms much to the confusion and disgust of her ex-boyfriend. She hadn't had the courage to ask anyone yet about the fate of her Lestrange relatives. Not even in the midst of her emotional conversations with Kingsley in the middle of the night did she dare breach the subject.

"What are you doing here, Roddy? I thought that you… well, I was worried that…"

Rodolphus kissed her forehead and hugged her tighter. He whispered directly in her ear so no one else could hear.

"I remembered Neville. I kept him safe."

"I never had any doubt."

Her cousin released his hold to reach for the woman standing just inches behind him. When he entered the pub, Hermione had been so focused on him that she hadn't even noticed that he wasn't alone. Mafalda Hopkirk smiled timidly as Rodolphus' arm wrapped possessively around her waist. Still unsure what was happening but excited to see the loving way in which her cousin looked at the witch, Hermione squeezed one of Mafalda's hands and kissed her cheek.

"Mafalda and the Longbottoms worked with Kingsley to get me a pardon."

"Don't forget Andromeda, dear."

Rodolphus' handsome face lit up even brighter at the soft words from the shy woman next to him. Hermione had never seen her cousin so happy. She felt a lump of emotion form in her throat. He deserved to love and be loved in return. She desperately hoped he'd found what he'd been looking for all those years ago.

"Yes, of course. Andy was a tremendous help too. Without them, I would still be back in Azkaban with…"

A flash of sadness colored his features. Realizing he was referring to his brother, Hermione placed her hand on his elbow and squeezed. As ecstatic as she was to have Rodolphus back, she knew that their family would never be whole again. Rabastan made his choices years earlier and he would have to suffer the consequences. They would always miss him.

"Rosie checked the tapestry this morning," Rodolphus explained in an effort to move the subject away from his younger brother. "When you disappeared, a smudge appeared next to your name where your date of death was supposed to be. Father called in all sorts of experts to find out _why_. All they could ever come up with was that you were neither dead nor alive. He used to sit in front of it and stare at it for hours, hoping that he'd get some kind of answer."

She didn't want him to continue talking about her uncle. It was too painful. Just the fact that Regnault wasn't standing there with him inside the pub was all the answer she needed to know about his fate. _Nothing_ would have kept that man away from her if he'd been alive. Hermione could only hope that he had finally been able to find some peace.

"Rosie started checking it after Father… well, after he…"

Unable to finish his thought, Rodolphus dropped his eyes to the floor. Mafalda placed her hand on top of his before completing it for him.

"After Regnault passed away eleven years ago, Rosie began checking it each morning for any change. The three of us were just sitting down to breakfast when she burst into the room with the news that the smudge was gone. The tapestry shows you very much alive again."

"The _three_ of you?"

Hermione couldn't even begin to imagine who might be living at the manor with them. If Regnault was gone and Rabastan was locked away in prison, there didn't seem to be anyone else she could think of. Mafalda and Rodolphus caught each other's eye and both blushed. A pleased grin banished all signs of sorrow on her cousin's face.

"We have a son that I only recently learned about. Mafalda was pregnant when I was… when I was taken _away_ so many years ago."

Hermione gasped at the welcome news. Rodolphus had longed for a child for as long as she had known him. If ever there was a man alive that had love to give, it was him. She kissed both of their cheeks again and clapped her hands.

"Dad, pour a glass for everyone. This is a celebration!"

Always one to spread around good alcohol when it was called for, Aberforth went around the room pushing glasses into each hand and pouring a liberal amount of fire whiskey. Both Harry and Ron accepted their drinks with bemused expressions. Neither seemed to understand what was happening. _Why_ was their best friend being so openly affectionate with a known Death Eater?

"None for me, thank you."

Hermione heard Mafalda politely refuse the offer of a glass from Aberforth. She took the glass from him and tried to force the older witch to take it. Once again, Mafalda thanked her with a smile, but refused. Just as Hermione was about to tell her it was rude to refuse a drink, she stared at a smirking Rodolphus with wide eyes.

"Roddy?"

"It's still very early, but the Healer doesn't think we have anything to worry about."

She kissed both of their cheeks again and hugged Mafalda. Not only was her cousin out of prison, but he was finally with a woman who loved him every bit as much as he loved her in return. The gift of not one, but _two_ children to the man that deserved a house full was nothing small. When she broke apart from the embrace, Mafalda's cheeks were flushed.

"I know it's all a bit ridiculous at my age…"

"Nonsense! I hope you have a dozen more."

Glasses were clinked and fire whiskey quickly swallowed. Hermione no longer even cared what time of morning it was. She felt like celebrating not only the fact that she was still alive despite months of worrying that her death was imminent, but also because life was still going on. People were living and growing their families. Rodolphus announced their plans to marry after the first of the year, and she almost broke down into happy sobs.

The bell above the door rang for a third time. All sound in the pub quickly died down when they realized it was Andromeda. The _moment_ she laid eyes on Hermione, she pushed Teddy into the arms of a delighted Rodolphus and closed the distance between them in seconds. Both women grabbed each other and didn't let go. They didn't speak at first. Just clung to the other while silent tears landed on each other's shoulders.

"Andy, I don't know what to say. I'm so very sorry."

"It's not just my loss. You loved them too. Will you help me? Help me teach my grandson how wonderful they both were?"

"That's not even a question you need to ask. Of course I will."

The rest of the morning passed in a blur of activity interspersed with laughter and tears. Most of the village came by at some point to welcome one of their own back. Many of Hermione's classmates and friends from the nineties came by as well. Aberforth would have done a grand amount of business if he hadn't been giving everything out for free.

Hermione worried that her relationships with those she knew only from the nineties would never be the same again. Not only was she older than all of them suddenly, but it seemed that she didn't have anything in common with them anymore. Maybe they would rediscover common ground as time went on, though she hardly dared to hope.

It was easier when Kingsley joined the impromptu party. Even being apart from him for just a few hours had been difficult. She didn't rest easily until he was standing next to her with his arm possessively wrapped around her waist. The embarrassed glares from Ron sulking in the corner didn't even put a damper on her good mood. He couldn't have seriously expected everything to return to what it had been. They hadn't even been _happy_. She relaxed when he finally left.

Just before noon, most of the visitors had come and gone. Thankful for a few minutes of peace, Hermione kissed her father's cheek and told him she was going outside to the back garden to check on his goat Matey and get a bit of fresh air. He joked that as long as she was out there, he'd make certain he'd keep Kingsley where he could see him inside. His earlier threats about burning down the pen weren't forgotten, to their mutual amusement. Kingsley didn't ask for clarification. He knew all too well that there was a special bond between Hermione and her adoptive father that he would never be able to fully understand.

Outside in the cool, December air, Hermione stopped to take a deep breath. Between Kingsley's constant need to be in the same room and the crush of well-wishers, she hadn't had a single moment alone. Not that she could really complain. It warmed her heart to know that she was so loved by so many different people.

Perhaps her ebullient mood that morning kept her from focusing too much on the negatives she knew were still out there in the world. With Greyback still on the loose, she was still very much in danger. He might have been weakened according to Kingsley's Auror friend Iain, but he was always a threat. She didn't want to think about the monster for even a moment on what had been such a good day.

As she closed her eyes and took in another deep breath, she didn't even hear the footsteps only a few paces behind her. She was still thinking about how wonderful it was that the Lestrange family was growing again when she felt her feet freeze to the ground and a hand wrap around her mouth from behind. Her first instinct was to try and scream. Aberforth and Kingsley weren't far away. If they heard her shout, they'd be there in seconds.

"I'm not here to hurt you, _daragaya_. I just want to talk."

Antonin dropped his hand off of her mouth and stepped around where she could get a good look at him. The years had changed him into someone she almost didn't recognize. Perhaps somewhere deep down inside there were still hints of the shy boy he once was, but she couldn't see them. It saddened her that the transformation she always knew was coming was finally complete. His mother would've been so ashamed to see how he turned out.

"I have nothing to say to you, Antonin. Release my feet and I won't tell Kingsley you're out here."

"I'll be gone before Baby Shacklebolt could even find his wand."

There was a challenge in his voice that Hermione didn't care for. He smiled as he spoke, but there was no joy in his expression. She longed to run as far from him as possible. _Nothing_ about him gave her any peace. If Kingsley was right in his theory that Antonin was still hoping to have some kind of future with her, she didn't see it. There was such hatred in his familiar dark brown eyes when he looked at her. Once upon a time there had been love there. No longer. Whatever Antonin's reasoning was for aiding Kingsley in the search for the werewolf who longed to possess her, she couldn't fathom.

"I just wanted to see with my own eyes that you were still alive."

"Yes, no thanks to your little mates."

"My 'little mates'? I'm afraid I haven't the foggiest idea what you're referring to."

Hermione scoffed. Her instincts that Antonin was somehow involved in the attack in Diagon Alley became even stronger. She had known him too well and too long to not see his hands all over that attack.

"Salazar Selwyn and Greyback. You were the one they were waiting for, weren't you?"

Antonin stepped closer and took a dramatic sniff of the air around her. The similarities to Greyback's usual behavior around her were startling. If he was trying to throw her off-center, he was succeeding.

"Why am I not surprised that the stench of fire whiskey hangs all over you? How much have you had to drink already? Have you even bothered to have lunch yet?"

"Fuck you, Antonin."

"Thank you, but I'm no longer interested."

Wanting nothing more than to go back inside where her father and her wizard were, Hermione pulled her wand out of her pocket and pointed it at her ex. Antonin only held up his hands and laughed.

"I meant what I said earlier. I'm not here to hurt you."

"Then _what_ do you really want?"

"I promised Baby Shacklebolt that I'd help him in exchange for his getting me out of the country. I'm ready to go now."

"I'll pass along the message. Now, _let_ me go."

A vicious smile that did nothing to improve his countenance spread appeared on Antonin's face. He leaned in the last few inches to kiss his old girlfriend on the cheek to her complete disgust. Hermione didn't waste a second in wiping her cheek with her hand. Antonin laughed as he released the spell. The moment she could feel freedom in her feet, she ran back inside.

In her absence, Thomas arrived. His little brother was busy haranguing him for checking himself out of the hospital before he was advised. Even if Kingsley had _technically_ lived longer than he had, Thomas brushed off his concerns as he always had before when it came to advice from his younger brother. Hermione rolled her eyes. He would probably never change.

"Hermione, tell this arse that he should still be at St. Mungos'."

"He's a grown man, Kingsie. He can make his own decisions."

"Thank you, Hermione."

Thomas' satisfied grin improved his marred visage immeasurably. There would always be scars on his cheeks to remind him of that horrible day when he fought Greyback, but perhaps over time they would begin to fade. Kingsley wasn't happy to have his witch take his brother's side over his. A prominent pout on his lips would've made her smile if she wasn't still reeling from the utterly bizarre conversation she'd just had with Antonin. She approached the wizard she loved, and whispered the message Antonin wished to pass along. His eyes widened. He was out the back door in seconds.

"What was that about?" Thomas asked.

"Nothing you need to worry about. Now, are you _sure_ you're all right to be out?"

The frustrated wizard's groan was almost completely drowned out by the sound of the bell above the pub's door. More than a few times that busy morning Aberforth had been tempted to blast the bell off the wall. Curious to know who could possibly be left to visit, Hermione looked up to see Luna Lovegood enter with the same dreamy expression she always had.

Though the girl could frustrate Hermione faster than just about anyone else she had ever met, she had a great deal of affection for the Ravenclaw. Hermione crossed the pub's floor in just a few strides to envelop the younger witch in a tight hug. Getting to know her father as a young man had given her a fresh perspective and appreciation for the extraordinary girl.

"My father wished to have me apologize on his behalf for not coming to see you himself. He's finishing up the latest issue. It's very important. He has new evidence of the Crumple-Horned Snorkack."

Hermione was so pleased to see Luna that she didn't even roll her eyes. Knowing that Thomas always thought so highly of her father, she turned to introduce the two. Thomas had a funny expression on his face that Hermione was certain she had never seen before. His eyes didn't leave their visitor for even a moment. He seemed both amused and very curious. It was _almost_ how he looked when faced with a fascinating project or problem to solve.

"Thomas, this is Luna Lovegood. Luna, this is Thomas Shacklebolt."

Luna ignored his extended hand. She stepped closer to him than was polite to take a long look at the scars on his face. When the tips of her fingers reached up without permission to touch the red, ugly tissue, Thomas dropped his eyes to the floor. He was ashamed of what had been done to his face. Far from being disgusted, Luna ran her fingers across them with all of the reverence she would've offered any mesmerizing creature with whom she crossed paths.

"To be marked like this by a werewolf shows he thought you a worthy opponent. He's marked you as his equal. You are a very brave man, Mr. Shacklebolt."

Thomas lifted his eyes back up to meet hers. His familiar, devastating smile was back firmly in its place.

"You, my dear, may call me Tommy."

She ran her fingers across his fresh scars one more time before exiting the pub with a promise that Hermione would be invited soon for dinner at their newly rebuilt home. Thomas watched her leave, his smile never faltering.

"I like your friend, Hermione."

She snorted.

"You realize that her _father_ was your roommate at Hogwarts, don't you?"

"I always liked Xeno."

"And she's a year _younger_ than your son?"

"Technically, I'm not much older than he is."

Any further discussion was halted by the return of Kingsley. He looked annoyed and frustrated. Though he didn't give much by way of details, he informed them that a plan had been made to get Antonin out of the country in a few days. Wishing for nothing more than a few quiet hours alone, Hermione begged him to take her back home. There was no argument. She had the rest of her life to reunite with old acquaintances.

* * *

December 25, 1998

 **11:30 am**

Kingsley couldn't remember having a more enjoyable Christmas brunch at his granny's house. Time seemed to pass so quickly in the short time since Hermione and his older brother returned. There had hardly been enough opportunity to process it all. Invitations had come from all over the country. Everyone, it seemed, wanted to hear her time travel tale straight from the source. To his relief, she'd turned down almost every single one. They'd hardly ventured outside of their home. And when at home, they'd hardly ventured outside of their bed.

As far as he was concerned, it was an almost perfect day. More guests than had ever filled Marjorie Shafiq's dining room surrounded her table. Andromeda brought little Teddy. Rodolphus and Mafalda brought their son Jack. His cousin Sada brought the latest in her long line of future ex-husbands. They all laughed and cried and were thankful for those who had come back into their lives. It _almost_ made the empty chair his mother always sat in less noticeable. Just like so many other families, they had their own losses. But, he was pleased to finally have a holiday where there were more gains to dwell on than ever before.

He would have loved to have his nephew there for the meal. Thomas had been insistent that they keep his existence a secret for a little while longer. Dean was spending Christmas in Ireland with Seamus' family and his long-lost father didn't want to ruin his holiday. Everyone in their family tried to argue that learning his father was alive would be a perfect present. He disagreed. A big part of him still feared that Dean would never forgive him for running out on his family. Kingsley was sorry to say that it was a legitimate concern. He _thought_ he knew his nephew would be overjoyed, but no one could really say for certain.

With their stomachs full almost to bursting, he walked with his older brother and his witch back to her father's pub. After entirely too many champagne toasts, none of them were fit to Apparate home. They were going to use Aberforth's floo and possibly nick some more of his liquor on their way out. The three of them wanted to share a bottle of fire whiskey in their home that year instead of the less-protected Shrieking Shack. Greyback hadn't returned to his former den, but it was better that they were safe.

"How was seeing Antonin again?" Hermione asked Thomas.

"Awkward, as you can imagine. He was angry with me about faking Silas' death… as you can imagine."

"Why did you do that anyway? I mean, why'd you make Dolohov think that it was him that killed Silas?"

Thomas shrugged his shoulder in response to Kingsley's query. Weeks earlier he'd desired nothing more than to ask his older brother that very question. Now that he had the opportunity, it looked like he might not get a satisfactory answer. Just before he could get frustrated with his reticence, Thomas answered.

"I wanted to punish Tony. He made some really bad choices. And, to be honest, Kingsie, I suppose I was finally choosing you over him."

The Minister felt a tightness in his chest at his older brother's words. All his life he wanted nothing more than to be first in his brother's eyes. He never had any doubt that Thomas cared for him, only how much. His first problem with Dolohov had always been that his older brother preferred him over his brother. Knowing that Thomas was finally choosing him first meant more than he could express.

"It'll probably take some time to repair that friendship. Assuming, of course, that Tony even _wants_ to continue, but…"

All three of them stopped meters from the door of the pub at the same time. Kingsley felt Hermione dig her fingers into his arm. Her breathing grew louder and shallower. Charmed to stick right in the middle of the door to the Hog's Head was a purple thistle. None of them missed the significance of the flower. Thomas moved to cover Hermione's unprotected side. No matter what happened, the two brothers weren't going to allow her to be harmed.

A piercing, distinctive howling from the nearby trees frightened them all. Kingsley knew it was coming from just beyond the pub. Likely along the same trail he'd followed to get to the Shrieking Shack. He knew that the time was now or never to go after the monster. Until Greyback was dead at his feet, he knew that his Little Witch would never rest comfortably.

"Tommy, you keep her in your sights at all times!"

His brother had the presence of mind to nod in the same second Kingsley took off running towards the howling. Most people would do all that they could to _avoid_ a known and murderous werewolf, but he certainly wasn't most people. He was a highly trained and dangerous auror. If there was anyone alive who could finally get rid of the beast, he was the one.

Fifty meters into the woods, the howling grew loud enough to hurt his ears. Kingsley could tell that he was getting closer. As he rushed towards the sounds with his wand in front of him prepared to curse anything that moved, his body suddenly lurched forward as his feet froze to the ground. Before he could even turn over his shoulder to see what was happening, his wand flew backwards out of his hand. Moody always warned him that he allowed his emotions to override his good sense at times. It was easy to sneak up behind him when he was too emotional. Sometimes he loathed how intuitive his mentor had been.

He spun around as far as he could in his present condition. His wand flew straight into the open, outstretched hand belonging to Antonin Dolohov. The howling ceased at once. Either his oldest rival was working with the werewolf or Greyback had never been anywhere near the immediate area. It hardly seemed important. Based on the homicidal gleam in the madman's eyes, Kingsley was in a great deal of trouble.

"Noble, deluded Gryffindor always running off towards danger when he should be running away from it."

Kingsley felt his feet unfreeze from the ground just long enough for him to turn around to face his attacker. When their eyes met, Dolohov threw up a barrier to keep him from moving again. The Death Eater's plans to escape the country seemed to no longer matter. Whatever he had planned instead clearly wasn't good.

"What is this about, Dolohov?"

He didn't want to show any fear. The man wasn't worth it. Kingsley had been in tougher spots than this and he'd managed to get out of them. There was still plenty of time before he had to worry.

"Hermione ever tell you about the promise I made her the night I put you in St. Mungo's?"

"Just get on with whatever you have planned. I don't have time to listen to your madness."

"I promised her that I would stand over your grave one day."

The Minister sighed. Not because he was afraid that the madman would actually accomplish the task he set out to finish, but because he was exhausted of this wizard always being a part of his life. He wished desperately this his father had never thought it was a great idea to become friends with Vadim Dolohov and introduce their children. A lot of frustration could have been avoided. Tommy would've found another friend. He would have been fine. Everyone liked his older brother.

"You've had plenty of opportunities to do so before now. Why haven't you?"

"I wanted to wait until _she_ got back. Seemed fitting."

"Do you honestly believe Hermione would ever want you back if you kill me?"

"I don't _want_ her back."

He wasn't making any sense. For _months_ he'd been assisting Kingsley in a number of ways. First with keeping Aberforth, and by extension _him_ , out of Azkaban, and then by actively seeking out the werewolf. What had changed? Or, had he always simply been playing an elaborate ruse?

"If I tried to kill you months ago, you wouldn't have exactly let me get close enough to her to complete my plans, would you?"

There was no sense in arguing with his logic. No, he wouldn't have allowed the monster anywhere near Hermione. Or Andromeda. Or Rodolphus. Or anyone else he cared about, for that matter. He would've done everything he could to drag him back to Azkaban where he deserved to spend the rest of his life rotting into even further madness. The man who stood only a few short strides away had long ago lost the last bit of coherence and sanity he possessed. Whether he'd gone crazy _before_ the dementors had freedom to suck his limited joy or after didn't really matter. He was only the shell of the man his brother and his witch once loved.

"Fine. Kill me, Dolohov, and then what?"

"Doesn't matter. You'll be dead and she'll get what she deserves."

Dolohov pointed his wand at Kingsley. There was a determination in his eyes that frightened him. He shouted words in a language he didn't know. Kingsley's eyes widened in shock and concern when the purple flames he'd seen so many years earlier came back towards him to finish the job they started. The Minister kept his eyes open as his certain death approached him. He wouldn't allow the arsehole to take his pride away from him even in the last seconds of his existence. As the flames drew closer and seconds felt like hours, he thought how terrible it was that he'd only just got Hermione back. There hadn't been enough time together. What was going to happen to her when he was gone?

Before the deadly purple flames flicked against his skin, a black mass osuddenly appeared in front of Kingsley, blocking the path of the curse. All too late he realized that it was Tommy's black cloak he'd seen. To save his little brother, he'd thrown himself in front of the flames. Choosing his brother a second time over his best friend, Tommy collapsed to the ground unconscious.

"NO!"

"NO!"

Kingsley competed with Dolohov for who could scream the loudest. No longer caring about his original objective, Dolohov threw himself down in the snow next to Tommy's immobile body. He pointed his wand at his best friend's chest and screamed in Russian between loud, shuddering sobs. Flickers of the purple flames seemed to come out of Tommy's chest and back into the end of his wand. He didn't stop until the fluttering of his eyes proved that Tommy wasn't dead. Still critically and likely mortally wounded, Kingsley's older brother ignored his sobbing friend to seek out his brother's eyes. Kingsley didn't dare blink until Tommy's eyelids closed again.

Inconsolable with the knowledge that he'd likely killed one of the very few people in the world who truly loved him, Dolohov seemed to lose whatever tiny grip he still had on reality. He didn't fight when Auror Iain Proudfoot seemed to appear out of nowhere to stun him. Once Iain tossed Kingsley his wand and began to magically bind his prisoner, he explained that he'd been tracking Dolohov's movements for days. He thought for certain that he was going to lead him to Greyback. Whether his plan had been successful or not, Kingsley didn't hear. He was too busy searching for the weak pulse that proved his brother hadn't succumbed to the curse yet, and sending off as many calls for help with his patronus as possible.

He was ashamed to admit that he'd forgotten about Hermione until he heard her terrified scream shake the very leaves of the trees. Trusting that Iain had the situation under control and he could do no more for his brother in that moment, Kingsley ran towards the Hog's Head faster than he'd ever run before. It chilled him to his very bones that he only heard a single scream. What was happening? Was she still there or had she been removed from the area?

A million different horrifying scenarios, each worse than the last, consumed him as he ran. Once outside of the protection of the trees and around to the front of the pub, the last of the strength in his legs gave out at the terrible scene in front of him. He fell to his knees right in the midst of the blood-stained snow.

An unmoving Greyback lay on top of his Little Witch with a dagger stuck through his chest and his unseeing eyes still open. Hermione's fresh blood still dripped from his mouth. Her eyes were shut and she wasn't moving either. The monster had torn an enormous strip of flesh and sinew from her shoulder and the base of her throat. There was so much blood he couldn't see how anyone could've survived.

On his hands and knees, completely disregarding the gore he was wading through, Kingsley crawled to his witch, screaming out her name.

* * *

 **There will be one final Additional Scene hopefully up in the next few days. Be on the lookout for it. I'm sure you'll want to check it out.**

 **One more chapter to go!**


	94. Chapter 94

**Final Additional Scene has been posted if you haven't read it yet. I highly recommend you read that before you get any further with this chapter. It will hopefully answer some questions that might have arisen in the last chapter.**

* * *

 _Author's Note: THIS IS THE FINAL CHAPTER! Can you believe it?! I can't. Thank you all so much for sticking with this story for so long. The encouragement has been so necessary and valued. This has definitely not been an easy journey and I'll admit that I almost quit half a dozen times when life got a bit stressful, inside the fandom and out. This has been a labor of love, and though it was cathartic, it wasn't easy. I hope you all enjoy the ending and that it meets up with your expectations._

 _Just a quick announcement - I will be taking a MUCH needed writing sabbatical after this. Definitely won't be posting for a while as I recover. But, don't let that worry you! My current WIPs on hiatus will be finished. I have lots of stories coming. Even an extremely ambitious story that I'll begin posting on January 1st. If you like quick updates and dark stories, you won't want to miss that one. Add me to your Followed Authors or Follow me on Tumblr if you want to keep up with what's coming. As always, I spend an embarrassing amount of time in the FB group The Death Eater Express. You can always find announcements and previews there._

* * *

Chapter Ninety-Four

December 25, 1998

 **11:15 am**

Christmas Cheer flooded every single one of Hermione's veins, filling her with a happiness and warmth that she hadn't even realized she'd forgotten. Or, perhaps more likely, it was just the mass amounts of champagne moving through her bloodstream that was making her warm. There had been more reasons to celebrate with toasts that year than there had been for many years before. She would hardly empty her glass before it was filled again. Everyone gathered around Marjorie's magically elongated dining table was in good spirits. Not only was it the first Christmas since the final defeat of Lord Voldemort and the end of the war, _two_ of their long-lost loved ones were back in their midst.

She had to frequently stop and remind herself to take a breath. As her eyes moved from person she loved to person she loved, she struggled with the worry and concern that something terrible was about to happen. One couldn't be _too_ lucky, could they? She loved every single person in that room. Even Kingsley's cousin Sada. Despite her questionable taste in wizards and in best friends, she had the same piercing wit that all of the Shafiqs possessed. Except for sweet, simple Masud, of course. Katie's little brother had a lot of admirable qualities, but that certainly wasn't one of them. Not that it mattered to Hermione. She gleefully kissed both of his cheeks and tried to keep her uncharitable comments about the unrealistic toupee he was 'trying out' to herself.

Watching Rodolphus be completely in love with his small family threatened to burst Hermione's heart. She couldn't wait for next year when their little one would be present. That child would be loved and adored by so many people. Selfishly hoping it was a little girl, she looked forward to the new life, the fresh start the child represented. After so many decades of death and destruction, waiting for a new baby was a welcome change.

Her hand kept slipping under the table to grasp her wizard. Whether his hand or his thigh or even just the edges of his robes, she didn't care. All she wanted was constant reassurance that he was still right there with her. He'd been behaving the same way since her return. Neither one of them could get enough of the other. More than just toe-curling, mind-numbing, amazing sex, they just _needed_ to know they weren't dreaming. Far from being annoyed by the near-constant touching, Kingsley ate as much as he could with his non-dominant hand just so he could keep his fingers intertwined with hers. It might be years before they could truly relax. Or, there might always remain that horrible bit of fear that the one they loved was only seconds from being ripped away from them entirely.

"Tommy wants to share a bottle of fire whiskey with us tonight, Little Witch."

Kingsley's whispered announcement surprised Hermione. She felt her eyes widen at the unsettling thought that he wished to continue their old tradition in the very place it began. After learning that Greyback had been squatting in the structure, she was tempted to burn it down.

"Not in the Shrieking Shack, I hope?"

"Of course not. I offered our living room. He doesn't want to be alone tonight."

"Ordinarily, I would say he was out of luck because I have some rather debauched plans for you, but I suppose we should make an exception."

He smirked and lifted a single eyebrow.

"What _kind_ of debauched plans?"

"Never you mind, Kingsie. Your brother needs us. This will be his first Christmas without his wife and son. That can't be easy."

"Let's teach him the valuable lesson of self-reliance."

She slapped his arm with her linen napkin. It wasn't hard enough to hurt, but it did make him laugh. Several around the table watched their exchange with warm smiles. After so much loss in their world, it was refreshing just to see a couple in love. Hermione leaned over to whisper in her wizard's ear.

"Maybe I could show you a little of what I had in mind this afternoon. You know, so you're not _completely_ out of luck."

Kingsley rose to his feet in seconds, pulling her up by the hand. She bit her bottom lip to keep from bursting out in loud laughter. He could be so simple at times. Highly respected Minister for Magic he was, but he was also a man. A man, who by his own admission, hadn't let another witch in his bed for three years at least. Truthfully, it was impressive that he had the stamina he did. As much as she liked to tease him about being an old man now, he certainly didn't act like it when they were alone.

"Hermione is very tired. I'm going to take her home."

"Tired?" Aberforth asked. "Are you all right, lass?"

Before she could even formulate a response to her dad, Kingsley made the excuse that she was still recovering from the time travel. Very few were convinced if the knowing smiles around the table were any indication.

"Tired from the time travel?" Andromeda raised an eyebrow and grinned. "And I thought you'd already had plenty of time in _bed_ to recover over the last few days."

No one seated at the table misunderstood her innuendo. Not even sixteen year old Jack even if he did seem a little uncomfortable at laughing with his mother seated next to him. Hermione didn't care. Let them think what they wanted. She had Kingsley again and there wasn't a constant threat of being murdered by Lord Voldemort hanging over their heads. Greyback was still out there, but she didn't worry too much about him. He no longer loomed so terrifyingly in her nightmares. She'd been able to defeat him with a brick, after all. Next time, if there was a next time, she would be better prepared.

"Before you go, come with me, girl."

Hermione learned a long time ago to never argue when Marjorie Shafiq told her to do something. It was a waste of time. No matter what one might argue, she would have her way in the end. It was much easier to just comply with her from the start. With a small smile to Kingsley, she followed his elderly grandmother out of the room.

She was led down the corridor to the room that once belonged to Kingsley's grandfather. Masud Shafiq, the elder, enjoyed surrounding himself with thick, heavy books and curious artifacts. All of the stories she'd heard about him over the years made her believe that he was a fascinating man. He would have had to have been at least a little interesting to keep a witch like Marjorie enthralled.

"I'm glad you're back."

"Thank you, Margie. I'm glad I'm back too."

The two women had been in the same room several times since she returned to the present, but they hadn't yet had the opportunity to speak alone. Whatever she longed to discuss, it was clearly very important. Hermione worried just a bit what it could be. Was she going to berate her for all of her secrets? Was she going to try to guilt her with stories of how miserable Kingsley had been for so many years without her? She wouldn't have even been able to argue with the woman. Hermione knew. Each time she looked up to meet Kingsley's worried eyes seeking her out or found him staring at her when he thought she was sleeping, she knew. It would take time before they could even hope to get back to something of a normal routine. Maybe _normal_ was an impossibility. They may have to just create a new kind of normal and hope that they remained happy.

"Of all of our family members, Kingsie is the most like me. He's brave and courageous to the point of stupidity at times." A wistful smile crossed her weathered features. "Oh, I could tell you some stories about my youth, child. Honestly, it's a bit of a miracle I survived long enough even to marry my husband and have my children. Your father would know all about that. He was usually the one who was egging me on."

Aberforth had been candid only a few times about what sort of hijinks he used to get up to with his oldest friend. It always warmed Hermione's heart to know that in a life that hadn't always been very kind to him, there had remained one constant: his friendship with Marjorie. They hadn't always been on speaking terms. Both of them were far too obstinate and stubborn to admit when they were wrong, but they each knew that when it really counted, when the other _really_ needed them, they would be there without a moment's hesitation.

"I'm hardest on him because he does remind me so much of myself. Maybe that's not fair, I'd never claim it was, but it's the truth. He's also my favorite. Now don't go telling him I said so. The boy's got a big enough head as it is. Mr. Minister for Magic could do with a bit of humbling, if you ask me."

As Marjorie was speaking, she opened a drawer in the massive desk that took up much of the center of the room. She kept up her verbosity while she dug through what appeared to be mountains of unorganized chaos. Her true purpose for asking for a minute alone with Hermione was unclear. She pulled out a long, thin wooden box.

"Masud had an _extensive_ collection. Of what, I'm not sure. He was always bringing home bits and pieces that looked like complete rubbish to me. Claimed this once belonged to Merlin or that once was touched by Rowena Ravenclaw. I suspect the peddlers just knew how to spin a convincing lie. He was always so trusting."

The wistful smile from earlier returned. There had been no question in anyone's mind that Kingsley's grandparents had been deeply in love. They had been fortunate to possess what so few others did. Almost as if remembering what she was doing, she removed the smile and shook her head. She opened the wooden box to reveal a remarkable dagger.

"This is one of the few items in his ridiculous collection that I think has actual value and worth. Now don't ask me what it's made of or what enchantments it has on it. I'm certain Masud told me all of that a long time ago and I nodded and pretended to be appropriately impressed, but I wasn't actually listening. He could blather on so when he was fascinated. All I know is that it was designed to cut through anything. And I do mean, _anything_ , my girl."

Marjorie turned the shiny, polished dagger handle-first towards Hermione. Refusal of a gift was not only rude but absolutely not tolerated by the tiny, wizened witch. If she wanted someone to have something, they took it whether they understood the reasoning behind it or not. Hermione couldn't even begin to imagine why she would give her an enchanted weapon. What did Marjorie expect her to face when she walked outside?

"I want you to keep that with you at _all_ times. Is that understood?"

All she could do was nod in the affirmative. It might have been an unusual Christmas present, but Hermione couldn't deny that it could have its uses.

"Neither one of us may be a Seer, but we don't have to be to know you're still in danger."

Hermione imagined running that blade through Greyback's flesh. The thought excited her more than it probably should have. Looking up from the dagger, she discovered Marjorie watching her with a curious expression. Before she could stop herself, the whole story of Greyback's attack and obsession came pouring out of her mouth. She wasn't sure why she felt the need to unburden herself after carrying it for so long. When she was done explaining how she'd gotten away from Greyback in London by hitting him in the head with a brick, Marjorie's thin arms were around her and they were both in tears.

"I always knew that whoever the fiend was that harmed you was dangerous, but I had no idea, child. As much as I hate to say that you were right in keeping silent about who hurt you, I know that your father and I would've been out there hunting him the very moment we knew. We _might_ have been successful in killing him, but I don't like to think of our chances."

Keeping Marjorie's advice in mind, she slipped the dagger in the same pocket as her wand. Rethinking her choice, before she stepped out of the library, she moved it to the other. It didn't make much sense to keep all of one's weapons in the same place. With a final hug, she promised to do what she could to keep her grandson out of trouble.

Both Shacklebolt boys were waiting for her at the front door. None of them were in a fit state to Apparate and it was such a beautiful day that they made the decision to walk to the pub to use the floo. Thomas made the suggestion of picking up a bottle or two of Ogden's Finest from the cellar she couldn't argue with. Her dad wouldn't mind, especially if it meant keeping them at home away from danger.

"It'll probably take some time to repair that friendship. Assuming, of course, that Tony even _wants_ to continue, but…"

The rest of Thomas' sentence was cut off by all three of them catching a glimpse of the single purple thistle charmed on the pub's front door. Greyback had never strayed far from his own special calling card. It was how he taunted her for years. There would be no reason for anyone else to even _think_ about putting the same flower in a prominent place where she was sure to see. Hermione grabbed on to Kingsley's robes, terrified that their happy peace of the last few days was about to be cruelly ripped away. When the howling began, she felt her stomach drop and she was afraid she was going to faint.

"Tommy, you keep her in your sights at all times!"

Kingsley ran off _towards_ the horrible sounds. Hermione tried to scream after him to stop, but nothing came out of her mouth. She didn't want him to leave her sight for even a second. Weren't they all stronger if they stayed together? What good would running off alone do? He really could be a reckless Gryffindor at times. They stood a better chance if they remained as a single unit. What sort of nonsense did Moody teach him in auror training?

Thomas was every bit as worried about his younger brother as Hermione was. He wasn't about to disobey the very direct order he had been given, but based on his fidgeting and how he moved from foot to foot, she could tell he desired nothing more. She knew that if she ran off into the woods she would be nothing but a hindrance, a distraction. Kingsley would focus more on her safety than he would fighting the werewolf. It could get him killed.

"Go after him, Tommy! I'll go inside and lock the door."

It was obvious that Thomas was hesitant to run into the woods no matter how much he wanted to. He'd already promised his brother that he wouldn't let Hermione get out of his line of sight. She had to repeat herself before he would finally listen. Watching him disappear through the trees was one of the most helpless feelings she had ever experienced. She longed to run off to battle with them, not sit at home safe inside. It was unfair that she couldn't fight. Sitting and waiting had never been her strength.

Realizing that she was alone and vulnerable, Hermione shook herself out of the daze she was in. Kingsley and Thomas could easily be running into a trap. She had to get somewhere safe until help arrived or they returned. Unfortunately, it was too late. Her hesitation left her feet rooted to the ground. When she tried to lift one, she realized they were frozen.

Only one person she knew of liked to freeze her feet to the ground. How many times had he done so over the years just so she wouldn't run away from him when he was screaming in her face? Antonin's temper hadn't improved with age. It had grown worse. After years in Azkaban, she knew that he would never again be the same person he was long ago when they were young. There used to be such hope for him. He could've made good choices and lived a completely different life. Maybe even been married with a family. His was a wasted life.

She tried to turn her head over her shoulder to get a look at her ex-boyfriend. Before she could see anything, a large being pressed their body against her back. A hand slipped over her mouth.

"Rules of the game have changed now that I can touch you."

Grasping at once that it wasn't Antonin holding her from behind, the spell was no longer necessary to keep her stuck in the same place. Fear ran through her veins, freezing her blood as it went. Why did no one realize they were running into a trap? They should have remained together.

"If you so much as _breathe_ too loudly, I will kill any fool who tries to save you. Is that understood?"

Arguing with a madman was a fruitless endeavor. She knew he was serious. Telling her not to make a noise wasn't necessary, however. She wasn't certain she would be able to get her tongue moving if she could. _Never_ , not even in the night he ripped her dress and forced himself upon her, had she ever felt so frightened and helpless. There were only so many times a person could be rescued in their lifetime. Had she finally met her quota? As she nodded her head in a promise to remain silent, the werewolf reached his hand into her pocket to remove her wand. Only when it was thrown away from them as hard as his supernatural strength could manage did he let her mouth go.

Greyback stalked around her stiff body to get a better look at her from the front. The same feral grin she could see when she closed her eyes at night graced his mouth as he hungrily eyed every centimeter of her frame. It was impossible not to see the bulge in the front of his trousers proving that he was finding the predicament she was in very exciting indeed. Bile rose up the back of her throat. Even if her father happened to come home right then or if the Shacklebolts came back out of the woods, it would be too late. He wasn't going to give up his prey. He finally had her right where he wanted.

The weight of Masud's dagger in her other pocket calmed her slightly. It was lucky that the beast didn't even think to paw at her to find any hidden weapons. At least with the dagger she had a _chance_. Without it, she was completely at his mercy. She longed to reach in her pocket to hold it when Greyback sniffed the air deeply, but she knew he would relieve her of it if he even suspected it was there.

"I do so love the way you smell when you're afraid."

"I'm not afraid of you, Greyback."

His amused chuckles unsettled her even further. How could a sound that was supposed to be a positive expression be so frightening? Bad things happened when Greyback was happy. The warped and delusional mind he possessed only enjoyed the truly heinous.

"You are not as clever a liar as you think you are, little girl."

Greyback reached into his own pocket. Her first fear was that he was bringing out a knife or some other weapon to make the next few minutes even more painful for her than they were already going to be. It didn't seem like him to want to use anything other than his claws or his teeth, but she couldn't be sure how warped he'd become in his recent isolation. Instead, he pulled out a filthy handkerchief that looked as if it had been trampled in the mud.

"I can always smell when you're afraid. You used to do a good show of hiding it, but I know. Intoxicating, really. I look forward to smelling it every day."

She feared even more that she was going to throw up the contents of her stomach. It had been a lovely, rich meal at Marjorie's and the champagne had been flowing freely. No longer the least bit tipsy, Hermione was sure she'd never been more sober in her entire life. He continued to stare at the foul rag in his hand with an amused smile. An involuntary gasp escaped her mouth when he held up a familiar silver chain. Using the handkerchief to keep from touching the silver, the beautiful locket Igor gave her once upon a time dangled in the air. When she had the presence of mind to ask Kingsley what happened to the locket, he told her that it seemed only right to give it back to Igor. Mesmerized by the manner it swung like a pendulum, she feared the reason why Greyback held such a memento.

"Did you know that the sentimental fool carried it with him at all times? I enjoyed killing him."

No one shared the details of how Igor's broken body came to be found in that horrible shack in the frozen northern lands. Nor did they seem to know who it was that actually killed him. She suspected that she was being spared from the worst of the details due to her past relationship with him. It saddened her to learn how he died, running like the coward she always knew he was. Like Antonin, he had every opportunity to make better choices in his youth. Perhaps he would've still been alive if he had.

Greyback enjoyed torturing her with the reminder of Igor's fate. He spoke in great detail of how he tracked the wizard down in some far off tundra. Because his older sister Sveta provided him with her own heart's blood to keep him protected from the murderous werewolf, she had to be dispatched long before he could hope to harm his target.

"Interesting woman, she was. Did you know there are actually women out there who _want_ to know what it's like to be with a werewolf? They don't hide from us. They don't declare us diseased monsters. They actually _seek_ us out, long to feel us between their thighs, beg us to fill them with our seed."

Igor's older sister had always had a dangerous fascination with monsters. It was sad, but not surprising to know that she held a great deal of interest in the carnal activities of the very beings she spent her life studying. Greyback described how he tracked her down, seduced her with hardly any effort, fucked her without mercy, and sliced her throat open with his sharp teeth while still buried inside her willing and compliant body.

"It was fun to taunt him about his sister. He was about as green in the face as you are right now. I told him everything, how she felt, how she screamed, first in ecstasy and then in pain, how her blood tasted. Fool was sobbing by the end. You've always had poor taste in wizards. They're all too weak, too emotional. I made his death painful. Painful and... _long_."

Tears streamed down Hermione's face, but she made no noise. She would always love Igor even if he had made some truly terrible decisions. They were not each other's futures, and yet, she would've done anything to save him from his fate. Time travel was cruel. To be a witness and be unable to do anything was agony. Igor deserved to have a better life than the one he ended up choosing. She would mourn him until she died.

All thoughts about Igor ceased when the monster pulled her against his body. His intentions were clear. She could _feel_ how much he longed to complete what he attempted to so many years before. With no Ted Tonks to walk in on them and no villagers out to stumble upon them, she worried that he might finally get what he had desired for so long. Greyback took a deep sniff of her hair and ran his tongue down the shell of her ear.

"I checked for bricks this time. There aren't any around."

The monster ran his hands all over her body, touching where he pleased, squeezing what he liked. She stood in place completely frozen from fear. He slid his hands roughly through her hair, breathing it in as he went. Ripping at the collar of her cloak, he tore the fabric to reveal the bare flesh at the base of her neck. She gasped when she felt his teeth lightly brush over the sensitive skin. Replacing his teeth with his tongue, Greyback lavished the part of her body she knew he was longing to bite into. If he bit her, she wouldn't turn into a werewolf. Not only was it not the nighttime while he was transformed, it wasn't even the right moon phase for over a week. Was his final plan just to take her somewhere safe to wait until the Full Moon? She didn't like any of her options.

"You made me wait too long, little girl. I should've marked you that night I fucked you on the floor of the pub. I would have if it hadn't been for your little mate."

Greyback ran his tongue up her neck and over her ear. When his mouth was lightly pressed against the outside of her head, he continued his hateful whispers.

"I enjoyed killing him too. His bones broke so easily. His blood was bitter though. There's nothing better than the taste of a young bitch's blood. I look forward to tasting yours. And then, after you're marked, I'm going to taste the rest of you."

The disgust she felt swirling in her stomach at his promises renewed some of her vigor. Maybe she wouldn't be rescued from this, maybe she would be injured and possibly killed, but she would _not_ just lay down and let him do what he wished. She would _not_ submit. Not even if it took the very last breath out of her body.

"You'll never mark me, Greyback. I will fight you."

"And you will lose."

"But so will you. You will have to kill me first."

He tightened his grip on her body, pulled her harder against his chest. The low growl in the back of his throat should've terrified her, but she was drawing on a well of courage she didn't know she possessed. Greyback was so intent on touching her in a desperate assertion of dominance that he didn't even notice her hand slip inside the pocket she'd stashed Masud's dagger. All she needed was a single moment of inattention or overconfidence and she'd put the weapon to the test.

"NO!"

She got her moment only seconds later. Greyback turned his head towards the woods where the shouts emanated. Hermione put her fears that something awful was happening to the two men she loved aside. If she hesitated, she might not ever get another opportunity.

The dagger slid into the werewolf's belly like it was nothing more substantial than softened butter. Warm blood instantly flowed over the handle, coating her hand in the sickly coppery scented substance. She feared she would drop it. Only sheer determination kept her hold on it tight.

Greyback growled louder and more ferocious than she had ever heard him before. It took every last ounce of strength she had to not fall completely to pieces in her terror. He grabbed her and threw her to the ground. The sudden shift in position caused the dagger to slide out of his ruined belly. She held on to it knowing that to lose it would be to lose everything.

His sharp teeth clenched on to the flesh of her shoulder. She hissed in pain. The werewolf tried to subdue her with his bite and grab the dagger from her hands. If she lost it, she would be resigned to a fate worse than death. Greyback would consume her, body and soul. He reached for the weapon and before he could rip it from her, Hermione closed her eyes and pressed it into his chest. Fearing at first that the thickness of his ribcage would prevent the blade from making much of an impact, she almost sighed when the enchanted dagger pierced his flesh once more.

The unnatural scream that was ripped from her body when he tore great big chunks from her shoulder and neck in his last bit of rage sounded harsh to her own ears. She held on, holding the blade, pushing it further and further into the beast. The moment she hit his heart, she watched the fury and the fear drain out of his eyes. Afraid to let go for even a moment, she gripped the handle until her knuckles burned. With the last remaining bit of her dwindling strength, she pushed the dagger in until his lifeless body collapsed on top of hers.

She didn't have the strength to push him off or to move at all. Her eyes grew heavy as her head became light.

"Hermione!"

She thought she heard Kingsley call out her name as her eyes drifted shut and the thick darkness surrounded her, but she couldn't be sure. The sound was so faint, so far away. Even if she wanted to respond, her tongue was too heavy to move, her mouth too cumbersome to open.

Just as quickly as the darkness overcame her, it receded. All weights holding her firmly to the ground disappeared. She thought it all very strange. Hadn't Greyback _just_ been sprawled on top of her, coating her with his cursed life's blood? She opened her eyes, afraid of what she would see.

When the Final Battle was over and she had a few minutes alone with Harry to hear his account of what happened to him in the Forbidden Forest, she remembered being fascinated by his visit with her Uncle Albus at King's Cross Station. The manner in which he described how bright and pure everything had been startled her. Was it possible? Did Harry truly have an experience with a loved one in a Heaven-like place moments after he died? It all seemed too fantastical to believe.

Until she realized she was lying in the pristine grass of the formal Lestrange Gardens. Except… except she wasn't exactly. No matter how hard he tried, her Uncle Regnault had never been able to sculpt his beloved gardens into such perfection. If she could have crawled inside Regnault's brain to see his desire and vision for his grounds, he wouldn't have been able to imagine such beauty.

Carefully sitting up, she discovered the searing, debilitating pain she'd felt where Greyback's mouth ripped flesh and blood was gone. She brushed her fingers against the area. There was no mark of his brutality. She pulled up her sleeve. Bellatrix's reminder of her lack of purity was gone. A quick look down the collar of her robes proved Antonin's scar was gone as well. As far as she could tell, her body carried no physical reminders of the pain she endured in her lifetime. How could that be?

An outstretched hand appeared in her direct vision. She thought she was alone. There hadn't been any sounds or indication that she wasn't. Afraid to take the hand at first, Hermione looked up straight into the smiling, handsome face of Regnault Lestrange. Much like her body no longer carried the marks of her life, neither did his face. He looked almost as young as Rodolphus was the day they first met.

She felt tears of a different sort from earlier in the day burn in her eyes and threaten to roll down her cheeks. Without hesitation, she gripped her uncle's hand and allowed him to lift her to her feet. Her arms were around his middle in moments. He wrapped his around her back, squeezing her tightly.

"My darling girl!"

Neither of them said a word for longer than a minute or two. Somehow, though, she got the impression that time didn't mean as much where they were as it did where she came from. Maybe an entire lifetime could take place in the span of single breath. Or maybe generations would come and go before anyone noticed she was missing. She was afraid to speak, afraid to break the enchantments of the peaceful place they stood. But, as was always the case when she was alive, her curiosity got the better of her.

"Am I dead, Uncle Regnault?"

"Not quite, but you will be very soon."

She thought for a moment that she heard her name shouted again. The noise was faint, just barely audible really.

Fearing that she wouldn't have much time, she poured out the concerns of her heart that had been a constant burden for her since she arrived in the past. As she confessed and begged his forgiveness for lying to him about who she was, Regnault only squeezed her tighter. His lips brushed the top of her head. He hadn't been so affectionate when he was alive. She mourned for the loss of the man he could've been without the social constraints he imposed upon himself. Maybe their home would've been filled with more laughter, more children, more joy. It seemed a pity that one didn't learn what was truly important until it was too late.

"You have nothing to be sorry for, my girl. I could not love you anymore than if you _did_ have Lestrange blood in your veins. Blood, as you taught me, means absolutely nothing. Oh, Hermione, I missed you so much."

Sobs tore through her chest at her uncle's vulnerability. She wished she had known this man. They could've taught each other so much more.

"I never wanted to leave you, Uncle."

"Shh, my darling. Of course you didn't. I confess I went a bit mad when I couldn't find you and that blasted tapestry couldn't tell me if you were alive or dead."

"I'm so sorry you were alone."

Regnault hugged her tighter as if he never wanted to let her go. Part of her didn't want him to. Wherever they were was peaceful, quiet. In the background she continued to hear her name being shouted, but it was grower fainter and fainter.

"Is this a good place?"

Her uncle pushed her carefully back from his chest with a bright smile. He nodded and began to tell her about all of the people they knew and loved that were there too. Sollie and little Elanor. His sister Roesia. His little daughter. So many.

"Do I have to stay?"

"You will find peace here. No one would blame you for wishing to stay. You've been through so much, my girl."

The shouting of her name began to grow louder. It sounded more and more like Kingsley. Was he there with her too? If he wasn't, she didn't want to leave him again. He had already suffered so much.

"I promised Kingsley I wouldn't leave him."

"He will grieve, but he will understand."

"Hermione! Hermione, _please_!"

She shook her head. It wasn't fair. He'd been so lonely. She couldn't bear to be the reason why he slept in an empty bed again.

"No, I can't do that to him. He's been through too much."

Regnault smiled. As he kissed each of her cheeks, he promised her that they would all be waiting for her when she was ready. He hoped that she had a long and happy life. Hermione hugged her uncle. When she closed her eyes, the heaviness and the pain returned.

With the last bit of her remaining strength, she opened her eyes to see Kingsley sobbing. No longer shouting out her name, he'd given up hope. Somehow, she summoned up enough to lightly touch his cheek. He immediately stopped and stared at her with wide, unblinking eyes.

"Kingsie, it hurts so much."

She closed her eyes, afraid that she was going to faint from the unbearable pain coursing through her entire body. Kingsley's voice barked out orders. She heard other voices nearby. Someone made her drink a potion and the world turned black again.

* * *

December 28, 1998

 **10:15 am**

A strong hand clamped down on Kingsley's shoulder in a show of support. Startled, unaware even that there was anyone else in the room, he looked up to meet the concerned, twinkling blue eyes of Aberforth Dumbledore.

"Son, you can't keep doing this to yourself. You _need_ sleep."

It was an argument eerily reminiscent of the last time he kept a faithful vigil by the side of his witch's hospital bed. He sighed, unable to summon up enough fight in him to argue. He _was_ exhausted. If he was completely honest with himself, he'd been afraid to sleep even before Hermione was brutally attacked and almost killed by Greyback. He kept fearing he would discover everything had been one horrible nightmare interspersed with too few moments of bliss.

"What if she wakes up and I'm not here?"

Aberforth squeezed his shoulder again. The wizard had been such a constant support through the entire miserable ordeal that Kingsley genuinely did not know what he would have done without him. He'd been the first person after him to arrive on the bloody scene. An unsettling in his gut made him leave Kingsley's granny's house earlier than planned. As the Minister was threatening to fall completely apart, Aberforth took control. Though he had to have been just as afraid that they were going to lose their girl, he'd called on his seemingly endless reserves to be a comfort. From the moment she was rushed to St. Mungo's, Aberforth hadn't been far.

"Do you think any of us are going to let that precious girl be alone for even a second? If you're not here, I will be or Rodolphus or Margie or half a dozen others who love her. Go home."

Hermione's team of world-class Healers, no expense spared for a member of both the Dumbledore and Lestrange family, of course, promised Kingsley that Hermione was going to be all right, but he was afraid to trust them. He wanted to be where he could always see her with his own two eyes. Aberforth would not take 'no' as a suitable answer. He reminded Kingsley that Hermione was healing. The last thing she needed was to wake up and start worrying about _his_ health.

With a final kiss to her forehead, Kingsley reluctantly left the hospital room that had been the entirety of his world since Christmas Day. Before he left to get some sleep, he made the decision to travel down the corridor first. Only steps away from Hermione's door he could hear loud laughter and an animated speech. He stopped to stand in the doorway, unable to fight the smile that appeared.

Tommy was entertaining his son and his partner with some ridiculous story from his younger days. When no one was sure that his older brother's battered body would survive the curse he took on his younger brother's behalf, Big Dean had gone straight to Ireland to tell Little Dean about his father's unexpected return and possible departure. Kingsley decided for the dozenth time or so that their family was going to have to think up a better method of distinguishing the two. Little Dean was every bit as tall as Big Dean and could possibly have another growth spurt left in him.

Little Dean didn't hesitate to come back when he heard the news. He'd been by his father's side all along. Seamus had been close by too. He often wandered between rooms to give Tommy and Dean time alone. Kingsley found him to be a great comfort. He liked him immensely. Even his granny had taken to him. She loved to point out with a laugh that the Gryffindors were finally outnumbering the Ravenclaws in their family.

As he finished up his tale, Tommy caught sight of his little brother and invited him inside with a wave of his hand. When he asked about Hermione's condition, both Dean and Seamus excused themselves from the room to give them some privacy. Kingsley's chest tightened when he saw Little Dean lean over the bed to hug his father. He knew they still had a long way to go, but their progress was encouraging.

Tommy watched the young wizards leave the room with a pleased grin. He hadn't been able to _stop_ smiling since he woke up in the hospital with his son seated next to the bed. Seamus had been an added bonus. To know that his son was so loved and cared for warmed his heart. Still looking out in the corridor, Tommy perked up.

"Kingsie, look out there."

Curious to know what had his brother suddenly so interested, Kingsley turned to see his father standing in the middle of the corridor speaking with his main Healer. If emotions hadn't been so high when his girlfriend and brother were both brought into St. Mungo's barely clinging to life minutes apart, it _might_ have been awkward to discover that his ex-girlfriend Roxanne Johnson's mother was in charge of Tommy's care. Healer Johnson was a well-respected Healer in her mid to late sixties.

"She's pretty, isn't she? Old girl's still got it after all of these years."

Kingsley felt his brow wrinkle up. He couldn't begin to understand what Tommy was getting at.

"She's a little _old_ for you, don't you think?"

"Not for _me_ , you eejit. For Dad. He's been alone too long. Mum wouldn't be happy."

Their granny chose that exact moment to reenter the hospital room.

"No, she wouldn't. I've been telling Dean that for fifteen years! Katie would hex him if she knew he'd been moping about so long."

Tommy gestured to the two standing in the corridor with his hand.

"What do you think of her, Granny?"

She stared for several moments before nodding her head once. Each of her grandsons knew her well enough to know when she was pleased.

"I think I should invite her over for dinner to thank her for taking such good care of you."

Kingsley rolled his eyes when he saw the conspiratorial grin on each of their faces. Neither one of them even stopped to consider the ramifications of their actions. What if they were successful? Would he have to welcome his old _girlfriend_ into the family as his new sister? When he brought up that valid point, they both told him that there were more important things than his comfort. Knowing that they wouldn't give up an idea once they had their minds firmly set on it, he rolled his eyes a second time and made his excuses. They continued their scheming without him.

If he was truthful, he liked the idea of his dad being with someone again. Being alone was difficult. He had more than enough of it and it wasn't even as though he was as faithful to Hermione's memory as his dad was to his mum's. His dad deserved some happiness again. Deserved the attention of a woman who cared about him. _If_ his brother and granny's scheme was successful, he would learn to live with Roxanne being an unconventional part of his life once more. Besides, there were other wizarding families with much more convoluted family trees than theirs.

The closer he got to the main reception area on the ground floor, the more his fatigue threatened to overcome his body. For days he hadn't even allowed himself the thought of walking away, but now that he had, he was longing for his sofa. Sleeping, even for a couple of hours, alone in the bed he shared with Hermione was out of the question until she was lying next to him again. A few hours of rest was all he needed to keep going.

Only a few meters from the main entrance to the hospital, Kingsley was surprised to see Silas and Hestia enter. His _other_ ex-girlfriend smiled the moment she saw him and rushed across the room to hug him. She told him how happy she was to hear that Hermione was back in his life. It couldn't have been easy for her to say such words, he knew. It must have hurt her just a little. He hadn't exactly been easy to live with.

Seeing Silas with her again made Kingsley happy. Neither of them were ever far from the other even when they were in the midst of one of their infamous rows. Kingsley shook his hand and asked if all was forgiven again. Before he had a chance to respond, Hestia rolled her eyes and smiled.

"I'm still a little annoyed he lied to me all of these years, but I suppose I can understand why he did." She ran her fingers through Silas' hair. "He does look better with black hair, doesn't he?"

"We wanted to check on Goldie and Tommy," Silas said with a pleased smirk.

" _And_ we wanted to make sure you weren't neglecting yourself, silly man."

The Minister assured his old friends that he was all right and on his way home to take a much needed nap. Silas took Hestia's hand and they walked towards the lifts. He wondered if now that Silas had something to offer her, a good family, his _real_ name, if he might finally marry her. Everyone could see how crazy about each other they'd always been. But, he knew that marriage wasn't everything. Two people could still share their lives and be in love without being married. He slipped his hand into the pocket of his robes. Of course, he thought marriage would be nice.

Outside the building, the fresh air revived him slightly. Knowing that he needed to check on a few matters before he could completely relax, Kingsley Apparated to the Ministry. Even though it was mid-morning on a Monday, the building was largely quiet. Many Ministry officials were still enjoying their holiday with their family. If he hadn't been unable to think about anything beyond what was happening in the bed inches away from him where his entire life rested for the past few days, he might have been one of them too.

His assistant Gemma was surprised to see him enter. She was friendly, but certainly not _as_ friendly as she had been in the past. The papers were filled with numerous accounts of Hermione's return. She now finally understood that she had no chance with the Minister. He thanked her for the promise of tea before shutting himself up in the office to review what he'd missed in his absence.

News that the Minister for Magic was on the premises must have spread quickly amongst those poor sods consigned to duty that day. He was nowhere close to making even a dent in the official reports laid across his desk when Auror Iain Proudfoot entered the office. Even if he hadn't been carrying news that personally affected Kingsley and his family, he would've always been welcome to sit across his desk for a friendly chinwag.

Iain brought updates of everything that had happened while his boss was worried that he was going to lose both his brother and the love of his life… _again_. Because he was already an escaped fugitive from his time between the wars, there had been no need to have a trial for Dolohov, but it was agreed that it would be best to get official statements from everyone involved. Just in case some soft-hearted official got it inside their mind sometime in the future to begin pardoning convicted Death Eaters. Antonin Dolohov's crimes were far worse than the most ordinary of the followers of the Dark Lord. It was imperative that a record be kept.

"I'll come by your office tomorrow to give mine. Tommy is awake and talking. Quite a lot actually." He chuckled thinking back on how determined his loved ones had been to meddle in romantic affairs that were not their own. "He won't be released for several days."

Iain promised to drop by St. Mungo's to interview him.

"How is Hermione?"

Kingsley sighed. His old friend was far from the only person who'd asked him that very question over the previous few nightmarish days. At least he was pleased to report that she was mostly all right. The bite caused a great deal of blood loss, but that was easily fixed with several doses of blood replenishing potions and lots of rest. Because the bite happened when Greyback was not transformed and it was not a Full Moon, she wouldn't have to worry about becoming a werewolf. Much like Bill Weasley, she likely would have a change in her steak preferences and perhaps a few other quirks that she would discover as time went on. The scar on her shoulder and the base of her neck was every bit as painful looking and hideous as the scratches on Tommy's face. They would both have to simply learn to live with them. To Kingsley, the marring of her flesh was a small price to pay for her life. She would wake up.

"Her statement can wait. When she's better, give me the word, Kings."

He nodded in agreement. There was no sense in dredging up unnecessary trauma before she was ready. Iain gave a further report of his activities of the days leading up to and after Christmas. Convinced that Dolohov was somehow connected with Greyback, he'd attempted to track the werewolf by watching the Death Eater's movements. Despite there having been a Ministry investigation of his late father's home and there being no evidence that he had been anywhere near the structure at any time since before his _first_ arrest, Christmas morning he'd made an unexpected visit. He continued on with the details that he'd discovered in his private investigation that led them both to believe that Greyback and Dolohov had been partners in their crimes.

Dolohov hadn't been well since his arrest. Convinced that he'd killed his best friend, he had slipped even further into the madness that had already taken over his entire being years earlier. There was nothing left of the wizard he'd once been in another lifetime. Locked up inside the brokenness of his mind, no one had been in a rush to relieve him of the guilt. When Iain asked Kingsley if it was all right to tell him that Tommy was going to survive, he reluctantly gave his permission. As much as he loathed and despised the man, he couldn't in good conscience let him continue to believe he'd murdered the only person who ever truly loved him in spite of all of his sins. The guards at Azkaban had been forced to keep him separate from the other prisoners out of fear for his safety and for theirs. Iain didn't expect the man to be a problem for much longer.

Just as he was finishing up his report, Gemma walked into the office with an urgent message for the Minister. She smiled at Iain, but he hardly noticed her existence. The entire exchange was witnessed by the exasperated Minister. He started to open the message and stopped himself to be rather blunt with his friend.

"Iain, mate, it's time that you moved on. Dorie was a special woman and we _all_ loved her, but you can't spend the rest of your life pining after a ghost. Trust me. I should know. Ask Gemma out."

"I don't know, Kings."

"No, it's an order. Ask. Her. Out."

Kingsley ripped open the note. It was from Aberforth. There was no time for a nap. Hermione was awake.

* * *

December 31, 1998

 **9:30 pm**

Nothing that Kingsley said would convince Hermione that they should stay home. Absolutely nothing. It didn't matter that she had only just been released from St. Mungo's the day before with strict instructions that she not overexert herself. Nor did it matter that everyone in the village was going to be badgering her for details of not only her travels through time, but of how she singlehandedly murdered the fearsome werewolf with her bare hands. Or, rather, a _dagger_ in her bare hands. She wasn't going to miss Margie's Hogmanay party for anything. If ever there was a time to celebrate the dawning of a new year and the promises of a better world with it, it was then.

Kingsley threatened to tie her up just to keep her home, but they both knew he didn't actually mean it. He would've pulled the moon down out of the sky if she desired to possess it. Although she was well aware that his overly compliant mood wouldn't last forever, or likely beyond the next Tuesday, Hermione was going to take advantage of it while she could.

Everyone who lived in Hogsmeade and countless others who didn't were already crammed inside Margie's house when the couple arrived. Kingsley had only agreed under the condition that they show up late so as not to overtire the recent patient. In the crush of guests celebrating the first year in many, _many_ years when the threat of Voldemort no longer hung over their heads, they spotted Thomas in the middle. He'd checked himself out of the hospital against Healer's orders… _again_ , and Hermione didn't waste a moment calling him a stubborn fool.

"I told my Healer that I haven't missed a single Hogmanay party at my granny's my entire life."

"And she let you go?" Hermione was skeptical.

"Oh, no, she's still quite furious with me, but I _did_ get her to agree to come tonight. You know, keep an eye on me."

He winked and gestured across the room to where his Healer was standing with his father laughing. Hermione had been on board with the plan to set Big Dean up from the moment she heard of its existence. It didn't even bother her that her path might have cross Kingsley's old girlfriend's on a regular basis if it succeeded. Small price to pay for Dean's happiness. No one should be forced to spend the rest of their life in an empty bed.

Their conversation turned to the topic of Gracie. Thomas was ill at ease from the start, but he knew Hermione well enough to know that she wouldn't leave him alone until she had the details. She loved him and was worried about him.

"It was all very bizarre, Hermione. I don't even know how to adequately describe it."

Dean brought his mother to St. Mungo's a few days after his arrival. There had been a lot to discuss and yet, no way to truly explain what happened. Witches and wizards struggled to understand the concept of time travel. What hope did a Muggle have? And, to add in the fact that Thomas had willingly and knowingly abandoned his family, there had been a great deal to apologize for. By the end of their conversation, he and Gracie had been friendly, but he absolutely wouldn't blame her for not wanting anything to do with him in the future. She was happy with her husband and the life she'd created with him. Thomas was only a complication.

To lighten up what had become a depressing and serious cloud over their corner of the festive party, Hermione slyly pointed out the front door where a couple of new arrivals had just entered. Xenophilius and Luna Lovegood wore matching robes of a garish purple that somehow only endeared them further to Hermione. She might never understand either of them, but she liked them. Her time in the past had given her a new appreciation for _interesting_ people. Thomas was surprised and by the looks of his bright smile, pleased.

"I might have suggested to Margie that she send them an invitation. She's still entirely too young for you, you know."

"I'm aware. I'm only interested in a friendship. If in a few years when she's older and I'm hopefully ready to move on from Gracie, we will see what happens."

The rest of the evening was enjoyable, if it was also a bit exhausting. Everyone had been kind to Hermione and extremely curious. No matter how many times she brushed off someone's inquiries about how she'd defeated the werewolf, the questions kept coming. It angered her by the end. Could she not have a few _days_ to process what had happened? Would her name _always_ be linked to the monster's? Would she never have peace?

Just before midnight, she was grateful for Kingsley's hand slipping into hers. With a quick kiss to her lips, he led her out the front door to the snow-covered garden. Thomas and Andromeda were already waiting for them with glasses of champagne and tiny pieces of parchment. When she realized her best friends were wanting to recreate the New Year's tradition they always shared with Antonin, her first instinct was to leave. But, even Kingsley had to finally agree that it was an interesting custom and perhaps it wouldn't be a terrible idea to try to remember some of the joy she once had with the man who no longer existed. She kissed him, once again surprised by how mature her Kingsie had become in her absence.

As they waited for the hour to strike and the new year to begin, Hermione looked around at all of her loved ones gathered near. Andromeda reached for Thomas' hand to hold during the countdown. Though their personal situations were very different, they were both spending their first New Year's alone without their spouses. Perhaps they could be a small comfort to each other in those few seconds when the world seemed so full of promise and excitement for those in love. Having a good friend meant never having to go through the hard moments alone.

Rodolphus and Mafalda had eyes for no one else in the entire world but each other. Hardly able to keep their hands off of each other, Hermione adored seeing them so happy. They _both_ deserved a happily ever after. She caught Aberforth's eye when she looked away from her cousin. He stood next to a smiling Pomona Sprout, his hand resting on her waist. She adored her adoptive father and hoped that he too was on his way to finding the joy he should've had his entire life.

Margie somehow managed to push her son-in-law into a dark corner with Healer Johnson. If the couple was even aware of the blatant manipulation, they didn't appear to mind. Hermione had to laugh when the tiny, smirking witch pointed to the sprig of mistletoe she'd enchanted to hang over their heads. Perhaps her trick would work just as well on them as it had with Kingsley and Hermione.

When midnight came, Hermione's chest felt tight with an overpowering influx of emotion. Joy raged with sorrow. Fear mixed with hope. Love fought hate. She wasn't sure what was happening. Not wanting to lose any semblance of control in front of such a large crowed, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She was the last one of the quartet to drink her champagne laced with ashes of her wish for the upcoming year. The taste was still heavy on her tongue when her wizard kissed her again.

"What did you wish for, Little Witch?"

She wasn't sure that she even believed in the Muggle superstition that telling someone a wish would make it impossible to come true. Tempted to remain silent, she was helpless when a curious Kingsley kissed her a second and a third time. There wasn't much she wouldn't do for him, including risking the loss of her wish.

"I wished for nothing more than a quiet life with you in it with me."

"That's _exactly_ what I wished for too, Little Witch."

"A life with no more secrets, no more lies."

He kissed her again with assurances that that was what he wanted, as well. Besides, he explained, it turned out that he wasn't very good at keeping secrets anyway. She laughed that it was his Hufflepuff traits that made it impossible to be convincing. With the festivities in no hurry of winding down, Hermione began to feel the exhaustion that her Healers advised her would plague her for a few weeks more. Her eyes felt heavy and she longed for nothing more than her bed.

"Will you take me home, Kingsie?"

They stood at the threshold of their home only minutes later. Hermione expressed her concern that it might be bad luck for Kingsley to be his own First Footer. She didn't understand all of the traditions or superstitions. He put her mind to ease with another kiss.

"It doesn't matter. After the year we've just had, I feel confident that we can make it through anything."

She had just enough energy to make it up the stairs and get ready for bed. Once she was dressed in one of her wizard's old Quidditch jerseys that hadn't fallen to threads simply because of magic, she crawled under the covers. Moments later, she sighed when the bed dipped down behind her and Kingsley's arms wrapped around her body.

"I'm sorry that I'm not up to trying to recreate any of our past New Years."

A kiss to the top of her head was his response. She knew without him even needing to say the words that simply being together was the best they could hope for. As they often did while they lay in bed at night, they began to talk over the events of the day. A weight of guilt hung around Hermione's neck that she longed to get rid of. Sometimes just talking to him helped.

"Did you see how Harry and Ron wouldn't even talk to me tonight at the party?"

She couldn't exactly blame them. Since her return to the present, she hadn't been terribly friendly. It was wrong of her, she knew, but it was easier to simply avoid them. How could she even begin to tell them all that she had gone through when she was in the past? Ron was already quite angry with her that she didn't simply fall back into his arms like nothing had happened. He'd always expected her to adjust to meet _his_ needs. Even when they were just friends. Thinking about going back into any kind of friendship with someone who, while he certainly had his good qualities, too often felt like nothing but a drain on her energy just felt wearisome.

And Harry. How could she explain to him that she'd been the one who gave Voldemort his father's name the first time? How could she explain that she willingly gave up the names of just about every single Order member he knew to keep herself safe? Or how she'd actually been.. how Voldemort had… how the curse made her… She couldn't even look him in his eyes. Maybe one day he would understand her actions. She couldn't be angry with him if he never did though. Some of her actions had been simply unforgivable.

"You've been back less than two weeks, Hermione. And, those haven't exactly been filled with boring and uneventful days. Give yourself a break. It will take some time to rebuild your friendships. If they love and care about you as much as I know they do, you will all get there. It just takes _time_."

She sighed. He was right. He usually was. Trying to force the three of them into the same friendship that once existed was impossible. None of them were even the same people. She promised herself that she would try harder once she had some time to truly relax and heal.

"No one at the party even knew what to call me. It was easy enough for those who know me well enough to call me Hermione, but the villagers were confused. Those who knew me from the past kept calling me Miss Dumbledore and then correcting themselves to call me Miss Granger. Then those who knew me as Granger wanted to know if I went by Dumbledore now and honestly, I don't even know what my own name is."

Her wizard calmed her down with a simple kiss in her curls. When he spoke in his deep whisper, she relaxed even further. He always knew what she needed.

"Would you like to make it easy? Make it so no one, including you, is confused?"

"Of course, but how?"

Kingsley reached for her left hand. In a single confident and determined motion, he slid the diamond ring she found in his robes so many Christmases ago down on her finger.

"Become Mrs. Shacklebolt."

She snuggled backwards further into his warm embrace.

"I thought you'd never ask."

The End.


	95. Caradoc Add'l Scene & Story Announcement

**Author's Note: I've had so many people ask me what happened to Caradoc that I finally just had to write this! Hope you enjoy. It's a bit darker than I intended. Pay attention to the new warning below.**

 ***** I posted this scene to both the Additional Scenes and the main story because I wanted to announce that when I finish writing my insane story Last Year, I will be doing a final edit of TMS and combining the Additional Scenes with the main story. Some readers have complained about them not being included in the main story and while I did that intentionally to keep from having POV issues, I do understand that it's a valid concern. So, I will be editing the main story and eventually doing away with the Additional Scenes story in order not to confuse future readers. So you may see a day when you receive a number of update notices for TMS and be disappointed to know it's only me moving around the chapters! Sorry. ;) *****

* * *

 **Warning** **: This chapter has a new content warning for suicidal ideation. All other potential warnings from the rest of the story could also apply, but that one is new.**

* * *

Confronting the Madness

Caradoc

He was being foolish. Every cell in his body shouted at him to stop what he was doing. What did he possibly hope to accomplish being so reckless? He was a Hufflepuff, after all. _Not_ a bloody Gryffindor. His entire heart might belong to one of those proud, noble idiots, but that didn't mean he had to act like one himself.

But, he reminded himself, what _else_ did he have to lose? Everything and everyone that meant anything to him was gone. Or as good as. War touched each one of their lives. No one was immune. There were rumors that hope was coming soon. Prophecies or toothless old hags reading signs of the end in their tea leaves. It didn't matter to Caradoc. To him, it felt like all that stretched out ahead of him was a future filled with loneliness and abject misery. The light was gone from his life, snuffed out way too early.

It was never his intention to fall in love with Gideon Prewett. No, even years after their first heated kiss in the darkness outside of The Hog's Head he still felt like he'd taken advantage of the young, trusting wizard. Though his soul was much older than the number of years he'd been alive on the Earth, Caradoc always believed he was too old for Gideon. Too old and too bitter about where his life ended up. What man in his right mind would allow himself to fall in love with a man who spent every single day working closely with the best friend he'd been in love with since school?

One passionate, unexpected kiss in the shop's storeroom right after Rodolphus married that wretched bitch could've easily been the end of their friendship. At the time, it happened so quickly that Caradoc wasn't even sure who initiated it. How many times had he fantasized about pushing his best friend up against the shelves and _proving_ to him how much he loved him? Too many to count. When it happened, instead of being overjoyed and enthusiastic that _maybe_ he could have some part of Rodolphus' heart and body, all he could think of was how disappointed Gideon would be in him when he confessed. Because he loved Gideon too much to keep such a tremendous secret to himself. He deserved to know, deserved to have the chance to slap Caradoc in the face and kick him out of the flat they shared.

Rodolphus was the one to break the kiss before it escalated any further. The taste of fire whiskey was strong on his tongue. Caradoc knew his best friend was struggling with an enemy he couldn't defeat.

"I'm so sorry, Caradoc. That was… I shouldn't have done that."

Thick tears rolled out of Rodolphus' light green eyes. The urge to pull him into his arms was so overwhelming that Caradoc knew they would have to walk away from each other soon or risk being drawn into the same situation again.

"I shouldn't have kissed you, Caradoc. I shouldn't have taken advantage."

Caradoc tried to lighten the tense mood with his cheekiest of grins.

"Oh, so _you_ were the one who started that? I thought I'd finally lost all of my self-control around you and done what I've dreamt of doing a thousand times."

Rodolphus tried to smile, but failed. More tears rolled down his handsome face. He looked so lost and pathetic that Caradoc pushed his concerns of a repeat aside to wrap his arms around his clearly hurting and confused friend. Reluctant at first to accept the comfort and support, Rodolphus finally relaxed into the embrace. Neither of them spoke. Words weren't necessary. It didn't take a genius to figure out his best friend was in an enormous amount of pain that even the copious amounts of fire whiskey he consumed couldn't cure. The Lestranges all relied too heavily on alcohol, in Caradoc's humblest of opinions. More than a few times he'd been concerned about his drinking habits and Hermione's. It was unsafe, always led them to making poor decisions.

Like kissing his best friend. Caradoc was thankful he never tried that before he had Gideon in his life and knew what love actually was. If Rodolphus tried it years earlier, he might never have recovered from the pain that was sure to follow when he walked away with another piece of Caradoc's broken heart. Now with Gideon in his life and in his heart, he could see the act for what it actually was - a desperately sad man drowning in his own sorrows looking for anything to hold on to. It hurt Caradoc's heart to see his friend so downtrodden and unsure of himself. And, it made him long to go home to tell Gideon how much he loved him.

"I thought maybe… I _hoped_ that I could…"

Caradoc pushed gently back from the stammering man to look him in the eyes. When Rodolphus tried to keep his eyes focused on the floor, Caradoc placed two fingers under his chin and forced him. He knew what his friend was trying to say. Years earlier, after a night of heavy drinking for _both_ of them, Rodolphus told him he wished he could love him back, that he didn't deserve to be less than someone's first and _only_ choice. It wasn't something he could offer even if he wished he could. The confession made being alone with his best friend awkward and depressing for weeks until Caradoc put on his brightest grin and pretended he wasn't hurt until he found he no longer was.

"You're always going to be my best mate, Roddy. _Always_. No witch or wizard could ever change that."

Except, as Caradoc was saddened to discover years later, a wizard _had_ come come between them. A Dark wizard with a name that they were all too cowardly to speak. With the tragic loss of his cousin, Rodolphus fell down into a dark abyss that he didn't know how to help him crawl out of. They rarely spoke. Not even in the shop. _If_ he bothered to show up to check on his business, he didn't stay long and was usually too drunk to know what was happening. Hermione's loss profoundly affected them all. The times he'd been around Kingsley after it happened… the pain was too much. He usually excused himself to leave the room.

Rodolphus was almost a stranger. Grief and whatever darkness he was involved in with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named changed him into a man that Caradoc didn't recognize and didn't want to be around. His consumption of alcohol only got worse. There were times when he would speak just the most ridiculous rubbish. About how he needed to remember a name, no matter what. He made the mistake of asking what the name was once when he walked up on Rodolphus muttering to himself in his office. _Neville_. It didn't mean anything to Caradoc until Frank and Alice had their baby. Then when they had to go into hiding at the same time as the Potters, he worried even more. What could his best friend possibly want with a helpless baby? _None_ of the possibilities were ones he wished to consider.

When the very worst day of Caradoc's entire life happened, he longed for the man Rodolphus used to be. Just to have his solid support at his back while he tried to make sense of the fact that he would never see Gideon's face again would've made all of the difference. Never had he felt so alone. Several of the other members of the Order tried to offer their support, their comfort, but none of it helped. The ones that he wished to have with him facing the possibility of the rest of his miserable life without the one person who brought him joy and purpose weren't there anymore. Possibly not even _alive_ any longer.

 _Fucking Death Eaters._ He would make it his mission, his _purpose_ to eradicate every single one he found until they were all dead. _None_ of them deserved to walk on the Earth while his Gideon rested beneath it. Not even Rodolphus. He was just another faceless, soulless monster of terror. Caradoc had no doubt that he would find the consequences of his actions catching up to him one day. Maybe his former best mate would be the one to swing the sword, so to speak. He didn't doubt that if given the opportunity, he wouldn't falter. Not even for Roddy.

Everyone knew who was responsible for the murder of Gideon and his twin brother Fabian. It was an open secret. Some said that Dolohov had finally gone mad when the broken body of his best friend Thomas Shacklebolt was found, but Caradoc didn't believe that was true. Antonin Dolohov had gone mad long before that horrific tragedy. When? He wasn't sure. Only that he remembered catching Dolohov's eye years earlier when he was still hanging around Hermione and seeing nothing but cold rage. A chill ravaged his body at the sight. There was something _off_ about the Russian wizard.

It hadn't been a surprise at all to learn that Dolohov was the ringleader of the Death Eater mob that savagely murdered the Prewett twins. Maybe part of him had been expecting that to happen. One didn't cross paths with a madman without fearing that they would one day come after their loved ones. Caradoc didn't care about his own safety. He would've gladly laid his life down to spare Gideon's. There wouldn't have even been a second of hesitation. The world was nothing but shite now that he was gone. He didn't want to live in it anymore.

Dolohov was forced to go underground when the news of his treachery reached the ears of the Order of the Phoenix and the Ministry of Magic. The home he'd been working on remodeling and updating for years was well-known to both sides, but out of fear of the dangerous wards the former curse-breaker was capable of surrounding his property with, no one was foolish enough to go rushing in. Not until they had their own experts tear his work down. With the war heating up and growing even more deadly with each passing moment, there wasn't enough to dismantle them. Instead, the Ministry simply covered it all with their own spells, a sort of magical burglar alarm that would alert them to any possible activity in the area. So far, to Caradoc's disappointment as well as everyone else's, there hadn't been any sign of him anywhere near his home.

An anonymous tip came into the Headquarters about an old attic flat in a dingy building above a locksmith in Knockturn Alley. There had been some suspicious activity. Though that was normal in that part of the city, the fact that a wizard dressed in dark robes was seen coming and going at the oddest hours of the night piqued his curiosity. Years earlier Dolohov abandoned his old flat to move into a much nicer building, but Caradoc would never forget the interesting and sometimes hilarious stories Hermione would tell about the people who lived in the building where her boyfriend lived. Sirius Black offered to investigate with him. Caradoc politely declined his assistance. If Dolohov was indeed hiding inside his old flat, he planned on showing no mercy. Black had the rest of his life to look forward to and he didn't want to deprive the younger wizard of his future.

Few people ventured out of doors when the moon was high in the sky. Even fewer entered Knockturn Alley during those hours. Violence and degradation flooded the streets of Wizarding Britain. Most chose to avoid the possibility of being swept into it by staying inside. If Gideon was still alive, Caradoc would've been tempted to lock the two of them inside their own home and never stepped outside until they either died of starvation or the damned war was over.

But Gideon was dead. He would never again hear the musical laugh that always made him smile nor the throaty moan that always made him hard. Their future, the one they used to dream about and plan out while they laid awake in their bed catching their breaths, was _never_ going to happen. He was going to die alone. At least Gideon had his brother when he died. Caradoc had _no one_.

It must have been fate that no one crossed his path as he walked from the entrance of Knockturn Alley to Trackleshanks Locksmith. Or no one else was as foolish as he'd become in his grief. His safety was no longer a concern. The worst thing that could ever happen to him was that he'd be in an immense amount of pain for only a short time and then he'd get to see Gideon again. And maybe if he was lucky, his death would be swift.

The door that led to the flats above the building was difficult to open. Frustrated that something as insignificant as a _door_ could keep him from his goal, Caradoc blasted a hole right in the middle. If the sound woke up the inhabitants of the building, he didn't much care. He wanted to look the man who killed his beloved in the eyes.

No one accosted him on the way up the stairs. Though it was always possible that he hadn't made that much noise, he thought it was more likely that the residents were more inclined to stay huddled inside their homes than to investigate unexplained sounds outside. He could've sworn, however, that as he climbed the stairs and passed by doors to flats, he could feel them watching him through the peepholes in their doors.

At the very top of the staircase he found two closed doors. One he remembered as belonging to the 'slag who lived at the end of the corridor'. Or at least it did once upon a time when Hermione described walking in on her boyfriend fucking his neighbor on the dining table. Maybe the slag moved on. Caradoc didn't care.

He stopped in front of the door that he knew used to belong to Dolohov. Movement behind the door could be seen in the shadows that peeked out under the doorframe. It was always possible that the suspicious wizard wearing dark robes was entirely innocent. Maybe he was simply shy and liked dark clothing and had nothing in common with the Death Eater that once inhabited the flat. If that was the case, Caradoc would turn around and walk away. But he had to be certain before he could rest.

The door opened. Standing in nothing but his pants was the very wizard Caradoc hoped he would find. Dolohov didn't sneer or glare when he realized who his visitor was. No, he _smiled_. Somehow that made the whole experience all the more unnerving. Caradoc could feel his resolve start to slip. The Gryffindoric stupidity he borrowed was beginning to dissipate.

"A little late for a social call, wouldn't you say, Dearborn?"

"You know very well why I'm here, Dolohov and it's _not_ a social call."

Dolohov leaned against the doorframe and crossed his arms. His wand wasn't in his hands, but Caradoc knew that that wouldn't matter. He was a talented enough dueler that he could reach for his wand in his waistband and get a curse off before most could utter a single spell.

"Oh, I know what you _think_ you're here to do, but you and I both know that that's not going to go well for you."

How little the cretin knew about him! Caradoc was good and his years working with the Order of the Phoenix made him much better, but he knew what he was and what he wasn't. He was _not_ a fighter. At least not a very good one. His talents were more in reconnaissance and healing spells when the fighters returned. Hermione taught him several after he and Rodolphus did such a dismal job trying to heal his arm after the scared owl attacked him the first time. He also could be very persuasive when he wished to be.

"I'm not here to kill you, Dolohov. Or even _try_. Don't get me wrong. I should. You've caused enough damage and heartache in this world. Too many of us are walking around with our hearts gone from our bodies because you stole the ones we loved."

Dolohov scoffed, unfolding his arms. Caradoc prepared himself for the green light he had nightmares about. When the madman didn't reach for his wand, he calmed only slightly.

"Your wizard put up an admirable fight. It was _almost_ not enjoyable to end his life."

He wouldn't allow the wizard to bait him. Caradoc held up his hands, showing they were empty too. Dolohov could kill him before he even grabbed his wand. They were on an uneven playing field. Just like the twins. Five Death Eaters against two wizards was never a fair fight. He was proud that Gideon fought hard.

"Do you think _she_ would be proud of the wizard you've become, Dolohov?"

His chilling laughter made the hair on Caradoc's neck rise up. He detested the sound.

"I don't care what a bitch like Dumbledore thinks about me. Even if she was alive, which I doubt, I wouldn't care."

"I wasn't talking about Hermione."

Dolohov narrowed his dark brown eyes, confusion evident behind them, but pride kept him from asking him to clarify.

"I'm talking about _Mira_. Would your mum be proud of the wizard you've become?"

Caradoc's head slammed against the wall. His assailant moved so quickly to grab his throat that he was practically a blur. He knew it would be dangerous to mention the woman he loved more than any other, but it was a weapon just as sure as a wand. Dolohov pressed the tip of his wand underneath his throat. The rage in his eyes was something that would've terrified the older wizard in another lifetime. In that one, however, the one that was forced upon him against his will when his beloved was cruelly murdered, he had no fears at all.

"She was a kind woman with a generous heart, wasn't she?"

"Don't you _dare_ speak about my mother."

"She would be ashamed of you. Ashamed of the monster you've become."

The low growl in the madman's throat morphed into a scream of rage. Caradoc refused to show any emotion, refused to stop. Let Dolohov kill him. It's what he wanted after all. There was nothing left in the cruel, ugly world for him. He would've done it himself if he thought he could look Gideon in the eyes in the afterlife. No, he had to try to make it meaningful, try to make _something_ good come out of it.

"Your mum would want to you to stop killing innocent people. She'd want you to walk away from You Know Who and …"

"Stop talking about my mother!"

"… make something good of yourself. Your mum would want you to stop hurting people."

"Stop it, Dearborn! Stop it!"

An accidental magical outburst sent sparks out of the end of Dolohov's wand, burning both Caradoc's chin and his hand. Cursing at the pain, the wizard removed his wand to point it down at the floor. The short break in the taunts about his mother while Caradoc hissed and tried not to scream out seemed to bring Dolohov back to his senses. Or at least as close to them as it was possible to be. The man was cracked, utterly and completely. Probably had been for years. The strain of being a murderous Death Eater turned him into an insane monster. He smiled again, the rage he felt only moments earlier apparently gone.

"I get what you're trying to do, Dearborn. What a clever little Hufflepuff you are! You want me to turn myself in to that crackpot Moody. Apologize for being a naughty little boy and let them throw me in Azkaban to rot."

"Your master is going to lose this war."

" _No_ , he's not. He can't lose. He can't even die. But _you_ can."

The wand was back under his chin and the madness back in the other's eyes. Caradoc refused to be cowed. He would stand up straight up until the very moment of his death. If Gideon could be brave, so could he. _Only a little while longer, my love. I'm coming for you._ He smiled, never letting Dolohov know he was getting to him.

"I'm not afraid to die, Dolohov. I'm not afraid of you."

"Then you are a fool."

He dropped the wand again. Spinning on his heel, the wizard started towards his flat. Just before he closed the door on his late night visitor, Dolohov turned around again to meet his eyes. Caradoc didn't understand what was happening. He didn't expect the cretin to take his pleas to turn himself in to heart. Where was the man's fiery temper that he'd heard so much about?

"I spared your life once before. Did you know that?"

Caradoc could only shake his head. Words failed him. What was happening?

"I did it for Hermione… because she loved you so much. I didn't want to hurt her. I used to love her."

He didn't understand what was happening. Was Dolohov going to let him go? There was a reason he came to the flat of a known and dangerous Death Eater in the middle of the night! Taunting him about his mother? That had been a ploy to get him to lose control. _Why_ hadn't he done anything? What else was Caradoc going to have to do or say to get the unhinged wizard to grant him the sweet release he was desperate for?

"I couldn't be the wizard she wanted me to be. She thought there was enough good in me, but she was wrong." He lowered his voice and softened his tone. Some of the menacing madness behind his eyes dimmed. "But even an animal knows something about mercy."

Dolohov raised his wand again, pointing it straight in the direction of Caradoc's chest. He could feel his heart rate speed up. Was this the moment he'd been dreaming of since he first learned that Gideon would never be coming home? Unshed tears clouded his eyes. He was scared. Not of dying, but of _living_. There was no one left for him. No one to love or care for. All of his friends were dead or missing or lost to him forever. Even his grandmother died the year before in her care home. The war could end the next day and it wouldn't matter. He couldn't bear another night alone in his empty bed. It hadn't even been a month since Gideon was murdered and his pillowcase still smelled of him. How could he keep going when even that tiny piece of him faded away?

"Say the word, Caradoc… say the word and you can join him."

The tears he was so desperate to keep under control rolled down his cheeks. Could it be that simple? Did he have enough strength to ask for the only desire he had left?

"Please, Antonin. _Please_."

All of his dreams about this moment were filled with a green light. So many people he knew had been killed with that damned curse that he just expected it to be what took his life. When the purple flames penetrated the darkness of the corridor, Caradoc was surprised. He'd heard about the infamous curse, but never had a chance to witness it himself.

Closing his eyes, he waited for his end. He wondered if the flames would be painful, but decided it didn't matter. The pain would only last a moment. Only a moment and then he'd be with his love again. All would be well.


End file.
